A Haunting Meditation on Trauma, Nature, and the Shadows of the Mind

ECHO is a deeply poetic and unsettling exploration of the inner landscape of trauma. Set against the hauntingly serene snowscapes of Hokkaido, Japan, the film visualizes the invisible—turning the lingering effects of sexual abuse into a visceral, cinematic experience. Through nature, myth, and atmosphere, director Lieke Bezemer (Fin) builds a world that mirrors the dissonance of a damaged mind: breathtakingly beautiful, yet filled with an unshakable unease.

Told through an evocative visual language and the director’s own narration, ECHO bridges the gap between inner pain and external reality. Drawing from Japanese mythology, Bezemer uses shapeshifting spirits known as yokai to embody the hidden, inexpressible layers of trauma. The result is an experience that feels simultaneously intimate and universal — a visual meditation on survival, self-confrontation, and the fragile process of reclaiming one’s voice from silence.

ECHO is described as both a poetic essay and a personal confrontation with trauma. What gave you the strength to transform something so private into a public film?

When I started my research, I was still struggling with my PTSD a lot. To me, (creating) art is the most healing thing there is. And I needed healing. Early on I found this quote: “We cling to music, to poems, to quotes, to writing, to art because we desperately do not want to be alone. We want to know we aren’t going crazy and someone else out here knows exactly how you’re feeling. We want someone to explain the things we cant.” – unknown It was a safe space to try and understand what trauma actually meant, and how it manifested itself in me. Throughout the whole process, it was never really clear where ECHO would end up.

What sort of film it was going to be. But never in my wildest dreams did I expect it to be this confronting. I never would’ve thought I would include my sexual abuse at all. Because at the start – I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t talk about it. I never ever spoke about the rape. To anyone. Let alone create a stage for the whole world to witness the ‘demons’ it created in my body and mind for years and years. It was the whole process of the film that gave me the strength to, in the end, go public like this.

How did the process of making ECHO affect your own relationship with your trauma — was it healing, re-traumatising, or something in between?

Creating ECHO has been the most healing thing I’ve ever done. But to get to that healing – you have to really go through it. It was definitely one of the most intense periods of my life. Making this film has been the greatest form of therapy I can imagine. Every part of the process played its own part, whether it was the research, the filming, the edit, and let’s not forget the release into the world: when I was somewhat forced to show the film to my own parents and others around me. It has been absolutely transformative. I can with full confidence say that thanks to ECHO, I am no longer the person you see and hear in the film.

However, this subject never gets easy. I notice myself procrastinate with things like this interview, because it means having to dive back into it. ECHO released five years ago, in 2020. So it requires opening somethings up again too, to have an in-depth conversation like this. Besides that, I can still struggle with the fact that anyone can see ECHO. People from my past, people I’ve just met, when I first start to date someone… As you probably can imagine. I never know who’s seen it and who hasn’t. Who knows these vulnerable depths of me. Especially because the voice-over is my own voice, and people who know me recognise that immediately.

In the end, I’m obviously so proud and grateful for the decisions I was able to make throughout this process, and to have ended up where we are now. The biggest lesson being that this vulnerability is actually strength.

The voice-over is both raw and poetic. How did you find the words to describe something that often feels indescribable?

Like I said, I started out small with researching trauma in the broadest sense. In psychology, poetry, nature, illustrations, film, photography, paintings – you name it. Trying to understand and visualize how I was feeling, without getting too close.

Morphing this into a storyline made everything a lot more real already, as I had to research and analyze myself and my behaviours, thoughts, etc. too. When we started filming, I had to tell my crew what we were actually doing. And I knew that if I wanted them to fully understand, I had to talk about the abuse. So that’s when I started to open up and talk. Little by little, to my lovely crew in rural Japan.

