Created on

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19

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2026

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23

:

16

Updated on

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29

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2026

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0

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9

Location

Oakland, CA

Communication Studies (ix): The Filtering System of Tiktok

传播学(ix): 抖音的传播机制

写在前面:接下来深入了解一下抖音的筛选机制。本文和chatgpt合作完成。


继续深入分析后,可以把抖音理解为一种实时的行为筛选系统,而不仅仅是一个“内容平台”。这里的关键不在于平台如何评价内容本身,而在于它如何判断内容是否能够稳定触发某类用户行为。

在这一框架下,视频更接近一种探针。它被用来测试的是:在特定用户结构中,是否会出现可预测、可重复的行为反应。系统关注的并不是你表达了什么观点,而是这些表达是否能在统计上形成稳定的行为信号。

从外部可观察的分发模式来看,抖音的新视频通常会先进入一个规模较小、但并非随机的用户样本中。这个样本更可能由在相似内容或刺激类型上表现出过明确反应的用户构成。此阶段的重点并不是“推荐”,而更像是一种压力测试:系统通过极早期的行为指标,判断是否值得继续投入更多注意力资源。

在这一阶段,系统关注的往往是最基础、最冷启动的信号,例如用户是否在刷到视频的瞬间停留,是否出现短暂的观看延续。这类信号并不等同于完整观看或互动,但它们决定了视频是否具备进入下一轮测试的最低资格。如果这些早期指标明显低于基线水平,后续更复杂的数据往往不会再被重点考察。

从分发结果来看,这一过程更接近逐层放行,而非综合评分。系统并不需要判断视频“总体好不好”,而是持续评估它是否满足进入下一阶段测试的条件。一旦关键行为信号不足,分发往往会迅速停止,而不是逐渐减弱。这可以解释为何部分视频在早期数据尚可的情况下,仍会突然失去扩散。

这一机制的一个直接后果,是早期样本的权重显著高于后期表现。视频的命运更多取决于最初一小部分用户的反应,而不是通过时间慢慢“证明自己”。一旦系统判断该刺激在统计上不具备扩展价值,后续即便存在潜在质量,也很难获得新的展示机会。

在通过初步测试后,分发逻辑并不会简单地扩大规模,而更可能转向差异化测试。也就是说,视频会被投放给结构不同、阈值更高的用户群体,以观察反应是否仍然成立。系统此时关心的,不是反应数量,而是反应在不同用户结构中的可迁移性。

如果某种刺激只在低阈值人群中有效,而在更挑剔或更高成本行为人群中迅速失效,系统往往会将其识别为局部成立的模式,从而限制其扩散范围。这类内容并不会被清除,但通常会被稳定地限制在较窄的分发带中。

相反,当内容在规模不大的情况下,却能稳定触发高成本行为,例如明确立场的评论或转发,系统往往会将其视为具有明确定位价值的信号。这并不意味着内容“更好”,而意味着它与某类行为形成了更强的绑定关系。对平台而言,这类可被复用、可被预测的刺激结构,往往比“整体评价尚可”的内容更具工程价值。

在这一层级,系统关注的核心并不是内容语义本身,而是内容是否稳定地引发某种状态变化。平台不需要完整理解观点逻辑,只需要识别:哪类用户,在何种刺激下,从一种行为前状态转移到另一种状态。情绪在这里并非目的,而是可被记录和利用的中间变量。

一旦这种“内容—状态转换—行为反应”的映射关系趋于稳定,视频就不再被当作待评估对象,而更像是一个已知用途的工具。此后,它会被持续投放给最可能完成该行为的人群,而较少再被用于探索完全不同的用户结构。这种现象并非自然形成的回音室,而更接近精准投放的结果。

在更长期的尺度上,系统评估的重点会逐渐从单条内容转向账号整体。账号会被视为一个相对稳定的刺激来源,而单条视频则是该来源的样本。系统关心的问题不再是“这条视频如何”,而是“这个账号通常会制造什么样的行为反应”。

当账号在统计上表现出稳定的输出模式后,分发就会更多依赖预测而非重新测试。符合既有模式的内容,往往起步更快、容错更高;而明显偏离既有刺激类型的内容,则可能因为不确定性过高而获得更少的测试机会。这也是为何账号转型在实践中往往成本极高,并非观众无法接受,而是系统需要付出额外学习成本。

