Some Kind of Blue
Musician Indiana experiences phantom noises, obstructive neighbourhood sounds and mysterious visitations. When she learns that she’s losing her hearing, the discovery unearths grief around her mother’s death. Only in surrendering to the waves of grief - both real and metaphorical - can Indiana begin to heal.
In anticipation of Some Kind of Blue’s screening at BBFF2026, writer-director-producer Rae Choi takes us along the deeply personal journey of bringing the poignant story to life.
It all started in 2021 for Rae. She had just learned that she was hard of hearing, and likely since childhood. The revelation made her reconsider much of her life experiences and memories, particularly those of her grandmother who had raised her and passed away when she was 6 years old.
Around the same time, Rae’s audiologist told her about auditory hallucinations, and a story about someone who began hearing his late mother’s voice. She found herself thinking of her own grandmother and how imagining her presence brought her much-needed comfort.
And so, the idea of Some Kind of Blue was born.
In Rae’s words, it is a ”personal film about the things we carry with us, the things we lose, and the ways we try to make sense of both.”
The film explores the tension between perception and reality, and how grief shapes our understanding of ourselves and the world around us. She was drawn to the idea that what is missing isn't always absent. That sometimes, the people we lose continue to exist in unexpected ways - in memories, senses, and the stories we tell ourselves.
“I became fascinated by the possibility that what we interpret as absence might be something more complicated,” Rae tells us. “That question became the starting point for the film, and an opportunity to explore my own experiences of hearing loss, grief and connection through cinema.”
Bringing concept to paper, then screen came with its challenges. Firstly, Rae had to sit with uncomfortable emotions throughout the production process, and indulge invasive questions in her introspection. She worked with therapist Poh Lin Lee, who helped her establish observational distance in her creative process.
Secondly, Rae experienced an unexpected bout of illness on the day they filmed at an audiology clinic where she had once undergone hearing tests. She found herself having to direct the opening scene of the film from the floor, huddled over a bucket.
In hindsight, Rae recognises that the incident was more than a coincidence. Because, whilst they were re-enacting a scene about a difficult and disorienting moment in her life, her body seemed to know it still had much to process.
“It was a surreal reminder that making a personal film can sometimes mean confronting things you haven't quite finished processing,” Rae reflects.
Making a personal film comes with a vulnerability that requires a safe and supportive working space. Rae highlights the effect of one of the people she couldn’t have made this film without - cinematographer, Lee Müller. Lee offered unwavering encouragement during the script development phase. She believed in the film so much that she flew herself and her camera to Australia from Los Angeles and shot the film without taking a fee.
“That kind of generosity and belief is something I don't take lightly,” Rae admits. “Lee brought so much care and thought to the visual language of the film, but her friendship and support throughout the process meant just as much to me.”
Rae had an unconventional entry into the profession of filmmaking. She initially practised as a lawyer, then found her way into producing and writing, which she he had always enjoyed doing. As a child, her imagination was her safe place. As a Chinese Australian, she was often searching for recognition and connection, which she didn’t always find in the books she read and films she watched.
“Writing and directing gave me a way to explore questions I didn't necessarily have answers to, and to make sense of experiences that were sometimes difficult to articulate otherwise,” she tells us. “I love that a film can communicate something beyond words, and that a deeply personal story can sometimes reach towards something universal.”
Rae describes her work as tactile, textured and nuanced. She is drawn to creating that which is visceral, by probing into the undercurrents beneath everyday interactions. Her style taps into the unseen, reflecting her innate sensitivity to the things that sit beneath the surface.
“I don't always need a story to offer clear answers,” Rae says, “sometimes I'm more interested in creating a feeling or an experience that lingers, leaving space for audiences to bring their own memories and interpretations to it.”
BBFF audiences would be pleased to know that Some Kind of Blue was filmed not too far from Byron Bay (in Ocean Shores). Rae expresses to us her excitement in bringing the film back to where it was made, and sharing it with those who know and love this part of the world.
As someone who is hard of hearing, Rae paid special attention to how the film sounds. She is interested in witnessing how her film can bring diverse audiences closer to experiences they might not otherwise encounter. Rae intentionally created a soundscape that reflects her experiences whilst embracing the uncertainty of how sound can be interpreted by different ears.
In conclusion, we asked Rae what she hopes BBFF audiences will take away from the film.
“More than anything, I hope the film leaves room for different ways of understanding loss,” she answers. “Our relationships with the people we've lost continue to evolve, and their presence can remain with us in ways we don't always have the language to explain.”
Some Kind of Blue screens with Crack Me Open at Palace Byron Bay on Sunday 25 October.