During the edit is where things got confronting really quick. As you have to be able to communicate your intentions for every decision visible in the film. Up until this point, it was never the plan for the film to have a voice-over. It was going to be a very poetic and abstract sequence of landscapes that would convey the emotion. Some people would get it, some people wouldn’t. And that was fine by me, as I was terrified of going public with my story.

However, near the end of the editing process, my editor (Erik van der Bijl) and coach (Wiam Al- Zabari) tried to convince me that the material and story deserved more: this could be a film so powerful that will keep you up at night. I had to find my voice, and tell my story. I decided they were right.

I started writing. Now finally finding the words to match my experiences. All because of this thorough process of research, reflection and connection. I believe I wrote around 10 poems about it, that I eventually merged into one voice-over on the already existing edit. And suddenly it was there: the words I desperately both searched for- and hid from for years.

The absence of people and the focus on landscapes is striking. Why did you choose to tell this story without ever showing a human presence?

In the very early stages of my research, I thought I might make a documentary on someone with PTSD. Mostly because I felt like this would be a ‘legit way of filmmaking’. ECHO is my graduation film from University of the Arts Utrecht, where I studied Image and Media Technology: an innovative arts degree with strong focus on research and storytelling, where there was lots of freedom when it came to discipline choice. Probably why I wanted to make a ‘legit film’, to show the world I’m a filmmaker even though my degree wasn’t a classic type of filmschool.

However, fairly quickly, I realised I never really desired to be a classically trained filmmaker anyways. My background and biggest love was nature photography, and I always (obsessively) dreamed of becoming a cinematographer for high-end nature documentaries. Nature had always been my way of trying understanding the world, the biggest source of healing and comfort. When I came across the snowy landscape photos of Michael Kenna and Jefflin Ling in Hokkaido during my research – I knew I had found it. The language to tell this story in.

With choosing to tell this story solely by landscapes and natural phenomena, we are able to enter into another realm. Here, we can explore the invisible and internal processes of trauma in a human. Which wouldn’t be possible with the same depth as with filming an actual person. All while nature offers us a language we all understand.

This decision of abstraction also helped with occasionally creating some distance between me and the subject when needed. While at the same time giving me the freedom to authentically translate my own experiences into film, rather than following someone else around with a camera. It made it much more personal – yet universal at the same time.

Can you talk about filming in Hokkaido’s frozen landscapes — what role does the natural environment play in embodying your inner world?

When I found those photos by Micheal Kenna and Jefflin Ling, the feeling they could translate was incredibly clear: they were of dissociating. A world on pause. Where you push away whatever you feel and remember. Because acknowledging it would be far too scary. It was a state I spent a lot of years in. Blank stares and totally numb. But ‘safe’.

There definitely was a purpose to being in this state. Because being triggered by something would make me ‘lose my mind’. Anxiety attacks that were so intense, I felt like I was drowning. From where the black sea was born in the film. It is the constant battle between feeling so much and trying to numb it all. Drowning or freezing.

Another notable mention would be the use of Hokkaido’s akiya’s, or abandoned homes. A metaphor for the loss of safety in- and autonomy over your own body. Inspired by the poem ‘Home’ by Rupi Kaur.

Japanese mythology, particularly the concept of yokai, plays a major role. What drew you to this cultural framework as a way to express trauma?

When I landed on the Japanese snowscapes as an arena, I dove into the culture to deepen the narrative. Here I found yokai, mythological creatures and stories who move between the seen and unseen world. Often explaining feelings or phenomena that are hard to put into words.

Exactly what I was looking for.

After a lot of digging, I found the stories of Yosuzume and Okuri Inu. These are the main yokai in ECHO. Yosuzume (“night sparrows”) appear to travellers at night, swirling around them in a creepy, unnatural swarm. They are believed to be a warning sign that a more dangerous yokai, the okuri inu, is nearby. In the film they are translated by crows, and visualise the hypervigilance associated with PSTD.