在这种逻辑下,平台并不天然偏好所谓“正能量”或“负能量”,而更偏好反应曲线高度可预测的内容。立场清晰、结构稳定、输出模式一致的账号,更容易被系统信任;而模糊、摇摆、频繁试探不同刺激类型的表达,则更难被建模和放大。

所谓反应曲线,可以理解为一段可被记录的时间序列:用户在第几秒停留,在何时产生情绪,在何时采取行动。系统并不判断这条曲线的价值取向,而判断它是否足够稳定,能否在下一次被准确预测。稳定性,而非道德或观点本身,是工程层面最核心的信任基础。

从这个角度看,抖音更像一个筛选器,而不是一个舞台。创作者并不是单向地“表达”,而是在不断接受系统对其刺激稳定性的检验。能够持续扩散的内容,往往并非完全有意识地迎合,而是在无意中与这套筛选机制形成了高度兼容。

Preface: Next, we take a deeper look at TikTok’s filtering mechanism. This article is co-written with ChatGPT.


After further analysis, it is more accurate to understand TikTok as a real-time behavioral filtering system, rather than simply a “content platform.” The core issue is not how the platform evaluates content in itself, but how it determines whether a piece of content can reliably trigger certain types of user behavior.

Within this framework, a video functions more like a probe. What it tests is whether, within a specific user structure, it can generate predictable and repeatable behavioral responses. The system is less concerned with the viewpoint being expressed than with whether that expression produces statistically stable behavioral signals.

Based on externally observable distribution patterns, new videos on TikTok are typically introduced to a relatively small, but non-random, user sample. This sample is more likely composed of users who have previously demonstrated sensitivity to similar types of content or stimuli. At this stage, the process resembles a stress test rather than a recommendation: the system evaluates extremely early behavioral signals to decide whether it is worth allocating additional attention resources.

In this phase, the system tends to focus on the most basic cold-start indicators—for example, whether users pause when the video first appears, or whether viewing continues even briefly. These signals are not equivalent to full watch time or engagement, but they determine whether the video qualifies for further testing. If these early indicators fall clearly below baseline, more complex downstream metrics often cease to matter.

From the resulting distribution patterns, this process appears closer to gated progression than to a composite scoring system. The system does not ask whether a video is “good overall,” but whether it meets the criteria to enter the next testing stage. When key behavioral signals are insufficient, distribution tends to stop abruptly rather than taper off gradually. This helps explain why some videos lose momentum suddenly even when early performance appears acceptable.

One direct consequence of this structure is that early samples carry far more weight than later averages. A video’s trajectory is largely determined by the reactions of its initial, relatively small group of viewers, rather than by accumulating validation over time. Once the system concludes that a stimulus lacks statistical expansion value, later improvements rarely lead to renewed exposure.

After passing initial testing, distribution logic does not simply scale up reach. Instead, it often shifts toward differential testing—that is, exposing the video to structurally different, higher-threshold user groups to see whether responses remain consistent. At this stage, the system is evaluating not volume, but the transferability of the response across user types.

If a stimulus works only among low-threshold users and collapses when tested on more selective or higher-cost behavior groups, the system tends to classify it as locally effective and restrict its distribution to a narrow band. Such content is not removed, but it is typically stabilized at a limited reach.

Conversely, when content triggers high-cost behaviors—such as explicit stance-taking in comments or sharing—even at modest scale, the system is more likely to interpret this as a strong positional signal. This does not mean the content is “better,” but that it forms a tighter binding with a specific behavior type. From an engineering perspective, stimuli that are reusable and predictable are often more valuable than content that is broadly acceptable but weakly directive.

At this level, the system’s focus is not on semantic understanding, but on whether content consistently induces a particular state transition. The platform does not need to fully interpret arguments or logic; it only needs to recognize which users, under which stimuli, move from one pre-behavioral state to another. Emotion here is not an end goal, but a measurable intermediary variable.

Once the mapping between content, state transition, and behavioral response stabilizes, the video is no longer treated as an object under evaluation, but as a tool with a known function. From that point on, it is repeatedly delivered to users most likely to complete the corresponding behavior, and is less often used to explore entirely new user structures. This outcome is not the natural formation of an echo chamber, but the result of precision targeting.

Over longer time horizons, the system’s evaluative focus shifts from individual videos to the account as a whole. Accounts are treated as relatively stable sources of stimuli, while individual videos function as samples. The key question becomes not “How does this video perform?” but “What type of behavioral response does this account typically generate?”

Once an account demonstrates a statistically stable output pattern, distribution relies more on prediction than on fresh testing. Content that aligns with established patterns tends to launch faster and tolerate more variance; content that deviates significantly from prior stimulus types may receive limited testing due to elevated uncertainty. This is why account-level pivots often carry high costs—not because audiences cannot adapt, but because the system incurs additional learning risk.

Within this logic, the platform does not inherently favor “positive” or “negative” content. It favors predictable response curves. Accounts with clear positions, stable structures, and consistent output patterns are easier for the system to trust. Ambiguous, oscillating, or exploratory expressions are harder to model and amplify.

A response curve can be understood as a recorded time series: at which second a user pauses, when emotion arises, and when action occurs. The system does not judge the moral value of this curve, but whether it is sufficiently stable and predictable to be replicated. From an engineering standpoint, stability—not virtue or viewpoint—is the core basis of trust.

From this perspective, TikTok functions more like a sieve than a stage. Creators are not simply expressing themselves; they are continuously subjected to tests of stimulus stability. Content that spreads widely often does so not through deliberate optimization, but through inadvertent compatibility with this filtering mechanism.


Artist Statement

My work is not about explaining the world; it’s about dismantling the emotional structures that everyday life tries to conceal. What I focus on is not “story,” but the dynamics between people—the pull and tension of intimacy, the quiet control embedded in family, the fractures that come with migration, and how an individual maintains their boundaries within these systems.

I grew up between shifting cultures and languages, often in environments where I was expected—needed—claimed by others. I was asked to understand, to accommodate, to take care, to adjust. Even the gentlest relationships carried an undercurrent of consumption. That tension became the foundation of my creative work.

The characters in my stories are not moral types. They each carry a kind of private conflict: they want closeness but fear being swallowed; they long to be seen but can’t fully expose themselves; they are asked again and again to give—to family, to love, to work—without knowing how to keep space for themselves. These aren’t inventions; they’re reflections of lived experience. Writing, for me, is a way to unearth the emotions that have been suppressed, ignored, or normalized—and let them speak again.

I gravitate toward rhythmic narrative structures: compressed scenes, quick shifts, intentional gaps, silences between characters. These spaces reveal more truth than dialogue ever could. The themes I explore—migration, family, identity, trauma, intimacy, female autonomy—ultimately point to a single question: how does a person protect their boundaries in a world that constantly pulls at them, demands from them, watches them?

Creating is neither escape nor self-soothing. It is a way of reclaiming authorship over my own narrative. When I write a character’s silence, resistance, hesitation, or departure, I’m answering one essential question:

When the world insists on defining me, how do I choose to define myself?

艺术家陈述

我的创作不是为了解释世界,是为了拆开被日常掩盖的情绪结构。我关注的核心不是“故事”,而是人与人之间的力量关系——亲密带来的拉扯、家庭带来的隐性控制、身份在迁徙中的断裂,以及一个人在这些结构里如何保持自己的边界。

出生在不断变化的文化与语言之间,长期处在“被期待—被需要—被占用”的环境里。很多时候,我被要求理解别人、照顾别人、顺着环境。那些看似温和的关系里,也潜藏着吞噬性的需求。这种张力成了我创作的源头。

在我的故事里,人物不是善恶分明的类型。他们都带着某种困境:他们想靠近别人,但又害怕被吞没;他们渴望被看见,却无法完全暴露自己;他们在家庭、爱情、工作里不断被要求付出,却不知道怎样为自己保留空间。这并不是虚构,是现实经验的折射。我写作,把那些长期被压抑、被忽略、被习惯化的情感重新挖出来,让它们重新发声。

我倾向于使用节奏性的叙事结构:压缩的篇幅、快速切换的场景、留白的空间、人物之间的静默。这些“空隙”比对白本身更能暴露一个人的真实状态。我处理的主题是移民、家庭、身份、创伤、亲密、女性的自主性,但它们都指向同一件事:一个人如何在被拉扯、被要求、被凝视的世界里,维护自己的边界。

创作不是逃避,也不是自我疗愈,是重新夺回叙事权的方式。当我写下一个人物的沉默、反抗、犹豫或离开,我其实是在回答一个核心问题:
当世界不断定义我时,我选择如何定义自己?

