In a bleak, troubled small fishing village where options are limited and hope is in equally short supply, a young man neglected by his parents and seeking comfort wherever he can looks for solace with his neighbour, but in doing so takes an irreversible step onto a path that will determine his future. A story of shady business and tall tales, which may or may not hold dark truths, Jeroen Kooistra’s debut short Triton speaks to the deep-seated need we have to belong and how attempting to fill such a void can lead us to ignore our better judgement. Born from piano lesson conversations with DOP Jasper de Kloet that evolved into fervent creative brainstorming and a desire to “just make something”, Kooistra’s haunting film is steeped in the salt-tinged air of its rugged location, a desolate sense of place which is as much heard as it is seen. Accompanying today’s premiere on Directors Notes, we sat down with Kooistra to explore the journey of creating Triton’s foreboding atmosphere, the collaborative process of developing its rich visual and sound design, and the resonant symbolism of its final scene.
Where did the seeds of this pitch black tale come from and how did the film develop from there?
It all started when Jasper de Kloet, the DOP of the short, came over for piano lessons. Between practicing chords and working through exercises, we’d end up talking about films — stories we loved, shots that stuck with us, and this shared itch to create something of our own. It was during one of those chats that Jasper said, “We should just make something.” His energy was infectious. That one sentence planted the seed. I hadn’t written anything in a while, but his enthusiasm pulled me in. I started sketching out scenes — standalone moments, fragments of ideas. At first, there wasn’t really a world yet, just snapshots. Characters in search of a setting. But as I kept writing, I realized I was circling around something familiar.
That something turned out to be IJmuiden. IJmuiden is a gritty fishing town near Amsterdam, a place I’ve known since I was a kid. I used to visit often and was always struck by its rawness — the docks, the harsh North Sea wind, the people who live and work there. There’s a certain poetry in its toughness. And suddenly, I knew that this was where Triton needed to live. The setting clicked, and so did the story. At that point, I brought in Emile Almekinders to help shape the script. Emile has a great instinct for structure and dialogue, and together we began weaving those earlier fragments into a coherent whole.
The setting didn’t just frame the relationship: it carved into it, exposing deeper layers of silence, and struggle.
Meanwhile, Jasper and I were diving deeper into the visual world of the film — talking references, light, texture, mood. He brought this relentless drive and cinematic eye that elevated the project in every way. It wasn’t just a collaboration — it was a creative partnership that really fueled the process. Once we had a first version of the script and a clear lookbook, we approached Coen van Berkel at SODA Films. Coen immediately saw the potential and came on board as producer. That’s when things started to move fast. With Coen in our corner, the project picked up momentum, and Triton began to take on a life of its own. What started as a side conversation during music lessons slowly grew into something much bigger — a short film grounded in place, character, and collaboration. I’m proud of what we created together.
Your film touches on a variety of motifs and emotions. How did you and co-writer Emile craft those fragments into this cohesive whole, which touches on themes surrounding displacement and rurality? Were there any promising ideas which had to be jettisoned to best serve the film?
I’ve always been drawn to the theme of the father-son relationship and how it functions. What a father is meant to be for his son, and to what extent that role needs to be actively shaped and defined. This comes from my own experience, but also from what I’ve observed around me. For this film, we placed that dynamic under a magnifying glass. Every supporting character, in some way, reflects aspects of this theme as it plays out in real life. When a father is in some ways absent, you start seeking guidance, and love/distraction from those around you. That emotional vacuum shapes who you want and will become.
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IJmuiden, the small fishing town setting of Triton, feels absolutely key. How did the gritty fishing town setting inform the nature of your characters and the situation we see them in?
It began as a straightforward story about a father and son, but that felt too flat. But the world in Ijmuiden, in this case of fishermen, harsh and weathered, cast a new light on the narrative. The setting didn’t just frame the relationship: it carved into it, exposing deeper layers of silence and struggle.
What references did you and DOP Jasper de Kloet draw from for the visual world of Triton and how did that inform your choice of gear?