The Okuri Inu (sending-off dog”) follows lone travellers late on the road at night. It stalks them, keeping a safe distance, but following footstep for footstep, as long as they keep walking. If the traveler should trip or stumble, the okuri inu will pounce on them and rip them to shreds. The “sending-off” part of its name comes from the fact that this yokai follows closely behind travellers, trailing behind them as if it were a friend sending them off on their way. The okuri inu is in that way a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, if one should trip and fall, Okuri Inu will attack. On the other hand, they are so ferocious that while they are following someone, no other dangerous yokai or wild animals will come close. As long as one keeps his footing, he is safe. To me, this is what the anxiety PTSD is. Coping mechanisms that have kept us safe and alive, sometimes for years on end. But now that the situation has changed, these mechanisms are no longer necessary. Moreover, they actually hold us back. When I tried to visualise my PTSD, I’d often land on a dark figure that was inside of me. A black ghost or demon, pulling the strings. I
hated it. But it was also hard to let go of, as I knew I’d be lonely without it too – the friend that kept me alive and company all of these dark nights.

In ECHO, Okuri Inu is translated by a wolf, which would be the closest visual translation anyways. However, there was more to this decision. There actually used to be wolves roaming the landscapes of Hokkaido: the Hokkaido Wolf. The species became extinct in 1889. Using the presence of this wolf while it is in fact no longer there, translates the phenomenon of PTSD: feeling a life threatening kind of unsafety while the actual threat has been long gone.

There are several more yokai woven through the film. The fact that maybe only some Japanese people in the audience will recognise them doesn’t really bother me. These stories helped me find my voice for telling this difficult story. When people who (like me) like to do their research and find these hidden storylines, they are little presents that create even more depth to the story.

ECHO gives shape to an “invisible” experience. What do you hope survivors of trauma take away from it?

In the end, I knew ECHO was made to be confronting. To shake the audience deeply. Especially victims of sexual abuse who have gotten stuck in the same fight/flight/freeze state as ECHO, because they haven’t acknowledged their abuse yet. By confronting them with their own coping mechanisms, they can’t deny their trauma any longer. Which is extremely painful. But also the first step towards healing.

Over the last couple of years, many women have shared with me how ECHO has affected them. How it helped them open up about their own experiences towards their loved ones. How ECHO changed their lives basically. This is so much more than I could’ve ever hoped for. It made all of the hardships of the process more than worth it.

At the same time, what do you hope audiences who haven’t experienced trauma understand better after watching the film?

My hope would be to give them a peek inside the overwhelmingly complex aftermath of trauma and sexual abuse, and to give them tools to talk about it with the people around them. Unfortunately the numbers of SA victims is so high, everyone has at least someone in their circle who has experienced some form degree of it. They may just not have shared it yet. ECHO can be helpful in starting and supporting the conversations that we wish we’d never have to have.

What are the books, podcasts or even YouTube Channel that you recommend young filmmakers to get their hands on?

Even though I love learning and would always advice to keep learning, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend any of these. I actually resonate a lot with this quote of Werner Herzog: “If you want to be an artist, don’t go to art school. Work in a sex club, an asylum, be a bounty hunter, fight in a war. You become a storyteller by having an interesting story to tell. No one becomes a poet by going to college.” – Werner Herzog Make sure you live. Go out into the world and experience. And then, when you’ve found your story out there, investigate. Thoroughly. Across every arts discipline, in philosophy, science, nature, culture, yourself, and go on. Make sure you’ve lived and breathed your story. This is the way to find your authentic angle on any theme. This is how you become the best director for this story.

Can you share with us some of your favorite short films you’ve seen lately?

A film that made a lasting impression on me during my research for ECHO, was ‘My Fathers Room’ by Nari Jang. Films I’ve seen recently that I loved were ‘Berenklauw’ (Hogweed) by Thijs Bouman (DP Brian van Dijk), and ‘Natures Child’ by Bo Bolderink & Christina Amundsen (DP Bo Bolderink). Both of beautiful shorts where, in my opinion, the cinematography is top notch.