The plot moved forward at a steady pace. Oozu Etsuji's direction had a strong sense of rhythm.
Though it might feel a bit jarring to see Hitchcock-style dolly zooms in a romance film, giving some scenes a horror-like atmosphere, most of the audience remained captivated by the story.
The interplay between Hiroko and Nao Fuji's perspectives was particularly engaging. Just as one emotional beat settled, the film would throw in a new twist, as if the two were exchanging letters across time.
Hiroko's cold hadn't gone away for over a week. Meanwhile, Nao Fuji had returned to work, but her symptoms were worsening, and the medicine wasn't helping anymore.
That day, she returned to her alma mater. Perhaps the cold wind she faced on her bike ride back was to blame. By the time she got home that night, something felt off, and then everything went black.
Why didn't she go to the hospital even when her condition worsened? The film had already explained: her father had died after being sent to the hospital due to illness.
This part of the story gave more detail. It started with a call to the hospital. Because of bad weather and traffic conditions, the ambulance would take at least an hour. Her grandfather and mother argued about what to do.
Her mother wanted to follow the doctor's instructions—keep the child warm and lower her fever while waiting for the ambulance.
But the grandfather made a different choice. He decided to carry his granddaughter to the hospital himself. If they couldn't find a taxi along the way, he would just walk the whole distance with her on his back.
"Do you remember what happened back then? You didn't listen to the doctor either. You insisted on going out to hail a taxi. In the end, you didn't find one. You walked your son all the way to the hospital. Do you remember? Because of that delay, he couldn't be saved. That's how your son died!"
Tears in her eyes, the mother asked if he was really going to make the same mistake again.
That night, when her father passed away, it had also been snowing heavily. He had died from complications from the flu. Deep inside, her mother still blamed the grandfather for losing the window to save him.
"The walk from our house to the hospital takes exactly thirty-eight minutes," the grandfather calmly said. In fact, it had been faster than waiting for the ambulance.
He hadn't been able to save his son back then. In the years since, he had walked the route from their house to the hospital countless times, memorizing every detail.
His words convinced the mother. But the last time he had carried his own son like this was ten years ago.
Now he was much older—and this time, "we're not walking, we're running."
Twice he slipped into snowbanks, yet each time he got back up and kept moving forward with his granddaughter on his back.
Even carrying a healthy adult in a snowstorm would be nearly impossible. But he did it. He got her to the hospital in forty minutes. His body was at its limit, and he had to be put on oxygen when they arrived.
There was no forced sentimentality in this scene, yet the image of the old man giving it his all struck a chord with many in the audience, especially those in their fifties and sixties.
This wasn't just a romance. It was also a story about family.
Akiha Sei was another model boyfriend from Japan. Knowing that Hiroko still couldn't let go, he brought her to the mountain where Nao Fuji had died in a climbing accident two years ago.
After all, how could you compete with someone who's already gone?
Looking at the mountain in the distance, Hiroko, who had been writing letters to Nao Fuji, slowly changed. Her grief began to loosen.
"Are you doing well over there? I'm doing really well over here," she shouted toward the snowy peaks. Her voice carried pain and many tangled emotions.
Director Ōzono Etsuji immediately followed up with a daring cut. Hiroko's shout to her deceased fiancé, Nao Fuji, seemed to reach across space itself.
Back in the hospital in Otaru, the fevered Nao Fuji murmured, "Dear Fuji Tengeki-san... are you doing okay over there?"
It was a magical moment. Kanai Naonao fought the urge to applaud.
"This transition... Oozu outdid himself. He closed the distance between impossible realities. Hiroko and Tengeki Fuji— their identities switched completely."
Until now, Hiroko had been the one stuck in the past. From this point forward, the story would revolve around Nao Fuji.
In a letter, Nao Fuji recalled an old memory. Back in her final year of high school, her father's funeral had happened on New Year's Day. The household was in chaos, her mother was bedridden, and the new semester had already begun.
For Nao Fuji, that New Year had been awful. She had to care for the house and couldn't even go to school.
Then one day, Fuji Tengeki suddenly rang the doorbell. He had a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and was bundled in a thick down jacket. He looked like an obedient little boy—well, the clothes were so bulky they flattened out all his sharp edges, making him simply look sweet.
"The promo posters for Little Fruits are done."
