When the City Goes Dark, Another World Comes Alive
Nightlife, directed by Anice Hanna Hut and Andres Fouché, transforms the streets of Groningen into an unexpectedly wild ecosystem. Seen from the perspective of the animals that inhabit the city after dark, familiar spaces become strange again: a zebra jumping spider emerges from a discarded beer bottle, a rat moves through neon-lit streets, and just beyond the urban edge, a barn owl hunts in an entirely different rhythm.
Drawing on the directors’ background in music videos, Nightlife approaches natural history with an unusually cinematic and sensory language. Macro photography, expressive camera movement, stylized urban lighting, and immersive sound design shift attention away from the human observer and toward the creatures themselves. The result is both visually exhilarating and quietly revealing, reminding us that cities are never exclusively ours—and that an entire world continues to unfold alongside us, largely unseen.
Below, we speak with directors Anice Hanna Hut and Andres Fouché about translating animal perception into cinematic language, shooting extraordinary macro imagery at night, and finding the hidden wilderness inside a modern city.
Nightlife invites us to see the city after dark through the eyes of animals. What first inspired you to explore urban wildlife from this perspective?
Our background in music videos really shaped this project. We’re used to creating strong sensory experiences and experimenting with perspective, and we wanted to bring that into a natural history context. At the same time, we felt a growing urgency to reconnect people with nature—especially in cities.
Living in Groningen, we realized how much wildlife exists around us, yet often goes completely unnoticed. The city is known for its nightlife, its energy, its people—but we started wondering: what does that same nightlife look like for the animals living alongside us? That question became the foundation of the film.
The film reveals a hidden world that exists alongside us, often unnoticed. How did you approach shifting the audience’s point of view from human observer to animal perspective?
We wanted to move away from the traditional, human-centered perspective that most nature documentaries rely on. Instead, we tried to immerse the audience directly into the sensory world of the animals.
We did this through a combination of POV shots, sound design, and camera behavior. Each species has its own way of perceiving the world—visually, rhythmically, and spatially. By translating scientific knowledge into cinematic language, we created an interpretation of how these animals might experience the city. It’s not a literal reproduction, but an informed, artistic approximation that invites empathy and curiosity.
From a spider inside a beer bottle to a rat navigating neon-lit streets, the film captures incredibly specific and intimate moments. How did you discover and plan these scenes?
The process was a mix of research, observation, and controlled staging. We worked closely with scientific experts to understand the behavior, habitats, and sensory systems of each animal.
From there, we designed situations that could naturally evoke those behaviors—without forcing them. For example, the spider emerging from a beer bottle reflects real urban hiding spots, while the rat navigating the streets is based on known feeding patterns.
We created environments that resemble real urban conditions, then allowed the animals to move freely within them. So while the framework was planned, the exact moments always remained unpredictable.
The macro cinematography is extraordinary, making tiny creatures feel vast and cinematic. What lenses and techniques were key in achieving that sense of scale?
A big part of that came from treating these small animals as if they were protagonists in a much larger cinematic world. We used small microscopic and macro lenses in combination with dynamic camera movement—rather than static, observational shots.
We also played with depth of field, lens distortion, and perspective. For example, using lenses that exaggerate foreground elements or compress space helped create a more immersive, almost monumental feeling.
Additionally, we avoided “traditional” documentary framing. Instead, we approached scenes as if we were shooting narrative cinema—thinking in terms of tension, composition, and movement.
Shooting macro at night adds another layer of complexity. How did you handle focus, movement, and lighting while working at such a small scale in low-light conditions?
It was definitely one of the biggest challenges. At that scale, even the smallest movement can throw off focus completely.
We had to carefully balance technical precision with flexibility. Lighting was crucial—not just for visibility, but to guide focus and shape the scene. We often worked with controlled light sources that mimic urban lighting, like neon or street reflections, while still giving us enough exposure.
In terms of movement, we adapted our camera behavior to the animals. For example, more erratic, reactive movement for the rat, and more controlled, deliberate framing for the owl. It required a lot of patience and repetition, but also accepting that not everything can be controlled.
The lighting feels both natural and stylized, especially with the glow of the city interacting with these creatures. How did you balance realism with visual storytelling?
We were constantly navigating that balance. On one hand, we wanted to stay grounded in reality and scientific accuracy. On the other, we aimed to create a strong visual identity.
Urban light became our bridge between those two. The city already contains artificial colors—neon signs, streetlights, reflections—so we used those elements as a foundation. From there, we enhanced them slightly to emphasize mood and contrast, without completely breaking realism.
So the lighting is rooted in reality, but pushed just enough to make the audience feel something more atmospheric and immersive.
The contrast between the busy, neon-lit city and the quieter natural world just outside it—particularly with the barn owl—creates a shift in tone. How did you structure that visual and emotional transition?
That transition was very intentional, both visually and emotionally.
The city is chaotic, colorful, and rhythmically intense—full of movement, sound, and unpredictability. As we move toward the owl, everything becomes more minimal and controlled. The color palette desaturates, the pacing slows down, and the sound design opens up.
Even though the owl exists just a few kilometers away, it feels like a completely different world. But at the same time, we subtly show that it’s still influenced by the city—especially through light. That connection was important, because it reinforces the idea that these worlds are not separate.
Wildlife filmmaking often means embracing unpredictability. Were there any moments where the behavior of the animals surprised you or completely changed how a scene unfolded?
Absolutely—constantly. That unpredictability is both the biggest challenge and the most rewarding part of working with animals.
Even within controlled environments, the animals ultimately decide what happens. Sometimes they would completely ignore what we expected them to do, and most of the time they would do something far more interesting than we had planned.
The spider gave us some incredible surprises. For example, the way it crawled into the bottle created what became our opening shot—something we couldn’t have planned better. It was also remarkably still at times, which allowed us to capture extremely detailed macro and almost microscopic shots.
One moment that stood out was when we observed the spider releasing its silk thread without breaking it, using it to descend more quickly. We couldn’t find much existing research describing this exact behavior, but thanks to our high-speed slow-motion footage, we were able to analyze it in detail. Seeing how the jumping spider interacts with its surroundings through a macro lens made it appear incredibly intelligent and deliberate—almost unbelievable. These lenses truly open up an entirely new world.
The rats were very much themselves: curious, alert, and constantly exploring. They gave us beautifully natural moments, including some surprisingly playful ones. That sense of curiosity even led to shots like the rat walking on top of the brick wall—something that felt both authentic and cinematic.
The owl surprised us in a different way. It was incredibly aware of its surroundings, often reacting to things we couldn’t even perceive. At the same time, we were able to get quite close without disturbing its focus while hunting. That combination of sensitivity and concentration was fascinating to witness.
Those moments often became the strongest parts of the film. It forced us to stay flexible and to rethink scenes in the edit, allowing the natural behavior to lead the storytelling rather than the other way around.
After watching Nightlife, what do you hope audiences take away about the unseen lives around them—and the idea that we’re never really alone in the spaces we inhabit?
We hope the film shifts people’s awareness. That it encourages them to realize that they’re constantly sharing their environment with other forms of life—often without noticing.
There’s an entire hidden world unfolding alongside ours.
If the film makes people pause, look around differently, and feel a sense of curiosity or empathy toward that unseen world, then we’ve achieved what we set out to do.
What are the books, podcasts, or even YouTube channels that you recommend young filmmakers get their hands on?
For podcasts, we recommend Behind the Wild Lens and The Wild from KUOW.
For books, An Immense World by Ed Yong.
And on YouTube, Earth Touch.
