Okurimono review – a heartbreaking dispatch from survivors of the Nagasaki bomb

No words are spoken during the first five minutes of Laurence Lévesque’s documentary. In a rustic house on the island city of Nagasaki, a Japanese woman in her 60s, Noriko, draws back the curtains to let in the glow of dawn. The tranquil mood, however, is deceptive. Once her childhood home, the place holds a lifetime of secrets, which Norkia only discovers after her parents’ death. While clearing out the house, she comes across letters received by her mother that shed light on her turmoil as a survivor of Nagasaki’s atomic bombing in 1945.

Noriko has always known her mother was a hibakusha – a term referring to people who survived the nuclear bombs. Already scarred by psychological and physical trauma, the victims also faced ostracism in the postwar period, with many barred from work or marriage. Perhaps due to the stigma, Noriko’s mother mentioned little of this to Noriko and her siblings. The letters, however, reveal a moving network of support among the hibakusha, as well as those who lost their loved ones in the bombings. In one heartbreaking note, a grieving mother speaks of sending a healthy son into the army, only to receive his hair and clipped nails in return.

As Noriko sorts through her mother’s belongings, these moments of gleaning are accompanied by her interviews with other hibakusha. Some recall the fateful day as if it had just happened, while others struggle to remember specific details. Many have refused to register their names at the memorial centre for victims of the bombings, for fear of passing on the stigma to their descendants. In contrast to the slipperiness of memory, the letters found by Noriko prove to be a precious gift – okurimono in Japanese – and one that creates a powerful bridge between the past and the present.