Artist Statement

My work is not about explaining the world; it’s about dismantling the emotional structures that everyday life tries to conceal. What I focus on is not “story,” but the dynamics between people—the pull and tension of intimacy, the quiet control embedded in family, the fractures that come with migration, and how an individual maintains their boundaries within these systems.

I grew up between shifting cultures and languages, often in environments where I was expected—needed—claimed by others. I was asked to understand, to accommodate, to take care, to adjust. Even the gentlest relationships carried an undercurrent of consumption. That tension became the foundation of my creative work.

The characters in my stories are not moral types. They each carry a kind of private conflict: they want closeness but fear being swallowed; they long to be seen but can’t fully expose themselves; they are asked again and again to give—to family, to love, to work—without knowing how to keep space for themselves. These aren’t inventions; they’re reflections of lived experience. Writing, for me, is a way to unearth the emotions that have been suppressed, ignored, or normalized—and let them speak again.

I gravitate toward rhythmic narrative structures: compressed scenes, quick shifts, intentional gaps, silences between characters. These spaces reveal more truth than dialogue ever could. The themes I explore—migration, family, identity, trauma, intimacy, female autonomy—ultimately point to a single question: how does a person protect their boundaries in a world that constantly pulls at them, demands from them, watches them?

Creating is neither escape nor self-soothing. It is a way of reclaiming authorship over my own narrative. When I write a character’s silence, resistance, hesitation, or departure, I’m answering one essential question:

When the world insists on defining me, how do I choose to define myself?

艺术家陈述

我的创作不是为了解释世界,是为了拆开被日常掩盖的情绪结构。我关注的核心不是“故事”,而是人与人之间的力量关系——亲密带来的拉扯、家庭带来的隐性控制、身份在迁徙中的断裂,以及一个人在这些结构里如何保持自己的边界。

出生在不断变化的文化与语言之间,长期处在“被期待—被需要—被占用”的环境里。很多时候,我被要求理解别人、照顾别人、顺着环境。那些看似温和的关系里,也潜藏着吞噬性的需求。这种张力成了我创作的源头。

在我的故事里,人物不是善恶分明的类型。他们都带着某种困境:他们想靠近别人,但又害怕被吞没;他们渴望被看见,却无法完全暴露自己;他们在家庭、爱情、工作里不断被要求付出,却不知道怎样为自己保留空间。这并不是虚构,是现实经验的折射。我写作,把那些长期被压抑、被忽略、被习惯化的情感重新挖出来,让它们重新发声。

我倾向于使用节奏性的叙事结构:压缩的篇幅、快速切换的场景、留白的空间、人物之间的静默。这些“空隙”比对白本身更能暴露一个人的真实状态。我处理的主题是移民、家庭、身份、创伤、亲密、女性的自主性,但它们都指向同一件事:一个人如何在被拉扯、被要求、被凝视的世界里,维护自己的边界。

创作不是逃避,也不是自我疗愈,是重新夺回叙事权的方式。当我写下一个人物的沉默、反抗、犹豫或离开,我其实是在回答一个核心问题:
当世界不断定义我时,我选择如何定义自己?

Artist Statement

My work is not about explaining the world; it’s about dismantling the emotional structures that everyday life tries to conceal. What I focus on is not “story,” but the dynamics between people—the pull and tension of intimacy, the quiet control embedded in family, the fractures that come with migration, and how an individual maintains their boundaries within these systems.

I grew up between shifting cultures and languages, often in environments where I was expected—needed—claimed by others. I was asked to understand, to accommodate, to take care, to adjust. Even the gentlest relationships carried an undercurrent of consumption. That tension became the foundation of my creative work.

The characters in my stories are not moral types. They each carry a kind of private conflict: they want closeness but fear being swallowed; they long to be seen but can’t fully expose themselves; they are asked again and again to give—to family, to love, to work—without knowing how to keep space for themselves. These aren’t inventions; they’re reflections of lived experience. Writing, for me, is a way to unearth the emotions that have been suppressed, ignored, or normalized—and let them speak again.

