What Remains of Calico Hill

Alongside the recurring imagery of scarecrow-making, the film integrates fragmented dialogue, radio-frequency distortions, and imageries that transitions between the timelines. The narrative spans three generations of trauma: the Young Mother, who directly experiences the violence and loss associated with war; the older Mother, who internalises and suppresses those memories; and San, who inherits an emotional trauma she has never experienced yet instinctively feels. Each character therefore embodies a distinct stage of trauma — shock, suppression, and attempted reconciliation. Additionally, the symbolism surrounding the scarecrow became particularly important within the film’s thematic language. Drawing inspiration from the Japanese folkloric deity “Kuebiko”, the scarecrow functions as a silent observer that contains fragments of memory and history. Although incapable of speech, it remains watchful and all-knowing, simultaneously visible yet hidden within the environment. Within the original script, San’s decision to conceal the lock of hair symbolised her conflicted desire to preserve memory while simultaneously yearning to understand the hidden truths of her family’s past.

The final draft.

The film opens on a place called "Calico Hill" where the Young Mother sends her lover off to war. Preparing for an inevitable goodbye, she keeps in a box and lock of hair tied into a small bundle with a red string as her voice echoes: "Remember me.". With this, we are transported to 1939, at the heights of the human experimentation and chemical warfare in Japan and China. We see the operation theatre with surgeons clad in blue, preparing a test subject for surgery.

Now in 1963, the protagonist, San, finds her mother's old belongings around the house, piecing together stories she was never offered to inherit, and within it imagines herself as a 1930s war nurse — her mother. With each new discovery, she begins to thread together the truth of her family's past. She tucks these fragments into her scarecrows, stitching a silent tribute to a father and people she never knew in an attempt to reconcile with her mother and reclaim their history.

With many revelations along the way — such as the reveal of the surgeon in the operation being the Young Lover, or the mother's discovery of her daugther's desire to reconnect with a past carefully hidden away — in the end, San finishes her scarecrow and, with Mother, hides the Lover's lock of hair inside its torso. The camera pushes back and reveals the hill in its entirety with scarecrows dotted all over, each holding a relic of the past.

The narrative was developed alongside research into the Ishii Unit, or Unit 731, established by the Imperial Japanese Army to conduct biological and chemical warfare experiments. These experiments involved severe human rights violations against prisoners, predominantly of Chinese, Russian, and Korean heritage. According to Brody, Leonard, Nie, and Weindling (from United States Responses to Japanese Wartime Inhuman Experimentation after World War II, 2014), captives were intentionally infected with diseases and exposed to experimental biological weapons, while survivors were frequently executed for autopsy analysis. Further accounts, such as Parry in Dissect Them Alive (2007), describe amputations, invasive surgical procedures, and the removal of organs for experimental purposes.  

The main filmic inspirations during this stage of development included several wartime films, such as Paths of Glory (Kubrick, 1957), Hiroshima Mon Amour (Resnais, 1959), and Grave of The Fireflies (Takahata, 1988) all of which informed the film’s exploration of war, grief, and psychological trauma. Formally, inspiration was also drawn from Mirror (Tarkovsky, 1975) for its slow and poetic narrative structure, The Taste of Things (Hùng, 2023) for its intimate close-ups, cuts on action, and subtle implication of absent loved ones, and The Cat of the Worm’s Green Realm (Brakhage, 1997) for its surreal and experimental approach to exterior shots.

Storyboards for What Remains of Calico Hill.

The film constructs its narrative through fragmented glimpses into the characters’ everyday lives. Many scenes adopt a nihilistic tone, depicting repetitive and mundane actions such as sewing, washing clothes, and peeling oranges. These moments are frequently presented through slow, static wide shots that observe actions from a distance and allow time to unfold naturally. In contrast, other sequences embrace the script’s experimental flexibility through rapid editing, kaleidoscopic lens filters, and abstract imagery referencing historical events such as the Black Rain of Hiroshima and the atomic bomb.

The inclusion of the “White Box” scenes directly references the experiments associated with Unit 731. Designed to resemble a sterile and unsettling museum installation, the White Box creates an atmosphere of detached clinical horror, particularly when juxtaposed against the reverberating sounds of Mahayana prayers. This contrast symbolises the corruption of rituals traditionally associated with healing and spirituality. Within these sequences, the surgical theatre becomes not only a site of death but also a space in which humanity itself is systematically removed. Towards the end of the script, the Young Lover functions as both victim and perpetrator — subject and surgeon — operating as a metaphor for the dehumanising effects of war upon all individuals involved.

The production consisted of 5 shooting days, with 2 days on the remote location and 3 days on the set build. We shot the exterior scenes at the Symondsbury Estate (Colmer's Hill) in Bridport, Dorset, which provided a challenge of taking a landscape that looks distinctly British and transporting that into the 1960s and 1930s Imperial Japan. Extensive planning carried on throughout the pre-production process where Emma and I would spend countless hours in the AUB Library figuring out the best ways to shoot a scene whilst keeping in mind geographical authencity and performer comfortability, later being yelled at by our First AD Jess for having too many shots. In the end, we were able to accumulate 60 slates in total, providing ample material for the post-production team to piece the film together.

