Toluca Lake drew me in because it explores a deeply human story through the lens of emerging technology. The film balances intimacy with existential scale—it’s about love, memory, and the ache of letting go, but it’s also about how technology reshapes our perception of connection. As a filmmaker, I was interested in how the emotional rhythms of grief and longing could be mirrored in the sterile language of AI and brain interfaces. This film doesn’t offer easy answers, but instead asks: what does it mean to hold on to something that never truly existed?

The script for Toluca Lake began as a question: how do we reconcile love with impermanence in a world increasingly obsessed with permanence? Gavin’s story—his yearning, confusion, and ultimately his act of release—became a meditation on our emotional dependence on the intangible. I was especially interested in writing a narrative where reality bends not in a sci-fi spectacle, but in a quiet, emotional fracture. The film embraces ambiguity, and I hope audiences walk away with the same uncertainty Gavin feels—haunted, but deeply moved.

As a producer, my goal was to honor the emotional weight of this story while making bold creative choices that align with its philosophical depth. Toluca Lake is more than a love story—it’s about the psychological cost of memory and the ethical limits of technology. This project also reflects my continuing interest in speculative, identity-rooted storytelling with Asian American leads. From building a sensitive, multidisciplinary team to crafting a festival strategy that balances reach and resonance, I’ve approached this film as both a creative collaborator and an audience advocate.