I gravitate toward rhythmic narrative structures: compressed scenes, quick shifts, intentional gaps, silences between characters. These spaces reveal more truth than dialogue ever could. The themes I explore—migration, family, identity, trauma, intimacy, female autonomy—ultimately point to a single question: how does a person protect their boundaries in a world that constantly pulls at them, demands from them, watches them?

Creating is neither escape nor self-soothing. It is a way of reclaiming authorship over my own narrative. When I write a character’s silence, resistance, hesitation, or departure, I’m answering one essential question:

When the world insists on defining me, how do I choose to define myself?

艺术家陈述

我的创作不是为了解释世界,是为了拆开被日常掩盖的情绪结构。我关注的核心不是“故事”,而是人与人之间的力量关系——亲密带来的拉扯、家庭带来的隐性控制、身份在迁徙中的断裂,以及一个人在这些结构里如何保持自己的边界。

出生在不断变化的文化与语言之间,长期处在“被期待—被需要—被占用”的环境里。很多时候,我被要求理解别人、照顾别人、顺着环境。那些看似温和的关系里,也潜藏着吞噬性的需求。这种张力成了我创作的源头。

在我的故事里,人物不是善恶分明的类型。他们都带着某种困境:他们想靠近别人,但又害怕被吞没;他们渴望被看见,却无法完全暴露自己;他们在家庭、爱情、工作里不断被要求付出,却不知道怎样为自己保留空间。这并不是虚构,是现实经验的折射。我写作,把那些长期被压抑、被忽略、被习惯化的情感重新挖出来,让它们重新发声。

我倾向于使用节奏性的叙事结构:压缩的篇幅、快速切换的场景、留白的空间、人物之间的静默。这些“空隙”比对白本身更能暴露一个人的真实状态。我处理的主题是移民、家庭、身份、创伤、亲密、女性的自主性,但它们都指向同一件事:一个人如何在被拉扯、被要求、被凝视的世界里,维护自己的边界。

创作不是逃避,也不是自我疗愈,是重新夺回叙事权的方式。当我写下一个人物的沉默、反抗、犹豫或离开,我其实是在回答一个核心问题:
当世界不断定义我时,我选择如何定义自己?

sunny.xiaoxin.sun@doubletakefilmllc.com

Sunny Xiaoxin Sun's IMDb


©2025 Double Take Film, All rights reserved

I’m an independent creator born in 1993 in Changsha, now based in California. My writing started from an urgent need to express. Back in school, I often felt overwhelmed by the chaos and complexity of the world—by the emotions and stories left unsaid. Writing became my way of organizing my thoughts, finding clarity, and gradually, connecting with the outside world.


Right now, I’m focused on writing and filmmaking. My blog is a “real writing experiment,” where I try to update daily, documenting my thoughts, emotional shifts, observations on relationships, and my creative process. It’s also a record of my journey to becoming a director. After returning to China in 2016, I entered the film industry and worked in the visual effects production department on projects like Creation of the Gods I, Creation of the Gods II, and Wakanda Forever, with experience in both China and Hollywood. Since 2024, I’ve shifted my focus to original storytelling.


I’m currently revising my first script. It’s not grand in scale, but it’s deeply personal—centered on memory, my father, and the city. I want to make films that belong to me, and to our generation: grounded yet profound, sensitive but resolute. I believe film is not only a form of artistic expression—it’s a way to intervene in reality.

我是93年出生于长沙的自由创作者。我的写作起点来自一种“必须表达”的冲动。学生时代,我常感受到世界的混乱与复杂,那些没有被说出来的情绪和故事让我感到不安。写作是我自我整理、自我清晰的方式,也逐渐成为我与外界建立连接的路径。


我目前专注于写作和电影。我的博客是一个“真实写作实验”,尽量每天更新,记录我的思考、情绪流动、人际观察和创作过程。我16年回国之后开始进入电影行业,曾在视效部门以制片的身份参与制作《封神1》《封神2》《Wankanda Forever》等,在中国和好莱坞都工作过,24年之后开始转入创作。


我正在重新回去修改我第一个剧本——它并不宏大,却非常个人,围绕记忆、父亲与城市展开。我想拍属于我、也属于我们这一代人的电影:贴地而深刻,敏感又笃定。我相信电影不只是艺术表达,它也是一种现实干预。

sunny.xiaoxin.sun@doubletakefilmllc.com

Sunny Xiaoxin Sun's IMDb


©2025 Double Take Film, All rights reserved

I’m an independent creator born in 1993 in Changsha, now based in California. My writing started from an urgent need to express. Back in school, I often felt overwhelmed by the chaos and complexity of the world—by the emotions and stories left unsaid. Writing became my way of organizing my thoughts, finding clarity, and gradually, connecting with the outside world.


Right now, I’m focused on writing and filmmaking. My blog is a “real writing experiment,” where I try to update daily, documenting my thoughts, emotional shifts, observations on relationships, and my creative process. It’s also a record of my journey to becoming a director. After returning to China in 2016, I entered the film industry and worked in the visual effects production department on projects like Creation of the Gods I, Creation of the Gods II, and Wakanda Forever, with experience in both China and Hollywood. Since 2024, I’ve shifted my focus to original storytelling.


I’m currently revising my first script. It’s not grand in scale, but it’s deeply personal—centered on memory, my father, and the city. I want to make films that belong to me, and to our generation: grounded yet profound, sensitive but resolute. I believe film is not only a form of artistic expression—it’s a way to intervene in reality.

我是93年出生于长沙的自由创作者。我的写作起点来自一种“必须表达”的冲动。学生时代,我常感受到世界的混乱与复杂,那些没有被说出来的情绪和故事让我感到不安。写作是我自我整理、自我清晰的方式,也逐渐成为我与外界建立连接的路径。


我目前专注于写作和电影。我的博客是一个“真实写作实验”,尽量每天更新,记录我的思考、情绪流动、人际观察和创作过程。我16年回国之后开始进入电影行业,曾在视效部门以制片的身份参与制作《封神1》《封神2》《Wankanda Forever》等,在中国和好莱坞都工作过,24年之后开始转入创作。


我正在重新回去修改我第一个剧本——它并不宏大,却非常个人,围绕记忆、父亲与城市展开。我想拍属于我、也属于我们这一代人的电影:贴地而深刻,敏感又笃定。我相信电影不只是艺术表达,它也是一种现实干预。

sunny.xiaoxin.sun@doubletakefilmllc.com

Sunny Xiaoxin Sun's IMDb


©2025 Double Take Film, All rights reserved

I’m an independent creator born in 1993 in Changsha, now based in California. My writing started from an urgent need to express. Back in school, I often felt overwhelmed by the chaos and complexity of the world—by the emotions and stories left unsaid. Writing became my way of organizing my thoughts, finding clarity, and gradually, connecting with the outside world.


Right now, I’m focused on writing and filmmaking. My blog is a “real writing experiment,” where I try to update daily, documenting my thoughts, emotional shifts, observations on relationships, and my creative process. It’s also a record of my journey to becoming a director. After returning to China in 2016, I entered the film industry and worked in the visual effects production department on projects like Creation of the Gods I, Creation of the Gods II, and Wakanda Forever, with experience in both China and Hollywood. Since 2024, I’ve shifted my focus to original storytelling.


I’m currently revising my first script. It’s not grand in scale, but it’s deeply personal—centered on memory, my father, and the city. I want to make films that belong to me, and to our generation: grounded yet profound, sensitive but resolute. I believe film is not only a form of artistic expression—it’s a way to intervene in reality.

我是93年出生于长沙的自由创作者。我的写作起点来自一种“必须表达”的冲动。学生时代,我常感受到世界的混乱与复杂,那些没有被说出来的情绪和故事让我感到不安。写作是我自我整理、自我清晰的方式,也逐渐成为我与外界建立连接的路径。


我目前专注于写作和电影。我的博客是一个“真实写作实验”,尽量每天更新,记录我的思考、情绪流动、人际观察和创作过程。我16年回国之后开始进入电影行业,曾在视效部门以制片的身份参与制作《封神1》《封神2》《Wankanda Forever》等,在中国和好莱坞都工作过,24年之后开始转入创作。


我正在重新回去修改我第一个剧本——它并不宏大,却非常个人,围绕记忆、父亲与城市展开。我想拍属于我、也属于我们这一代人的电影:贴地而深刻,敏感又笃定。我相信电影不只是艺术表达,它也是一种现实干预。

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