SYSTEM REQUIREMENTS:
Minimum: PC Intel i3 or i5 or Ryzen 3, 4 GB RAM, Windows 8.1 (32- or 64-Bit), DirectX11, graphic card with 512 MB RAM, DVD-ROM drive (not required in download version), Windows Media Player and Internet access. Recommended: PC Intel i7, i9 or Ryzen 7/9, 8 GB RAM, Windows 11 or 10 with 64-Bit, Windows Media Player, graphic card with 1 GB RAM, RTX graphic card for real time Raytrace board, DVD-ROM drive and Internet access. For ChessBase ACCOUNT: Internet access and up-to-date browser, e.g. Chrome, Safari. Runs on Windows, OS X, iOS, Android and Linux!
“My mother warming up on the piano. Not the performance. The first five minutes—the wrong notes, the sleepy trills, the coffee cup settling on the lid. That’s the sound of a human becoming an artist.”
“She hears the world in layers,” says director Marcus Chen, who has worked with Tomas on three features. “Most of us hear a street. Nora hears: wind at 15%, distant siren as texture, footstep fabric type—canvas, not leather—and a dog bark two blocks away that we should cut because it’s in the wrong key.” Her breakout came with the 2021 indie thriller Second Floor . The protagonist, a grieving librarian, never speaks for the first 20 minutes. Tomas built the entire emotional arc from creaking floorboards (recorded in her own 1920s apartment), the rustle of cardigan wool, and a single, recurring sound: the soft clack of a ring hitting a wooden desk.
“That ring was her wedding band,” Tomas explains. “The director wanted silence. I said, ‘No—we need the absence of silence.’ So every time she touches the desk, we hear the memory of a marriage.”
“Sound is the last great invisible art,” Tomas says, leaning forward in her Los Angeles studio. A pair of vintage Neumann headphones hang around her neck like a stethoscope. “The audience notices when it’s bad. They rarely notice when it’s great. That’s the goal: to make them feel without knowing why.” Born in Chicago to a classical pianist mother and an engineer father, Tomas was raised on a paradox: absolute musicality and cold, hard physics. “I learned that a ‘C’ note at 261 hertz is a rule,” she recalls. “But the emotion comes from how you bend it.”
After a brief, frustrated stint at a prestigious music conservatory—where she felt composition was too solitary—Tomas fell into film sound almost by accident. A college roommate needed help syncing dialogue for a student short. Within an hour, Tomas had not only fixed the sync but had rebuilt the ambient track using recordings of a campus fountain and a passing freight train.
In a loud world, Nora Rose Tomas is listening for the things that matter. And she wants you to hear them, too. — End of Feature —
Her upcoming project is a sci-fi epic that she can’t discuss in detail. But she offers one clue: “We built a new language. Not words—textures. The aliens don’t speak. They resonate .”
“My mother warming up on the piano. Not the performance. The first five minutes—the wrong notes, the sleepy trills, the coffee cup settling on the lid. That’s the sound of a human becoming an artist.”
“She hears the world in layers,” says director Marcus Chen, who has worked with Tomas on three features. “Most of us hear a street. Nora hears: wind at 15%, distant siren as texture, footstep fabric type—canvas, not leather—and a dog bark two blocks away that we should cut because it’s in the wrong key.” Her breakout came with the 2021 indie thriller Second Floor . The protagonist, a grieving librarian, never speaks for the first 20 minutes. Tomas built the entire emotional arc from creaking floorboards (recorded in her own 1920s apartment), the rustle of cardigan wool, and a single, recurring sound: the soft clack of a ring hitting a wooden desk. nora rose tomas
“That ring was her wedding band,” Tomas explains. “The director wanted silence. I said, ‘No—we need the absence of silence.’ So every time she touches the desk, we hear the memory of a marriage.” “My mother warming up on the piano
“Sound is the last great invisible art,” Tomas says, leaning forward in her Los Angeles studio. A pair of vintage Neumann headphones hang around her neck like a stethoscope. “The audience notices when it’s bad. They rarely notice when it’s great. That’s the goal: to make them feel without knowing why.” Born in Chicago to a classical pianist mother and an engineer father, Tomas was raised on a paradox: absolute musicality and cold, hard physics. “I learned that a ‘C’ note at 261 hertz is a rule,” she recalls. “But the emotion comes from how you bend it.” That’s the sound of a human becoming an artist
After a brief, frustrated stint at a prestigious music conservatory—where she felt composition was too solitary—Tomas fell into film sound almost by accident. A college roommate needed help syncing dialogue for a student short. Within an hour, Tomas had not only fixed the sync but had rebuilt the ambient track using recordings of a campus fountain and a passing freight train.
In a loud world, Nora Rose Tomas is listening for the things that matter. And she wants you to hear them, too. — End of Feature —
Her upcoming project is a sci-fi epic that she can’t discuss in detail. But she offers one clue: “We built a new language. Not words—textures. The aliens don’t speak. They resonate .”
