The new 20th Century Studios adventure Whalefall drops its hero into the belly of an 80-foot sperm whale, but the real drama unfolded long before cameras rolled. Production designer Ramsey Avery was tasked with turning an anatomical nightmare into a fully functional, emotionally resonant set. To do that, he gathered a small army of artists, engineers, and marine biologists, and set out on a research marathon that spanned continents and disciplines.
First, Avery dove into the science. Early mornings were spent with Dr. Joy Reidenberg, a marine anatomy specialist, reviewing autopsy photographs and live footage taken from the throats of smaller cetaceans. These visual references helped him imagine how a living whale’s stomach would look when filled with liquid, muscle, and the occasional swirl of bioluminescence. The goal was not merely visual accuracy; the interior had to become a character that could convey fear, claustrophobia, and hope as the story progressed.
From Concept to Concrete: Building the Physical Stomach
Armed with anatomical sketches, Avery began shaping the set from the ground up. The core material turned out to be upholstery foam layered to a thickness of two to three inches depending on the intended tension. Over the foam, multiple sheets of translucent silicone were applied, dyed with various pigments to achieve the viscous, pink-red hues seen on screen. The exterior received a heavy-duty canvas skin, glued for rigidity but still pliable enough to ripple with water movement. This combination gave the stomach a tactile, almost organic quality that could survive six weeks of water, stunt work, and relentless camera rigs.
Five distinct stomach modules were ultimately fabricated, each designed for a specific visual or kinetic purpose. Some were shipped from Weta Workshops in New Zealand to Los Angeles, while others—such as the massive whale head and throat—were constructed locally at Radford Studios because their size made overseas transport impractical. The largest piece measured 30 feet wide, allowing a full-size animatronic whale head with a moving tongue to be mounted on a rail system that could simulate the animal’s forward thrust.
Motion, Rigs, and the Hunt for the Perfect Shot
The set needed to do more than look alive; it had to move in sync with the narrative. Avery experimented with four separate rigging systems. A giant gimbal provided the sweeping arcs that mimicked a whale surfacing or diving, while a washing-machine-style rig produced rapid spins for moments of disorientation. A third, more delicate rig allowed for subtle shivers—tiny tremors that made the interior feel like a living organ reacting to the protagonist’s panic. Each stomach module could be struck from the outside with plywood or pool- noodle contraptions to generate additional tension, translating the actor’s dread into physical vibration.
Lighting presented its own puzzle. Hundreds of LED strips were hidden within the set, but because the stomach would constantly shift, standard static lighting rigs could not stay aligned. The solution involved a modular lighting grid that could be re-positioned in real time, ensuring the actor’s face stayed illuminated while preserving the murky, organic ambience of the whale’s interior.
Digital Augmentation and the Custom Infrared Scanner
Even with the most elaborate practical effects, the ever-changing set demanded a digital counterpart. Production VFX supervisor Guillaume Rocheron joined early camera tests to devise a way to capture the set’s geometry as it moved. The breakthrough came in the form of an infrared binocular camera that paired with the main lenses, delivering a continuous 3-D scan of the environment. Rocheron essentially invented the camera for this purpose, writing custom code that translated motion-capture data into Weta’s visual-effects pipeline.
With a live digital twin, the team could replace unwanted boom mics, augment the bioluminescent drips, and enhance the viscous “bile” with subtle particle simulations. They even sprayed the set with carbonated beverages under black light to create authentic glowing droplets, then mapped that texture onto the digital model. The result was a seamless blend where the audience could not distinguish between silicone and CGI, preserving the set’s tactile authenticity while expanding its visual range.
Collaboration Across Oceans: Turning Vision into Reality
The undertaking required constant dialogue between departments spread across two continents. While the practical builds were coordinated in Los Angeles, Weta’s digital artists in New Zealand supplied iterative feedback on mesh fidelity and lighting consistency. Avery describes the process as a series of “guinea-pig” experiments: the production designer, Weta engineers, and the cinematographer Aaron Morton would all step inside the stomach, test camera placements, and tweak rig speeds on the fly. This collaborative spirit turned a seemingly impossible challenge—building a creature’s gut that could be filmed, lit, and moved—into a triumph of modern filmmaking.
All of these efforts culminate in the film’s most intense sequence, where Austin Abrams’ character fights for oxygen inside a claustrophobic chamber that feels both alive and hostile. By treating the stomach as a character, the filmmakers give the audience a visceral sense of the protagonist’s psychological state, proving that practical design and cutting-edge tech can coexist to serve story.
