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At 17, Emmy Ren wasn’t mapping out a global cinematography career. She was just trying to secure an education.
A full scholarship to study Cinematic Arts at MMU came at a time when her family couldn’t financially support her anymore. There was also an audition offer to study piano performance, but she missed it.
“It felt like the choice was made for me,” she says now, having just turned 31. “And somehow at that age I knew to trust my instincts and go with the flow.”
That instinct has taken her further than she could’ve imagined.
From being a simple Klang girl to becoming the first Malaysian woman to study cinematography at the National Film and Television School (NFTS) in London, and the first Malaysian ever nominated for the British Society of Cinematographers (BSC) Short Film Award for the animated short Tethered, which was also longlisted for the British Academy Film Awards (BAFTA) student award in the U.S.
Not bad for someone who just followed her gut.
But Emmy’s story isn’t just about being “the first”. It’s about what it took for her to get there, and why she had to leave in the first place.
The anomaly at 22
Emmy didn’t exactly take the conventional route up the ladder.
Her experimental graduation film, Manifesting the End (for the Love of My Life), gave her a distinct visual voice early on. By 22, she was already a cinematographer.
“I never really had to climb the ladder,” she says. “It was a total anomaly to be working in that position at 22.”
But being the anomaly comes with pressure.
I had to constantly prove that I was worthy of even occupying space in the industry. There was virtually no margin for error.
At the time, there were only two other women cinematographers in Malaysia.
“At first, it didn’t register. My love for cinematography felt entirely pure,” she says. “It always felt less like a choice and more like something that had chosen me.”
But the difference became obvious quickly.
What I longed for most was connection, community, and a sense of safety. All I wanted was simply to be a cinematographer.
She had never worked with any female camera assistants or electricians on her team until she moved to England.
“The obstacles felt disproportionately heavy,” she says. “The challenges were so great that I was hungry for a bigger prize at the end.”
That hunger would eventually take her to London.
At 27, she moved to the UK to pursue her Master’s at NFTS — whose alumni include Oscar-winning cinematographer Roger Deakins and director Lynne Ramsay.
“Immigration is expensive and stressful,” she says plainly. “There’s a lot of guessing and waiting.”
And despite what your IG reels might suggest, filmmaking abroad isn’t automatically glamorous.
“Less than 10% of the industry in the UK is working class,” she points out. “There is so little about filmmaking that is glamorous because the less privileged have to fight so hard to survive.”
Leaving Malaysia didn’t feel dramatic. “It felt inevitable and organic. I wanted to honour my curiosity and fully entertain my big ‘what if’.”
What London gave her was something surprisingly simple: neutrality.
At NFTS, she felt both seen and invisible, but in the best way.
“Equal opportunity with no prejudice, and no extra attention,” she says. “For the first time, people didn’t focus so much on who I was, but what kind of work I could do.”
My craft was always acknowledged. I could just focus on improving.
Studying in Europe didn’t make her romanticise the West or suddenly see Southeast Asia differently.
“Not at all,” she says. “I’ve always seen the beauty and authenticity in Southeast Asia.”
Ask her about lighting here versus in the UK and she lights up (no pun intended).
“In Southeast Asia, we’re either working with the sun or fighting it,” she says. “I often let the highlights sit dangerously high. There’s so much character in a sweaty squint.”
Softening the sunlight too much, she adds, makes people look “too perfect”. And perfection is never the point.
In the UK, she’s learned to observe seasons, recreate subtle shifts in grey skies, and appreciate how obsessively well crews weatherproof equipment. But she’s never felt pressure to “explain” herself visually as a Southeast Asian cinematographer.
“I actually find it a joy to compare notes,” she says. “Being able to share techniques I’ve learned in Asia often becomes a point of connection.”
As for the stereotype that there’s a specific way to light “Asian skin tones”?
“I genuinely don’t know what people are referring to.”
A BSC nomination — and what it really means
Her BSC nomination for Tethered, a stop-motion animation, might sound like a career milestone (and it is), but Emmy talks about it in terms of process rather than prestige.
“The principles are the same,” she says about shooting animation versus live-action. “Just applied on a much smaller scale.”
It took eight months to finesse the lighting frame by frame.
“The details become far more precise. You need significantly more time to make it feel right.”
For her, light has always been more than technical execution.
“I think of light as the context for an inevitable event,” she says.
The lighting in a restaurant can determine whether two people fall in love over the course of a meal.
Why do so many Malaysian creatives seem to find momentum abroad?
“I think it depends on context,” she says carefully. “Malaysia is a very young country. Building a healthy ecosystem is a matter of intention and long-term investment.”
Art hasn’t been seamlessly integrated into education. Wage regulations aren’t strongly enforced. Sustainable support systems are still forming.
“A realistic change would be enforcing recommended wages,” she says. “That would create a fairer, more stable working environment.”
And for Malaysian women in film?
“We need a cultural shift.”
The absence of women in technical roles should feel shocking, not normal.
Safety on set, mentorship, trainee positions, they all matter.
For Emmy, making a change doesn’t necessarily mean physically relocating back tomorrow.
“I’d like to grow roots everywhere,” she says. “Impact doesn’t have to be tied to geography.”
Motion over success
Despite the “first Malaysian” titles attached to her name, Emmy doesn’t obsess over success.
“I’m after motion and momentum,” she says. “And I’d love to have the people I love with me for the ride.”
If there’s advice for young Malaysian filmmakers thinking about leaving, it’s this:
“Nothing gets easier. You just get stronger.”
From Klang to London, Emmy Ren didn’t leave to escape. She left to expand. And in doing so, she’s quietly proving that Malaysian talent doesn’t need to shrink itself to fit anywhere — it just needs space to grow.
You can follow Emmy’s journey on her Instagram: @emmy.ren.
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Meet Emmy Ren: The Klang Girl Behind The Camera Making Her Mark In London
Entertainment Flash Report
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