The story behind Beyond Liberty, a freediving film born in darkness, shaped by a messy making-of.
Some projects start with a concept. Some start with an image.
Beyond Liberty started with a single image in Luca’s mind: a person trapped in a confined space, trying to find their way out.
That was the seed. A freediver inside a shipwreck at night. Darkness everywhere. A beam of light cutting through the structure. A body moving slowly through the metal, not quite escaping yet, but searching.
It sounded beautiful. It also sounded slightly insane. Which, to be fair, is often where our projects begin.
The idea behind Beyond Liberty
At its core, Beyond Liberty is not really about a shipwreck. The wreck is the world around the character. The metal walls, the holes, the shadows, the spaces that feel familiar but also restrictive. The freediver moves through this place as if they were caught between staying and leaving.
There is something very human in that.
Sometimes we find ourselves in situations that feel safe because they are familiar. A routine. A relationship. A version of ourselves. A life that once made sense. But at some point, the same thing that gave us comfort can start to feel like a cage. The film plays with that feeling through movement, darkness, and light.
The idea was that surrender does not always mean giving up. Sometimes surrender is the moment you stop fighting blindly. You keep your eyes open. You trust what enters your field. You follow the light, even if you do not know yet where it leads.
Yes, dramatic. But we were filming a freediver inside a shipwreck at night, so we had earned a little drama.
Filming at night, because apparently daylight was too easy
The concept was simple enough on paper. Go to a shipwreck at night. Put a freediver in the scene. Place lights through openings in the wreck. Film them moving through the structure. Make it look like a quiet cinematic dream.
In reality, there were a few more moving parts.
The freediver, Naia, had to hold her breath, stay relaxed, find Luca in the dark, avoid hitting the wreck, remember the movement, and somehow still act with her face while wearing a mask. Meanwhile, the camera team had to frame the shot, communicate underwater in the dark, manage light, keep track of everyone, and work with whatever the ocean decided to throw at us that night.
Spoiler: the ocean had opinions.
Some dives had swell. Some had current. On one of the first days, there was a storm above us with thunder and lightning. The surface felt eerie and chaotic, but underwater it became strangely peaceful. You would come up into wind, sound, and weather. Then go back down and suddenly everything was quiet again.
Chaos above. Peace below.
The light was its own character
Light was not just a technical tool in this film. It was part of the story. It had to feel like something calling the character forward. Not a spotlight. Not a flashlight. More like a presence.
Michi was holding the light, often from awkward positions around the wreck. At times he had to shine it through holes in the structure, which sounds poetic until you realize he was also getting blinded by reflections bouncing off the metal.
The smallest shift changed everything. Too much light and the scene lost its mystery. Too little light and we had a very artistic black screen.
The wreck helped and fought us at the same time. It gave us texture, depth, shape, and those beautiful pockets where light could enter. But it also bounced reflections, blocked angles, and forced everyone to solve problems underwater, without the luxury of saying, “Can we just quickly talk this through?”
No. You cannot. You are underwater. Good luck with the hand signals in the pitch black.
Safety was always part of the scene
Because the final film is slow and dreamlike, it might be easy to forget how much coordination was happening behind the camera. The freediver had a safety diver with her at all times. While the scuba team was filming from below, her safety stayed close and made sure she reached the surface safely after each dive. She would breathe at the surface, hand over the snorkel, go down without it, perform the movement, and return again.
It looks calm because it had to be calm. But that calm only works when everyone knows their role.
There was Luca directing underwater, Naia performing, Michi shaping the light, the camera team adjusting around the wreck, the safety diver watching every ascent, and Aziz moving like a shadow in the background, ready to help with communication or step in if needed.
Most of filmmaking is not glamorous. Underwater filmmaking is even less glamorous. It is a lot of repetition, foggy masks, waiting, drifting, adjusting, trying again, and pretending you are not cold or tired because the shot is almost there.
And then, sometimes, it is there. For a few seconds everything lines up. The body, the wreck, the darkness, the light.
And suddenly the strange idea that lived inside someone’s head becomes real.
The messy part is the magic part
One of the nicest things about this project was watching the film become itself over time.
It started with a very clear vision, but it did not arrive fully formed. It changed through the people involved. Through trial and error. Through moments that worked better than expected and moments that absolutely did not. But that is also the beauty of these projects. You do not just execute an idea. You discover it.
Every dive made the film a little clearer. Every mistake taught us something. Every person added something we would not have found alone.
That is why we love making films like this. Not because they are easy. They are usually not.
But because somewhere between the planning, the mess, the problem-solving, and the ocean doing whatever it wants, something honest appears.
What Beyond Liberty became
For us, Beyond Liberty became a film about that moment when you begin to see your surroundings differently. The moment something familiar suddenly looks strange. The moment you realize the thing you accepted as your world might only be one version of it.
And maybe there is a way out. A little light. A direction. A reason to keep moving. That quiet inner moment when you are lost, and instead of giving up, you keep your eyes open.
And sometimes, somehow, the light finds you.
Watch Beyond Liberty
You can watch the full short film here:
And if you want to see how it all came together, including the challenges, the team, the lights, the night dives, and the chaos behind the calm, you can watch the making of here:
