Sophia Ray: A 90-second film can’t radically change someone’s mind, but it can plant a seed

Sophia Ray is a director known for emotionally rich, visually distinctive work across music videos, short films and commercial campaigns. She has worked with artists like Olly Alexander, Raye and Ellie Goulding, created films for brands including Google, Nike and the BBC, and recently directed the award-winning Sex & Cancer short. Her upcoming horror Triptych marks a further shift into narrative storytelling and is looking to be released later this year. 

In this conversation, Sophia talks about the changing landscape of filmmaking, from the rise of AI and the return of lo-fi aesthetics to the ethical weight of commercial storytelling. She shares what draws her to horror, why simplicity matters, and how nostalgia, discomfort and nature all shape the way she sees the world.

I remember realising how much impact film could have, and how certain directors had shaped the way I saw things, even as a kid.

The films I love are all connected to something inherently human. They explore what it means to be a person, what life means, what relationships mean. I remember watching Eraserhead, David Lynch’s first film, and thinking, this is a film? Someone made this, and it doesn’t have to be all tied up in a neat bow. It is about a feeling; what you take from it. I found that really inspiring.

I watched Quentin Tarantino's films when I was quite young. It wasn’t the violence that struck me, but the way people were doing really awful things within a kind of mundanity. That interested me; how he played with dialogue, with character.

Film always felt like something enormous and out of reach. They seemed big, complicated, impressive. Like Kubrick. My dad was a huge fan and now he’s my favourite director. Every time I watch one of his films, I notice something I hadn’t seen before. His work grows with you. Like A Clockwork Orange – as a teenager I saw rebellion and chaos, but watching it again later, I began to see fear, loss of control; the vulnerability of ageing. That shift in perspective says so much about the power of cinema.

I think I’m still trying to understand what it is to be human. That’s a big part of why I direct. Directors are often the ones watching from the edges, trying to understand how people behave and why. For me, directing is a way of processing life.

Over time, I’ve become more conscious of what stories I’m choosing to tell. Commercials and music videos are often about mood and visuals. And I do love aesthetics; you can communicate a lot through set design or blocking. But what excites me most now is the idea; whether it says something; whether it moves something in you. That is what I want to focus on.

The thing I’m writing at the moment, still early days, is about charity and helping people, and how much of that is tied to the desire to feel good about yourself. It looks at how people navigate their intentions, and what happens when those intentions are at odds with the outcome. There is so much happening in the world right now. You can feel strongly about something, but then be around people who don’t see it the same way, and it becomes difficult to know what to do with that feeling.

The story touches on the white saviour complex, which I find really interesting. Because it is possible to have good intentions and still cause harm. I'm drawn to that grey space. I think it is where the real questions live. And I’m interested in the things that make us uncomfortable because they tend to be the things that reveal something true.

There is this little rebellion. A return to texture, to imperfection, to something that feels lived in.

Lately, I’ve seen a shift in what people want from storytelling. Things are moving fast. No one knows what the industry will look like in a few years. But what gives me hope are the human stories; the ones that are absurd, tender, or brutally honest. I think we are seeing a desire for that again.

Even in advertising, I feel like there is more appetite for the low-fi again, which is strange, because ads recently have been about polish and control. But now you hear brands say, let’s make it rougher, more real. That’s exciting.

Everything has looked so slick for so long; perfect lighting, perfect tone. But if you go back to a film from the 1990s, or not even that long ago, the lighting feels different, harder. Less soft and even and perfect. Even in mainstream films. Back then, you had fewer tools. You could not just dial a light to any colour you wanted. You were on film, and film ran out. The limitations shaped the style. I feel like there is a cultural return to that right now – a move away from the flawless.

Especially with AI developing so fast, it would be easy to go in the other direction – towards something more synthetic, more disconnected. But instead, there is this little rebellion. A return to texture, to imperfection, to something that feels lived in. That gives me hope.

I saw it clearly when I was judging the British Arrows this year. Some of the biggest, glossiest ads obviously got appreciation and respect because they were well made, but they didn’t move anyone. You didn’t hear much after they played. Then something would come on – really simple and human – and the room would just go quiet. You could feel it. It was a real reminder that emotional truth always cuts through. It made me realise I wasn’t alone in what I was craving.

A good example of this type of project was a video I worked on at the end of last year with green finance group Make My Money Matter. The team at Lucky Generals asked me to direct the second film in the series, following one they did with Olivia Colman. It was a great brief – clear, focused, emotionally direct. And it was a real labour of love. When it’s a cause people care about, the energy on set is different. Everyone wants to be part of it. And when you have someone like Benedict Cumberbatch in the room, you don’t need to do much. He carries it. My job was just to give the performance space.

I didn’t want it to be heavily edited. I wanted it to breathe. We had maybe three hours with him, so we kept it simple. Clear blocking, held shots, a few beats I had in mind. That was it. We had one call beforehand just to talk tone, and he got it straight away. He had just done a project on deforestation and was already really engaged with the issues so he was the right person for it.

The whole process opened my eyes. I’m not particularly money-savvy. I had never really thought about where my pension was invested or what banks do with our money. But you realise how much of your money is potentially fuelling things you don’t agree with. You are giving companies power, without even knowing it. But you actually have a choice. A say. That was a big shift for me.

Some of my family were shocked too. A few of them switched banks after watching it. And the charity told me that their earlier campaigns had already led to a lot of real-world action. Obviously, a 90-second film is not going to radically transform someone’s worldview but it can plant a seed. And sometimes that’s enough

Lucky Generals/Sophia Ray: Benedict Lumberjack starring Benedict Cumberbatch

My new short film is in the horror space, which makes sense for me. I’ve always gravitated towards darker films, but not slasher or gore for the sake of it. The horror I love is usually rooted in something deeply human. Films like The Shining, Hereditary, and Rosemary’s Baby deal with things like grief, control, coercion, fear. There’s a symbolic layer to them. It’s not about monsters, perhaps sometimes it is, but the scariest thing is the people, and what they do.

I think horror can be really cathartic. It gives you a space to sit with fear or tension or contradiction in a way that feels safe. It helps you process things that might otherwise be too much. Even some war films feel like horror to me. The film Come and See, for example, is brutal, but also strangely poetic. You’re seeing the world through this boy’s eyes, and it’s terrifying. Not because of special effects, but because of what people are capable of. I think when horror is done well, it reminds you that the light only matters if you’ve seen the dark.

Lately, I’ve also found myself seeking out nature more. I used to be more drawn to interiors, spaces you could control and stylise. But now I live near the edge of London, and being able to walk in the woods or sit in quiet places has changed how I feel. It helps me reset. And it also brings up a weird kind of nostalgia. Sometimes I’ll smell cut grass or rain and it takes me straight back to being a child. I don’t know exactly why. Maybe because you’re more present when you’re young, and the outside world is more vivid. That sense of memory and place, I think, is starting to shape my work, even if I’m not consciously trying to show it.

Sophia Ray works and lives in London and is represented by Academy Films.

This conversation took place on 2 June 2025 and has been edited and condensed for clarity and flow.

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