The set build, designed by Emily and Ollie, consisted of the kitchen and workshop spaces, both of which needed to feel authentic and lived-in in order to support believable performances and interactions with the surrounding environment. I wanted the build to feel like an open space where the actors can feel free to move around instinctively, meaning that production design has to accommodate filming in all angles as camera will exist merely to capture the actions and pathways that feel natural. In addition, lighting was also able to amplify this desired effect with the constant diffused lighting through the screen doors and windows that gives off a melancholic and calm atmosphere. In the evening scene, this transformed into a more darkened version, with pools of shadows accommodating in quiet corners of the room.

Attached to the side of the workshop is the White Box/operation theatre, designed as a liminal space where things can look and feel out of place. We did not want to lean into complete accuracy for this set as we wanted to suggest an implication of historical alteration from oral traditions. The actor movements for all White Box scenes were also more planned out, using conventional character-by-character blocking approach. Due to the highly calculated and almost mechanical movement style within the sequences, these rigid choreographies reinforced the unnatural and clinical atmosphere of the operation scenes, supporting the thematic exploration of dehumanisation and bodily control associated with wartime experimentation.

The makeup and costume departments also contributed significantly towards the film’s visual identity. Makeup primarily focused around a natural aesthetic, contrasted by heavier special effects work such as the rotting face prosthetic, stitched mouth, and the autopsy corpse makeup. Costume design prioritised historical and cultural accuracy while also incorporating symbolic and abstract visual elements such as the costumes worn by the surgeons within the White Box scenes echoeing military uniform wrappings, visually reinforcing the relationship between medical experimentation and warfare. 

With my editor Calvin, the editing process involved extensive days of experimentation, particularly due to the film’s four primary narrative strands: the 1930s timeline, the White Box sequences, the 1960s storyline, and the Black Rain imagery. Through this process, certain aspects of the story needed to be abandoned in order to strengthen the effectiveness of the final edit. These were primarily sequences that lacked sufficient coverage or narrative clarity. Consequently, the scarecrow subplot was significantly reduced, while the White Box sequences became less dominant, avoiding excessive repetition that weakened the symbolic impact of the image. Alongside the initial assembly edit and fine cuts, three further edits were explored, including a fully chronological structure and an anthology-style structure divided into three thematic chapters centred upon the Young Mother, the Daughter, and the War. 

By evaluating the strengths and limitations of each version, the final structure gradually emerged in which the narrative primarily unfolds chronologically while incorporating selective moments of temporal visual interruption. This was also strongly informed by ideas proposed by Murch in In the Blink of an Eye, particularly his argument that ‘the abruptness of the cut may be one of the key determinants in actually producing the similarity between films and dreams,’ and that ‘we accept the cut because it resembles the way images are juxtaposed in our dreams’ (2001, p. 58). Since the film itself is presented through a reflective and memory-driven perspective narrated by the older version of the daughter, this concept became especially significant within the flashback sequences. Abrupt and fragmented cuts were intentionally utilised in these scenes to replicate the instability and emotional disorientation associated with memory and dreams, reinforcing the film’s blurred boundary between realism and surrealism.

The final structure of the film places all of the 1930s flashbacks in a much more fragmented manner, allowing scenes to unfold almost like memory itself. Displayed in glimpes, the  flashbacks and White Box sequences allude themselves as imagined recreations rather than a straightforward portrayal of events.

Following the edit, Fin and I wanted to use recurring motifs and environmental soundscapes to distinguish between the film’s different timelines and emotional states. The 1930s flashback scenes were characterised by the use of wind and reverberating wind chimes, while the 1960s sequences within the canopy, workshop, and washing line environments incorporated birdsong and crickets to create a quieter domestic atmosphere. In contrast, the White Box sequences utilised distorted prayer recordings and low-pitched ringing sounds to establish an unsettling and oppressive environment. Both the opening and ending sequences feature air-raid sirens, symbolising the arrival of the Black Rain and reinforcing cyclical themes of memory, trauma, and impending destruction.

The recorded wind chimes also developed into a auditory motif associated with the Mother’s memories of her deceased Lover. This motif functions as a signal to the audience that the Mother is reflecting upon the past, such as during the laundry sequence when she gazes into the distance and later during the scene in which she cries in front of the flag. Through this repetition, sound became an important narrative device that communicated emotional transitions without relying on spoken dialogue. 

Both the Young Mother’s and the Lover’s letters were also recorded and incorporated into the final film during the archival montage. Voiced by Nodoka Sasayama and Mitsuki Kawase, fragments of these recordings were rearranged and layered so that the voices appear to respond to one another. Many of the recordings were also distorted, with only selected words like "trees", "sparrow", and "prayers" remaining fully audible in order to emphasise symbolic language and emotional resonance. This approach created a fragmented form of dialogue between characters who rarely interact directly on screen, reinforcing the film’s themes of absence and emotional disconnection. 

