23/09/2026 - The Brazilian filmmaker focuses on Fukushima to probe an invisible, planetary catastrophe in a sensorial documentary where sound, time and images resonate with one another

Shot over ten years, Hanabi by Ana Vaz takes Fukushima as a starting point to reflect on a state of catastrophe which has become planetary. Following the Special Mention the Paris-based Brazilian filmmaker scooped in the Filmmakers of the Present section of the Locarno Film Festival, we met Vaz on the occasion of the 6th Villa Medici Film Festival (running 16-20 September in Rome), in which she was participating. The film is an adaptation of Yoko Hayasuke’s book, Journal of a Radioactive Brain.

Cineuropa: Hanabi, as you say, isn’t a film about Japan: it uses Japan as a basis for broader reflection. Why did you choose that country as your starting point?
Ana Vaz: We start by focusing on Fukushima before widening the conversation to a state of permanent catastrophe which, unfortunately, is now planetary. Radioactive pollution knows no bounds, much like water, land or air pollution, or that of our bodies. Japan is a key country for reflecting on what the 20th century was: it was the victim of the greatest weapon of mass destruction developed at the dawn of the century, and then it developed a second “utopia” which, to my eyes, is totally insane: the so-called peaceful use of nuclear energy to produce electricity. The film opens itself up to the elements, to waters, to territories, to animals, to all the beings that are part of our lives, with human beings remaining central to the narrative. I also wanted to treat this space like a living territory rather than a national territory, where historical and spectral forces - and forces of invisible contamination - are everywhere.

The film’s sound work is particularly important in making something invisible and odourless perceptible.
It was curious, for me, to think that we were going to make a film about something that leaves no trace. The whole tradition of the image, founded on a notion of truth – “I go, I see the disaster” – is impossible in this instance, because there’s nothing to see. You could close your eyes and simply listen to the film from beginning to end. At no point do we listen to radiation, because it’s impossible, but we listen to all those electric frequencies that are present in the cities we live in. In parallel with these raw sounds, we have a score that accompanies the entire film, inspired by Shinto music, based notably on the principle of dissonance between notes. If you hold a note for a very long time, it begins to create dissonance. This notion was key to the edit and to thinking about the question at the heart of the film: destruction. Dissonance as a form of resistance.

This is the first film you haven’t edited yourself. What did you discover when you stepped back from your own footage?
It was one of the most overwhelming experiences I’ve had as a filmmaker. I’d always shot and edited myself, because there was something instinctive about it. But with Hanabi, I was facing a monster far too unwieldy to have any perspective on it, because I was too deep inside of it. Chaghig Arzoumanian, a great Lebanese editor and director, spent a few days with me, listening. At one point, she said to me: “You can leave. Come back in ten days”. Learning to let go was dizzying, but it was also a beautiful experience. I came back ten days later and by drawing on everything available to her – Yoko’s diary, the stories I’d told her, the recorded sounds – she’d found the form I’d dreamed of for the film. She said to me: “Don’t you trust your images? It’s all in there”. I think the strength of a true editor is knowing how to listen to the material.

You have a sunset sequence which lasts seven minutes. At a time when images are coming thick and fast, is this an invitation to reclaim time and look at what’s around us?
It seemed essential to me that the film carry a political manifesto about the notion of time. These days, everything is designed to be consumed quickly, without any real digestion. This almost dizzying aspect, which makes you lose all your bearings, contributes to the proliferation of capitalism. The very essence of capitalism is being disoriented in relation to what’s most essential to life on Earth. From the outset, Hanabi is a film which doesn’t look to be a consumable object. It never says: “Now I’m going to please you”. It’s a scene that invites us to experience time physically and to enter into a participatory relationship with the film, because it’s a film that asks you to get involved.

(Translated from French)