LOGLINE

Japanese immigrant Kenji Shimizu & U.S. veteran Blake Robertshaw embark on a poignant journey across continents to document untold stories of WWII internment camp survivors.

SYNOPSIS

Silenced searches for WWII internment camp survivors in the U.S. & Japan as they reckon with a lifetime of silence. Some have waited decades to speak. Others aren’t sure they ever will. Through intimate, observational storytelling, the film captures not only the weight of memory, but the spaces between words—the pauses, the breath, the ache of what goes unspoken.

ARTISTIC STATEMENT

Kenji Shimizu lifts his camera. Morning light spills across an elder’s hands, resting on a photo long faded by sun and memory. They sit in silence. In that silence, a history stirs—unwritten, unspoken, but never gone. Most internment films lean heavily on archival footage, official narration, the safety of distance. Ours unfolds in the now. No voiceovers. No experts. Just survivors, in their homes, in their time, in their language. The camera does not explain. It listens. The film lives in translation. Conversations shift fluidly between Japanese and English. Subtitles move both ways—never dominant, never secondary. Meaning travels in both directions, crossing oceans, generations, and silence. Two languages. Two countries. Two cultures shaped by erasure. The film lives in the space between them. Cinematography is handheld and intimate—close enough to breathe, never close enough to control. Light is natural: the soft wash of sunrise on tatami mats, the golden hush of Oregon dusk. Harsh lighting is avoided. These stories deserve warmth, not interrogation. Sound follows the same ethic: cicadas in a Kyoto summer, a screen door creaking open in Ontario. Memory lives in small sounds. Kenji draws visual inspiration from The Last of Us—not for its dystopia, but for its quiet reverence toward survival. That same restraint carries through our frames. A rusted internment fence today holds yesterday’s fear. A child’s drawing, tucked in a drawer for 80 years, becomes an artifact of grief. Time folds in on itself—past and present in a single breath. Landscapes hold emotional weight. Oregon’s cracked deserts stretch wide and empty, haunted by absence. Japan’s terrain shifts—lush mountains, crowded cities, pockets of stillness. Drone shots are used sparingly: to evoke scale, to remind us how small a body can feel where history tried to erase it. We follow four survivors—two in Japan, two in the U.S.—as they wrestle with whether to remember aloud. In the U.S., some return to the sites of their incarceration. In Japan, the search is quieter. There, shame wraps around memory like thread. To speak may be to betray. Will they allow themselves to be found? We draw from observational and character-driven traditions—The Look of Silence (Oppenheimer), Minding the Gap (Bing Liu), and the meditative restraint of Ozu. The pacing mirrors memory itself: nonlinear, hesitant, circular. Silence is not a void—it is an emotional archive. To preserve cultural integrity, a Japanese post-production team will guide editing, pacing, and tone. This isn’t just translation—it’s aesthetic fluency, essential to honoring both audiences. Not every question will be answered. Not every silence will break. But silence is a kind of testimony. This film exists to listen across distance, across difference, across time.

KEY CREW

Blake Robertshaw - Co-Director

Blake Robertshaw is a documentary photographer and U.S. Coast Guard veteran whose camera has traveled from natural disasters to forgotten corners of American history. Born and raised in Ontario, Oregon—a resettlement site for many formerly incarcerated Japanese Americans—he grew up in a place where memory and silence collided. His own experience with PTSD deepens his understanding of the emotional landscapes the film traverses. As co-director, Blake leads production and outreach with care and precision. His visual work and logistical stewardship ensure a process grounded in trust, and a final film that honors the complexities of resilience, displacement, and remembrance.

Kenji Shimizu - Co-Director

Kenji Shimizu is a Japanese-born filmmaker and photographer based in Oregon whose work centers intimacy, memory, and the visual poetics of silence. With nearly a decade of experience in portraiture, documentary, and commercial photography, Kenji brings a nuanced eye to stories of human connection. He previously directed a WWII oral history project on Japanese and Japanese American experiences, honing his sensitivity to intergenerational trauma and the politics of erasure. As co-director and cinematographer, Kenji’s deeply personal investment in the subject infuses the film with lyrical imagery and a cross-cultural reckoning with buried histories.

Anaïs Webster Mennuti - Producer

Dr. Anaïs Webster Mennuti, PharmD, is a filmmaker, producer, and Docs in Progress Legacy Fellow whose work spans narrative film, advocacy, and impact-driven nonfiction. She combines rigorous production strategy with a deep investment in ethical, artist-centered storytelling. Her background in science and storytelling supports a cross-disciplinary approach to research, distribution, and engagement. Anaïs joined the project to elevate underrepresented histories with care and clarity. As producer, she anchors the film’s vision while ensuring it is resourced, positioned for longevity, and accessible to communities most impacted by the histories it unearths.