Consideration was also given to Sonnenschein’s distinction between primary and secondary emotions within sound design where primary emotion refers to the emotional experience of the character, and secondary emotion concerns the intended emotional reaction of the audience (from Sound Design, 2001, pp. 181–182). For example, the use of air-raid sirens and thunder at the beginning and ending of the film communicates the Young Mother’s fear and the sense of approaching danger. In contrast, the ambient soundscape of the White Box — including reverberating prayers and the sound of a crying child — exists purely for the audience. These sounds therefore function to create discomfort and reinforce the inhumanity and psychological horror associated with the experiments depicted within the film.

Through the integration of slow cinema aesthetics, nonlinear storytelling, symbolic imagery, and sound experimentation, the production sought to blur the boundaries between realism and surrealism while communicating themes of memory, grief, and inherited trauma. Ultimately, the film functions as both a meditation on remembrance and a reflection on the unseen consequences of war, suggesting that trauma extends beyond immediate violence and continues to affect families, rituals, and collective memory long after history itself has passed. Through the delicacy of everyday activities and the quiet resilience of women across time, the film becomes a call to remember what history tried to erase. In a world obsessed with spectacle, this is a story about silence, and the sacred power of what remains unspoken. 

BEHIND-THE-SCENES

Behind-the-scenes of What Remains of Calico Hill, photographs by Aleksi Griffin.

This film would not have been possible without the amazing cast and crew who have all stuck with me through many trials, tribulations, and months of blood, sweat, and tears — my producers, Ruby Cilliers (who had been with me since day one), co-producers Chrystal Yoon Hyung Kim, and Coco John-Baptiste; my First AD Jessica Varndell-Mills; director of photography, Emma Stefanescu; gaffer, Edmund Breckenridge; 1st AC, Pedro Ferreira; my production designers, Emily Jupp and Oliver Leung; costume designer, Esme Glenister; SFX and makeup designer, Katie-May Hall; script supervisor Sebastian Warren, and most definitely not without my editor, Calvin Mansfield, and sound designer, Finlay Williamson.

Mayuna Hasebe portrayed the loving yet intimidating Older Mother and voiced our narrator (Older San), Nodoka Sasayama took on the dual role of our protagonist, San, and the Young Mother, and Hajin Lim came along to portray the Young Lover (voiced by Mitsuki Kawase). In the operation room, we were also joined by Chester Ma Hei Wang, Doan Nguyen, and Lei Han who were our test subject and surgeons. 

Despite all the names already mentioned, Calico would still have not been possible without anyone, no matter how big or small the contribution — so, to end this page, I would like to share the last of my thanks towards Katie Burroughs, Leah Thorley, Abigail Corpuz-Geheran, Shay Henriques, Laith Al-Abdulsalam, Natasha Barry, Mitchel Toluwanimi Adu, Milan Mason, Samhita Vishwanath Siddappa, Tom Sherrif, Charlie Watkin, Zain Ahmed-Safdar, Rin Gamboa, Hati Sutherland, Samuel Blanchard, Stefano Spinozzi, Charlie O'Kane, Mark Hengstmengel, Alex Darda, J. H. Richman, Rose Carrington, Sam Callanan, Aleksi Griffin, Daisy Harris, Gabi Barrett, Jack Stearn, Micheal Finocchiaro, Edward Rastall, Hebe Thorp, Lola Rogers, Mia Banham, Stefan Lynn, Florence Illingworth-Law, Robyn Elliott, Bethan Anstey, Jasmine Sim, Katie Jennings, Scarlet Moorman, Ysabella Junio Mistula, Yu Tian, Zac Choudry-Dormer, Owen Templeman, Miriam Czarny, Amy Goodyer, Lucas Clark, Sam Dimmock, my parents, Jonathan Lewis, Lorena Cervera, Eliott Kanshin Kallen, Patti Gaal-Holmes, Nathan Elliott, and Isabella Willett — as well as everybody who has donated to our Crowfunder and supported us through the fundraising and pre-production process.

Upon reflection, I find sentimental the irony that the concept of "what remains" didn't occur to myself or the crew until the last slate was written, the props cleared, and the cables wrangled. As we celebrated the conclusion of our chapter, grasping onto the last moments of what had been the last 1, 8 or 12 months of our lives, we finally understood the anticipation of the inevitable ending that Young Mother feels at the start of the film, and the sense of longing that San inherits as she finds memories to hold onto even in the smallest of items and moments. For the most of us, we will never return to this film again — but for some, including myself, What Remains of Calico Hill will always be a film which I reflect and reminisce on. dearly. Making this film has allowed me to gain many trusted co-workers but, more importantly, the best of friends, and I hope that they enjoyed working on this as much as I did. Excited to show you all Calico. :)

17/06/2026.