A conversation with DP Tøn Souza
Tøn Souza found his way into cinematography through music. Travels across South America helped shape his documentary instincts, grounding his work in authentic, character-driven imagery. Over the past decade, he has shot across fashion, advertising, documentary series, and music videos, collaborating with brands such as Banco do Brasil, Nubank, Porsche, Adidas Brazil, and Uber.
Long Story Short, Season 2 follows Renato Moicano in an intimate, observational portrait that explores the mindset, discipline, and contradictions of life inside elite MMA. Watch now on YouTube, and a Paramount+ release is coming soon.
This season has a darker, more immersive look, with many night scenes and real locations. What visual ideas did you have in mind, and how did these places influence the series' visual style?
In my work, cinematography always serves the narrative. It's the first thing I consider, never just an aesthetic choice. Long Story Short tells the stories of UFC fighters, men and women, forged in precariousness, improvisation, and silence. Their lives don't exist in full light or total darkness. They unfold in between. From the beginning, my visual idea was to live in this transitional space, the moment when day isn't entirely day and night isn't entirely night. This transitional light became a metaphor for the fighters' lives: They don't live only in the darkness of defeat nor only in the brilliance of victory; their stories unfold in the in-between.
When Nikolas Fonseca (Director) invited me for the second season, this concept became even clearer. The photography wasn't intended to illustrate the story but to translate a human condition. Light and shadow aren't just visual decisions, they're emotional choices. The locations were fundamental to this approach, I treat each space as an additional character. When I arrive at the places where a fighter was born, trained, or lives today, I always ask myself how that environment can add another narrative layer.
Photography isn't there to decorate the story, but to translate a human condition, allowing each location to shape the mood, the light, and the emotional depth of the image.
Your camera often feels very close to the fighters, especially during training and quiet moments. How do you build trust with them while still keeping the images cinematic?
Building trust is a shared responsibility between directing and cinematography. From the start, we are very transparent with the fighters about our intentions and the kind of story we want to tell. That trust is not instant; it is built day by day, through presence and respect. On a personal level, I genuinely connect with their stories, and I believe that empathy becomes visible in the images. Documentary cinematography is not just about framing. It is about understanding emotional boundaries. I approach each fighter intuitively, sensing how close I can get and adjusting in real time. The choice to remain physically close is also a narrative one. Proximity brings materiality: scars, sweat, tattoos, breath, and silence. These details transform something epic into something intimate. In quieter moments, the camera becomes almost an extension of the body, discreet and breathing with the character. In that space, proximity does not invade; it invites the audience into the fighter’s inner world.
You often filmed moments as they happened, with very little lighting or interruption. Was that choice important for the story, and what challenges did it create?
Allowing moments to unfold naturally is essential to the truth of this series. Interrupting less means listening more. It means accepting imperfection, unpredictability, and emotional risk.
The challenge is both technical and emotional. On a technical level, you need to trust your tools. This season, we used two KOMODOs and one V-RAPTOR X, which gave us strong dynamic range, solid low light performance, and the versatility of a small, agile camera body. It was exactly what the project demanded.
On an emotional level, you have to trust your instincts and the story itself. There is no time to control everything, and that lack of control is precisely what gives the images their honesty.
The fighters move fast and the spaces are tight. How did you approach camera movement and positioning to stay safe and capture the action clearly?
For confined spaces, I chose to film almost entirely handheld, using KOMODOs cameras mounted on a CineSaddle. From a technical standpoint, their compact size, lightweight construction, and global shutter allowed for more honest and immersive movement, without distortion. This setup gave us mobility and fluidity, enabling us to move through very restricted environments without losing intimacy. I did not want the camera to observe from the outside. I wanted it to experience the moment. The camera becomes a witness, almost a companion. That presence creates a visceral connection, allowing the audience to feel the fighter’s breath, tension, and instability. In calmer moments, the movement is subtle and alive. In moments of chaos, the camera vibrates, trembles, and carries rhythm, so the viewer physically experiences the intensity of the situation. In addition, I have followed MMA for over ten years and practiced Muay Thai for a period of my life. That experience helps me understand physical limits, knowing when I can stay close and when it is time to step back.
You’ve worked on Long Story Short since the beginning. How has your way of shooting the series changed from the first season to this new one?
I would not say my approach changed. It matured.
The core principles remained the same: handheld cameras, lightweight setups, global shutter, and a strong focus on natural light conditions that serve the narrative. What changed was precision. In the second season, decisions became more intuitive and confident. I knew when to simplify, when to wait, and when to let the image breathe.
Now that the season is finished, what advice or lessons would you share with filmmakers trying to tell stories like this—and was there anything in post-production that really helped the final result?
When working with a small team, technical choices need to be perfectly aligned with the project’s creative philosophy. For Long Story Short, this meant choosing a compact, lightweight camera with a realistic texture, capable of operating entirely handheld, especially in low-light conditions and RED delivered exactly what the project needed.
From a post-production standpoint, working with Felipe Busteli, the series' senior colorist, what truly contributed to the final result was treating color not as a corrective tool, but as a narrative extension of the cinematography. When the director of photography and the colorist are part of the creative conversation from the beginning, post-production stops being a safety net and becomes a narrative tool.
The choices of lighting, exposure, and contrast created a solid foundation. The work in color was about respecting and enhancing those decisions, refining mood, rhythm, and emotional continuity without compromising realism. We were pleasantly surprised by the strength of the R3D files straight out of the camera. The footage already carried the aesthetic we were looking for, with plenty of room to refine it without forcing anything. That flexibility made the final result feel honest and cohesive.
But the biggest lesson wasn't technical, it was personal. When telling powerful, intimate stories, you need to deeply respect them. Understanding the people behind the images changes how you film, and that sensitivity becomes visible and authentic on screen.
Special thanks to Tøn Souza for taking the time to speak with RED and share his approach to Long Story Short, Season 2. Follow to see more of his work.