‘Saltwater Slums’: Dystopia in a Bathtub
One of the most talked-about films in the Discovery programme is 'Saltwater Slums,' a near-future sci-fi where rising sea levels have created floating shantytowns off the coast of what was once Florida. With a shoestring budget, production designer Ana
Cruz turned a single, dilapidated warehouse into an entire aquatic society. The genius was in the details and the verticality. The team built a massive, multi-level water tank just large enough for a few floating shacks, which were constructed from scavenged plastics and reclaimed wood. By shooting from low angles and using forced perspective, the set appears vast and sprawling. The crew constantly re-dressed the same few shacks with different netting, solar panels made of old CDs, and hydroponic gardens in plastic bottles, giving the illusion of a much larger, populated world. The result is a grimy, tangible dystopia that feels more real than CGI-heavy epics, all while smelling faintly of chlorine and ingenuity.
‘The Last Radio’: A Forest of Voices
Set in a post-apocalyptic Canada where technology has failed, 'The Last Radio' follows a lone survivor who maintains a ham radio station in the deep wilderness. The challenge for the production design team was to make a single location—a small cabin—visually compelling for 90 minutes. They achieved this by treating the cabin as an evolving character. The film’s first act shows the cabin as a fortress, meticulously organized with canned goods and survival gear. As the protagonist’s hope dwindles, the set subtly decays with him; dust accumulates, organized shelves fall into disarray, and the colors seem to fade. The team, led by designer Kenji Tanaka, used almost no new materials. Everything was sourced from thrift stores or salvaged from scrapyards, including the hero prop: a beautiful, Frankenstein-ed radio built from old vacuum tubes, copper wire, and parts of a broken gramophone. It’s a masterclass in how to tell a story through objects and environment alone.
‘Velvet Undergrounds’: Glamour in the Grime
Recreating 1970s London on a budget seems impossible, but 'Velvet Undergrounds' pulls it off with theatrical flair. The film charts the rise of a fictional glam rock band, and instead of attempting to recreate historical landmarks, director Chloé Dubois and her team embraced a more stylized approach. They found one or two period-appropriate streets and shot them from every conceivable angle, using period cars and a handful of extras to suggest a bustling city. For the concert scenes, which are the heart of the film, they rented a small, rundown music hall. The design team didn't hide the grime; they amplified it. They contrasted the peeling paint and sticky floors with explosions of glitter, feather boas, and homemade, outrageously flamboyant costumes. By focusing the budget on vibrant, memorable costumes and using dynamic, concert-style lighting to obscure the less-than-glamorous surroundings, the film creates a world that feels emotionally, if not literally, authentic to the era's spirit of defiant creativity.
‘Being Heumann’: Authenticity as World-Building
Sometimes the most difficult world to build is one that actually existed, especially when budget is tight. For 'Being Heumann,' which tells the story of disability rights activist Judy Heumann's 1970s activism, authenticity was paramount. The props team faced the immense challenge of sourcing or creating period-accurate wheelchairs and other accessibility tools for a large cast. A props assistant for the film, Sebastian Ponton, noted the difficulty and importance of making these props functional for the actors while remaining true to the 1970s setting. Rather than grand sets, the design focused on recreating the textures of the era: the specific upholstery of a government office chair, the font on a protest sign, the weight of a rotary phone. This detailed, object-oriented approach immerses the viewer in the past, proving that a world doesn't need to be fantastical to be meticulously built. It's a powerful reminder that sometimes the most effective design is the one you don't notice, because it simply feels true.
