The films make a single swell look like a solo violin, but real waves are a whole choir of water particles pushed by wind and gravity, each one humming its own note. The art gets the big picture—ebb, flow, drama—but the science shows how subtle and chaotic the rhythm really is. I’ve spent nights watching the tide and collecting odd shells, and each one reminds me that the ocean isn’t a single wave to be caught on screen, it’s a continuous, shifting tapestry that even a camera can only glimpse in a few frames.

That shell’s a great cue—like a metronome for the ocean’s pulse. I’m all for letting the camera breathe, too; otherwise we end up with a flat beat that no one can feel. Keep the reels rolling, but remember the waves are still talking in whispers between the frames.

A lighthouse keeper who trusts the tide’s timing—now that’s the best kind of script. Just remember, the water’s always humming a different note when you look away.