We met director Kohei Igarashi in San Sebastian, whose Super Happy Forever offers a subtle exploration of love, grief, and time.
Five years may seem a brief pause in the larger frame of life, but in Super Happy Forever, this gap becomes a quiet yet profound chasm. This film was screened under the Zabaltegi-Tabakalera section at the 72nd San Sebastian International Film Festival.
Born in Shizuoka, Japan, Kohei Igarashi’s latest feature made its debut at the Giornate degli Autori in Venice. The film carries forward his signature meditative style, offering a cinematic experience that lingers long after the final frame.
Set in a sleepy Japanese beach resort, the film gently unfolds as a reverse love story—two parts of one whole separated by time. While much remains unchanged in this seaside setting, grief weighs heavily on the film’s melancholic protagonist, Sano (Hiroki Sano). He clings to the hope that time, like a hotel’s lost-and-found desk, might restore what has been lost. But time, cruel and constant, only heightens the absence. This absence reverberates through Kohei Igarashi’s film, making the familiar setting of Izu feel like a place suspended in memories.
Sano’s return to the resort with his friend Miyata marks a symbolic journey back to where he first met his late wife, Nagi (Nairu Yamamoto). Through the film’s sparse narrative and delicate atmosphere, Igarashi creates a poignant reflection on love and loss. The film doesn’t rush through its story. Instead, it lingers, allowing the audience to feel the weight of time passing, of love fading, of memories persisting.
“I wanted to make something simple,” Igarashi says. “Something that echoes the classics of Japanese and European cinema but still feels current.” Instead of speeding through events, the film offers space for reflection, for quiet moments to breathe. “I’m more interested in the temporality of film,” Igarashi explains. “The slow pace and stillness allow for the subtle shifts that happen in life, the kind you might not notice until you look back.”
The film’s visuals and use of sound also play a critical role in shaping its atmosphere. Though shot entirely in Japan, the post-production was handled in France, an intentional choice that lends the film a distinctive “openness.” “There’s a width and lightness to the aesthetic that feels very non-domestic,” Igarashi reflects. This international collaboration adds layers to the film’s universal themes of love, memory, and grief.
At the heart of Super Happy Forever is a profound stillness. “It’s a quiet film, but not an empty one. Every shot, every interaction carries weight. The moments Igarashi depicts—like the loss of a phone at sea, which he says was inspired by a real-life incident—are small, almost mundane. Yet, they are imbued with a lingering significance. “Some incidents may seem negative at first, but they bring back memories,” he says, highlighting how these ordinary moments can become symbols of something much larger, something emotional and enduring.
In constructing a story that delicately balances the past and present, Igarashi explores the fluid relationship between memory and presence. “When I die, my body will disappear, but my presence will continue,” he muses. This thought—of physical presence fading but memories and love persisting—runs like a current through the film. It’s less about offering answers and more about expressing a deeply personal perspective on life, love, and death.
The locations Igarashi chose for the film—particularly the old hotel in Izu—further underscore this theme of persistence and change. “Izu and Atami used to be bustling tourist destinations when I was a kid in the ‘80s,” he recalls. “Now, they’re quieter, but the atmosphere of the past still lingers.” That sense of lingering, of a place holding onto its history even as it empties out, mirrors the emotional journey of Sano, who is caught between the weight of memory and the reality of absence.
The film’s structure reflects this delicate interplay. The first part of the film feels heavy, clouded by the grief that surrounds Sano. But as the story rewinds to the moment when Nagi and Sano first met, the mood shifts. Love blossoms, bringing a sense of freshness and lightness to the screen. And yet, in the final part, Igarashi reintroduces the complexity of grief, as the narrative confronts the inescapability of death.
As Igarashi reflects on the process of filmmaking, he speaks of the role of coincidence in his work. “I discovered that my filmmaking is the result of a lot of coincidences,” he says. Whether it’s a passerby entering a shot unexpectedly or the weather aligning just right, these moments of serendipity shape his films in ways that cannot be planned. “I accepted those coincidences, and this is what I have presented.”
We are delighted to be reporting live from the 72nd San Sebastian International Film Festival, running on September 20-28, 2024 in Spain.
