In today’s wave of short-form storytelling, where screens shrink but stories still seek depth, Chinese-born, Los Angeles-based cinematographer Hao (Hunter) Deng brings a distinctive visual poetry to the frame.

His work moves fluidly between narrative and emotion, structure and spontaneity—carving out a cinematic language that feels both intimate and expansive. With roots in experimental film and a growing portfolio across North American dramas and vertical formats, Hunter is quietly reshaping how we experience story through light, rhythm, and frame.

What first drew you to cinematography over other visual mediums?

I’ve always felt that cinematography is the most tactile and intimate part of filmmaking. It’s about physically building a world, frame by frame. When I first encountered video art in Beijing, and later at CalArts, I began to understand image as more than just a tool for narrative. It became a way to translate feeling—something visceral. That pushed me toward using lighting, movement, and composition as my main language. I’m interested in stories told not just through dialogue, but through atmosphere and instinct.

How has your background in experimental film shaped your current practice?

It trained me to be sensitive to image as a field of emotion. In my earlier work, I often relied on rhythm, shadow, and blur to construct what I now think of as “emotional space.” That influence continues—especially in how I approach character point of view. For instance, I like to use motion blur or overexposure to evoke disorientation, or natural light to ground a scene in authenticity. I often treat the camera as an extension of a character’s emotional state, rather than just a device for continuity.

How has living and working in Los Angeles influenced your visual approach?

LA changed the scale of how I see things. There’s a huge range of production here—from independent art films to commercial vertical dramas—and each one demands a different level of precision and adaptability. I’ve learned to be both conceptual and efficient. The natural light in LA is also incredibly cinematic; it has texture and mood even at street level. At the same time, being an international filmmaker makes me more attuned to how cultural context shapes image—how a frame can carry different meanings to different audiences. That awareness has deepened my sensitivity to visual storytelling.

The Fox Magazine is all about inspiration, where do you usually find inspiration for your work?

A lot comes from internal images—things I’ve imagined since childhood, even when I close my eyes. I’ve always had a strong sense of visual memory and projection. But I also draw from external sources: paintings, photo books, music. Sometimes a single color palette or a certain song will spark a whole sequence. I’m drawn to the light just before sunset, to reflections on wet pavement, to the condensation on a window. Those fleeting images are usually the beginning of a mood I want to capture. I also spend time analyzing reference films on ShotDeck and watching international cinema, trying to understand how others use visual language to convey feeling. And in school, I had incredible mentors who helped me bridge emotion with execution—something I now carry into every project.

Who are some filmmakers or visual artists who have influenced your style?

Kurosawa was one of my earliest influences. His precision with blocking and camera movement taught me to respect the structure of a shot. Then there’s Wong Kar-wai and Christopher Doyle, whose ability to express emotion through light and motion really shaped my approach. I was drawn to the ambiguity in their imagery—the slow pans, the shadows, the lingering stillness. Tarkovsky’s work changed my sense of time; his idea of “sculpting in time” gave me permission to slow down and let a moment breathe. Godard and Varda opened my eyes to perspective—the image as attitude, not just technique. And Chloé Zhao’s way of maintaining honesty within stylized settings continues to inspire me, especially as I navigate the balance between aesthetic and accessibility in short-form work.

How do you approach emotional depth in short dramas or mobile-first storytelling?

You have very limited time in short dramas, so everything must be distilled. I often begin with the question: whose emotional gaze are we in? Is this the character’s inner view, or how they’re being perceived? That defines camera position, lighting, and framing. I look for micro-moments—eye movements, stillness in posture, the space between characters. A single drop of sweat or a momentary pause can hold as much emotional tension as a full dialogue scene. It’s all about precision, rhythm, and restraint.

Lighting plays a big role in your visual language. How do you approach it narratively?

I generally toggle between two modes. For traditional film work, I use lighting to shape emotional and psychological space. I’ll adjust contrast, quality, and color to build a character’s inner world. For instance, under duress, I might use hard side-lighting with deep shadows to reflect tension.

In mobile-first short-form work, the approach shifts slightly. You have to ensure the image is readable on smaller devices—so I’ll use softer light, balanced contrast, and always preserve clarity, especially for lead performers. That said, I still prioritize cinematic quality. In action or suspense scenes, I’ll heighten contrast and directional light to drive momentum. I believe short content can still carry the complexity of film, just with tighter execution.

What advice would you give to young cinematographers starting out?

First, master your fundamentals—lighting, exposure, lensing, color theory. These are your tools under pressure. Second, develop emotional sensitivity. A good DP isn’t just technical; they must also listen deeply—to the director, the actors, and the mood of the story. Third, don’t be afraid to experiment and fail. I’m still trying new approaches every shoot. The instinct you need doesn’t come from theory—it’s built through repetition and risk. Lastly, remember: the best images don’t shout. They whisper something true.

Visit Hao’s website for more!