Among the audience was Chu Zhi's fan, a singer named Suzuki Kano, who performed the movie's theme song. She had been introduced by Koguchi Yoshihiro, a self-confessed face-chaser.
From the moment Chu Zhi appeared, Suzuki Kano's heart had been thumping wildly. She had always preferred older men, lacking fatherly warmth in her upbringing, but now—
"If it's a sweet, doting younger boyfriend like Fuji Tengeki... I might actually be okay with that," she thought.
Chu Zhi's Japanese fans called him the "Ragdoll Cat." His fan club had been creating all kinds of promotional posters online to boost his popularity. These posters were called "business posters."
Suzuki Kano noticed that she wasn't alone. Many other viewers were smiling faintly at the same scene.
She wasn't the type of fan who'd blindly worship an idol, so this confirmed her instinct—Chu Zhi's screen time may have been short, but he left a lasting impression.
Back in the film, Fuji Tengeki had brought In Search of Lost Time with him, saying he'd borrowed it over the winter break but couldn't return it himself. He asked Nao Fuji to return it for him.
It was a poor excuse. If he could come all the way to her house, he could've returned the book easily.
Clearly, he was worried because she hadn't been to school. But of course, he couldn't say that aloud.
This doorway scene marked Chu Zhi's final shoot as Fuji Tengeki, and also his most challenging—it took seventeen takes to get right. He had to portray all of Tengeki's hesitation and internal conflict.
He wanted to say something important before transferring schools. He finally gathered the courage, only to see a talisman pasted on the doorframe.
All the words he had prepared suddenly turned to mist. Instead of saying goodbye, all he could manage was, "Who passed away?"
"My father," Nao Fuji replied.
Everything he wanted to say dissolved like sugar in water. Nothing remained.
By the time Nao Fuji settled things at home and returned to school, a week had passed. She then learned from her classmates that Fuji Tengeki had transferred.
The audience could tell the two had mutual feelings. Otherwise, Nao Fuji wouldn't have reacted so strongly when classmates placed a vase with white chrysanthemums on Fuji Tengeki's desk as a prank. She smashed it in anger.
In Japan, white chrysanthemums are used for funerals. That kind of prank was cruel and ominous.
When Nao Fuji returned In Search of Lost Time to the library, the flashback ended.
She returned to her normal routine—work and home. There was no more news of Fuji Tengeki. The letters from Hiroko stopped too. Life seemed back on track.
Until one day, a few junior classmates knocked on her door. They had found something exciting and handed her a book.
It was In Search of Lost Time. Under their direction, she pulled out the library card tucked inside.
Only the name [Fuji Tengeki] was written on the front.
"Check the back. Look at the back."
On the reverse side was a small drawing—Nao Fuji's face from her school days.
In that instant, she understood everything.
What was the "Fuji whirlwind"? Why had they returned the book to her?
The movie ended there.
When I Close My Eyes had been advertised as a sweet story about young love, but in truth, it was full of heartbreak. The script was ruthless.
Shizuko from the Glass Workshop liked Akiha Sei. Akiha liked Hiroko. Hiroko loved Fuji Tengeki. And Fuji Tengeki... couldn't forget Nao Fuji.
Nao Fuji only found out, ten years later. It was all regret.
But sometimes, it's the tragedies that leave the deepest mark. When the credits rolled, the applause was thunderous. Suzuki Kano's voice sang over the cast and crew names, but even that couldn't drown out the sound of clapping.
"I loved it. When I Close My Eyes might be the best film I've ever seen about unspoken love."
"It's a romance film, yes. But more than that, it's about how love shapes people."
'Are you okay? I'm doing well.' Just one sentence, yet it carried so much weight."
"Eighty percent of the film takes place in the snow... but loving someone like that felt so warm."
The praise from the audience kept pouring in.
Media outlets scrambled for interviews, but Kinema Junpō and Eiga Geijutsu scored the exclusives—of course, no director would refuse those two.
"Congratulations, Director Ōzono. We did it," Chu Zhi said.
"I didn't do this alone. It was our success," Ōzono Etsuji beamed.
The whole creative team was elated. Kinema Junpō arranged to interview Oozu Etsuji, while Eiga Geijutsu scheduled time with Chu Zhi and Nakamura Yuriko.
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"追忆似水年华" ("In Search of Lost Time"): Reference to Marcel Proust's novel, symbolizing memory, loss, and the passage of time.