Désirée de Lamarzelle: What attracts you most to Japan: its culture, its relationship with nature, the beauty of its gestures?

Eva Green: All of these, and I cannot separate them. Japan inspires me through its relationship with time, with slowness, with precision. It is a country where every gesture has meaning, where beauty arises from restraint, simplicity and modesty. Wabi-sabi, that elegance of imperfection, moves me deeply. It is a culture that teaches you to contemplate, to listen, to be fully in the present.

Hadrien Wolff: What touches me most is the notion of respect for things, people and nature. Everything there is thought through, considered, harmonious. Spending time in a sake brewery means understanding just how much this relationship with the gesture and the material is almost spiritual. It is a true philosophy of life.

What made you want to immerse yourself in this world and learn the techniques of this ancestral craft?

E.G.: Curiosity, above all. I love understanding what lies behind the beauty of a gesture. The world of sake fascinated me with its rigour, its slowness, its humility. Every stage requires an almost meditative focus. And then, it’s a world where nature and humanity are in constant dialogue: the rice, the water, the temperature, the weather. It reminded me of cinema, in a way—that search for an invisible balance, for a fragile precision.

Embarking on the creation of a sake—is it a love story… or a touch of madness?

E.G.: Both! (Smiles) A very gentle folly. At first, we just wanted to learn. But the world of sake swept us away: its poetry, its exacting nature, its slowness. Yes, there is an element of love – for Japan, for the artisanal craft, for a form of authenticity that we sometimes miss in a world that moves too fast.

H.W.: It’s a whim born of friendship. We set out without a plan, driven by curiosity and respect, and found ourselves mashing rice in ice-cold water at dawn in a traditional brewery. From this human experience came Seiun, a sake we wanted to be sincere and poetic.

What sort of sake did you want to create?

H.W.: A sake that invites lightness and pleasure. Seiun is a sparkling nigori, slightly cloudy, effervescent, with 8% alcohol. A lively, delicate sake, to be enjoyed as an aperitif or at the end of a meal, a sake for sharing and conversation.

E.G.: For me, it’s a sake of light. It has something both soothing and joyful about it. I like to imagine it being enjoyed with music, in the rain or under the stars. It’s a sake to be savoured slowly, without unnecessary ceremony, like a breath.

What emotion did you want to convey?

E.G.: A vibrant sweetness, a sense of balance and calm. I wanted it to evoke a simple, sincere, almost meditative emotion.

H.W.: I’d say serenity, but tinged with surprise. Its slightly milky, almost silky texture and its fine effervescence give it that delicate liveliness. A lightness, but never superficiality.

Sake still suffers from many clichés in France. How can we better showcase its richness?

H.W.: Sake remains misunderstood. It is confused with sweet liqueurs or spirits. True sake is astonishingly refined, with a complexity comparable to fine wines. It can accompany an entire meal, enhancing shellfish, cheeses and fruit. The marriage with French gastronomy has begun, and it is very promising.

E.G.: I love that sake, like French cuisine, speaks to the emotions. It is an experience of taste, but also of culture. If ours can spark that curiosity, then our venture will have succeeded.

What makes Seiun different?

H.W.: Seiun was born in the two-hundred-year-old Kotobuki brewery, between Kyoto and Osaka. We worked with a French master brewer, Guillaume Ozanne, who created a genuine dialogue between two cultures. The sake is made from Gohyakumangoku rice, polished to 70% to preserve all its umami. Yes indeed, during fermentation, we play a playlist of space sounds and ambient music in the vats. The yeasts are alive and sensitive to vibrations, so why not offer them a harmonious environment?

E.G.: It’s poetic, isn’t it? I really love the idea that our sake has listened to the stars. It’s a way of connecting science, spirituality and the imagination, perhaps even imbuing it with a little of that cosmic light.

More and more people are getting into craft spirits. Do you see this as a return to authentic craftsmanship?

E.G.: Yes, I think so. After all the highly scripted worlds, we need something tangible. To feel the material, to create something we can touch, taste and share. It’s a return to sincerity, to the act itself, to time, to transformation. Another way of telling a story, with a grain of rice rather than a camera.

And how do you view the rise of no- or low-alcohol drinks?

E.G.: It’s a welcome development. People want to drink better, not more. Seiun is part of this movement: a light, convivial sake, never a drink for getting drunk. Sake accompanies connection, conversation and gratitude. It’s as much a philosophy as it is a pleasure.

With this Japanese venture, you still seem to resist labels. How would you define yourself?

E.G.: Curious, quite simply. Drawn to the unfamiliar. I don’t like boundaries, whether geographical or artistic. I love travelling between worlds, languages and cultures. Seiun embodies this: the meeting of a Japanese tradition and a European perspective. I feel at home in these in-betweens.

Did your role as a jury member at Cannes in 2024 change your perspective on cinema?

E.G.: Being on the jury means learning to listen, to observe without judging too quickly. A lesson in humility and curiosity. I was struck by the diversity of voices and the freedom of certain filmmakers, such as Payal Kapadia with All We Imagine as Light or Magnus von Horn, whose The Girl with the Needle was deeply moving. It serves as a reminder that cinema is a living, fragile art form that must be protected.

Your acting is often described as physical and sensory. Is that how you approach a role?

E.G.: Yes. For me, cinema is about the flesh, about breathing, about presence. I need to feel the emotions from within. I work with instinct and rigour. I love it when acting becomes physical, when the body speaks. It’s in the tension between control and letting go that everything comes together.

Without cinema, would you have turned to another form of creativity, perhaps even in Japan?

E.G.: (Laughs) Why not! I can easily see myself in a brewery, polishing rice in the steam, or in a pottery workshop in Kyoto. I love trades that require patience, where you can feel the passage of time. There is immense beauty in repeated gestures, in the silence of a job well done.

Sake touches the memory of the senses. What is your Proustian madeleine?

E.G.: The smell of warm bread, without a doubt. A simple scent, yet full of tenderness, of home, of human warmth. That is also what I love about sake: its ability to awaken an intimate emotion, a sensory memory. A taste that speaks as much to the heart as to the palate.

An article by Désirée de Lamarzelle. Read it in issue 14 of Oniriq Magazine.

Translated by Bethszabee Garner