At first, we started with a broad palette. But as the script evolved, so did the visual world, gradually sharpening its focus. We wanted the audience’s attention to rest primarily on Jacobus and the world he moves through. Everything around him feels unfamiliar, and because of that, intense.
Jasper de Kloet – DOP: For Triton, I was chasing a bit of that ’80s feeling, something with texture, mood, and a bit of nostalgia, but still clean. I shot on the ARRI Alexa Mini with a set of rehoused Leica-R lenses. The Alexa mini is my go-to for jobs like this. It’s compact and easy to rig. Other than that, it gives me the best colors after my first choice, celluloid. The Leica-R lenses are not overly sharp, which I like. There’s a warmth and softness to them that helped take the digital edge off and made the whole image feel a bit more lived-in. This setup gave us the look we needed without spending a ton on celluloid.
Watching this trio, you can feel that their stories extend far beyond this interaction. How much backstory did you provide to your actors?
We had a few rehearsals, and I believe there was a fitting right away as well, which immediately gave a sense of the world they inhabited. During rehearsals, I noticed that they worked well together, both in terms of acting and communication. There wasn’t a very elaborate backstory; it felt more like a snapshot, a moment they fully immersed themselves in. Of course, there was some context, but not an excessive amount.
The scene in the car where we hear the story of Triton really builds tension and adds a folktalesque atmosphere. What inspired it? Can you tell us about staging that scene both within the confines of the car and also within the edit as you incorporated the rainy theft sequence and punctuating stills?
I wanted to create a scene in which something is revealed that could be interpreted as either fake or manipulative. The underlying idea is: Am I sitting in a car with the murderers of my father? Have I aligned myself with the wrong people? Or are they just messing with me? It’s a moment that fits Jacobus perfectly, because he’s a young guy, easily influenced and taken advantage of. In that moment, he loses his grip on reality; he no longer knows who he is, what side he’s on, or what he should do.
I wanted to create a scene in which something is revealed that could be interpreted as either fake or manipulative.
For that scene, we had conversations with the actors about their roles and intentions. Jasper Stoop plays the angry cousin of Doris (Momo Samwel) who comes across as kind-hearted but is still part of the same corrupt family. She’s torn between two worlds. And we explained to Roman Derwig, who plays Jacobus, exactly what his character is going through at that point. Because we wanted it to feel like either a nightmare or reality, we chose to grade that part in black and white. And since, at that point in the story, it could still be perceived as a nightmare, I thought it would be cool to visualize it that way. For example, with the rifles. It gives it an almost comic book-like quality, which enhances the nightmare atmosphere.
The soundtrack plays a significant role here and cements the tone of the on screen action. What was your process for developing both the film’s score and the bleak weather-worn sound design?
Jasper de Kloet had already worked with Max Gramser from THNDR before. We visited them to introduce ourselves and discuss the script and treatment. Max immediately started brainstorming and creating ideas to show us what he had in mind. It resonated with us right away, and I became really excited. As a result, we ended up creating music for another short film together.
When Triton was filmed, they handled all the music and sound design. We spent several months working on it, back and forth. I visited often to listen to new versions, and we gradually got closer to the perfect balance. Something that wouldn’t be too epic, but still conveyed the message. In the end, we arrived at something that really captured the essence of the film.
Yes, it’s a dark path, but it is the path. You have to keep going, even if it means heading in the wrong direction.
The final scene is powerfully daunting. It feels loaded with symbolism and the start of a much darker path for Jacobus.
It felt like a kind of surrender. A moment in which Jacobus realizes there’s no turning back, and that he has to accept this is the life he’s going to live, even if it weighs heavily on him. I find the theme of a lack of guidance, and as a result, slipping into another world without fully understanding what you’re stepping into really compelling. And yes, it’s a dark path, but it is the path. You have to keep going, even if it means heading in the wrong direction.
What can we look forward to from you next?
I’m back to writing! In the meantime, I’m keeping busy with smaller personal projects, music videos, and some commercial work. It’s a nice way to stay creative while figuring out what’s next. Hopefully, I’ll be making a new film in 2025 or 2026. That’s the plan, at least!
