It was recently discovered that humpback whales learn songs from each other as they encounter different populations during migration. As someone who was born by the sea, I was inspired to draw a parallel between the whales’ cultural exchange and our own experiences as migrants, navigating lives across countries. I wrote Stranded to explore not only the complexities of diasporic experiences, but also the alternative ways we connect with our families across oceans—through the ocean itself.

Since studying abroad in the U.S., my family and I have been separated by the vast Pacific. When my grandfather passed away, I hadn’t been home in years. Over time, I’ve come to feel an increasing sense of homesickness, coupled with guilt for leaving home as an only child, for not being there for my family when they needed me most.

At the same time, I’ve found that my relationship with them has shifted. My father, an avid fisherman, taught me about marine life from a young age. After studying environmental science and spending a month sea kayaking alongside orcas in Alaska, I came to inherit my father’s love for the ocean. In many ways, it has become a new bridge for me to connect with my family—spiritually, even if not physically.

When our science advisor, Valeria, shared her experience studying humpback whale songs in Newfoundland, I felt compelled to see it for myself. I flew to the island to scout locations, and Newfoundland turned out to be unlike any place I’d ever been. Its timeless fishing villages, scattered along the rugged coast, seemed to exist in a world apart.

The people lived with a simplicity and passion that felt deeply connected to the land and sea. When I arrived in New Bonaventure, a small village of fewer than a hundred people, the locals welcomed me—and later, our entire team—into their homes without hesitation, eager to share their fishing culture and traditions.

From that point on, it felt as though the real-life experiences of those around us began to shape the film in real-time. The locals became part of the process, offering invaluable help in production—from appearing on camera to teaching our lead actor how to mend a fishing net. It was nothing short of magical to feel the emotions of the characters we were portraying come to life, as the film began to open up to the world and weave itself into the fabric of its own truth.

I hope that audiences will relate to the film’s exploration of the pull between guilt and connection—the journey of finding and rebuilding home across time and distance, and finding the strength to confront grief and loss from the past. It is my hope that the people of Newfoundland will watch Stranded and feel proud of the story we’ve told, one that is as much theirs as it is mine.

This film opens a doorway into the multi-dimensional world of marine science and magical realism, intertwining whale songs with human emotions and spirituality.

Our cinematography draws inspiration from the rhythm of Chinese Song poetry, allowing time on screen to ebb and flow with Yiling’s internal journey—from initial reservation and stoicism to moments of wonder, surprise, recognition, and other palpable emotions she finds herself swirled into toward both her surroundings and the home she left behind.

The film’s palette and tone take inspiration from Andrew Wyeth, the 20th-century American artist who blended Impressionist light and movement with precise, realistic detail. Like Wyeth, who described himself as a magic realist, our film features simple yet poetic settings and moments of nature’s quiet magic, seamlessly blending reality and fantasy through long takes and a restrained, dreamlike aesthetic.

Sound is a defining element, immersing audiences in the living, breathing world of the village. Silence, shifting winds, and a brewing storm lead up to Yiling’s final confrontation—not only with the whale but with the emotions she has long suppressed.

Visually and aurally, we create a bridge between Yiling’s childhood in a Chinese village and her present in Newfoundland, shaping a fluid, shifting sense of time and space. This interplay reflects the diasporic experience—where home is not fixed to a single place, but lingers in echoes that follow across oceans.

This story builds upon the essential parallel between humpback whales' cultural transmission through songs and human migrations across diverse cultures. Science assumes a central role as Yiling applies her expertise in marine biology to investigate the challenges faced by the stranded humpback whale and assess the potential outcomes of different rescue approaches.

I have had detailed consultations with our science advisors regarding different scientific topics in the script, including the migration pattern of humpback whales, the monitoring process and their songs, as well as the rescue protocols for stranded cetaceans. In the script, the characters try to save a repeatedly stranded humpback whale by dragging it into the ocean, but the protagonist points out that first, trained rescuers must be there to oversee the operation, and second, under the circumstance where rescue or euthanasia cannot be undertaken, the stranded cetacean should be made as comfortable as possible through appropriate care and allowed to die naturally.

Other examples in the script include the process of monitoring and analyzing hydrophone recordings, as well as the finding that there is a cultural transmission in the songs of humpback whales during their migrations. As our protagonist shares hydrophone recordings with locals and grapples with their differing beliefs, this story underscores how science fosters dialogue and connectivity through shared objectives.

Through this project we hope to bring awareness to the wonderful vocal culture of humpback whales and their important relationships to coastal communities. We believe it is not only meaningful but also necessary to highlight the urgency to marine conservation in the present state of our environment.