Halimun

Halimun means fog.
It descends slowly, veiling the land, muting sound, and limiting sight.

In a remote rural hamlet in Java during the colonial period, life moves without urgency. Days pass in quiet routine, until violence arrives without warning. The village is destroyed, its people vanish, leaving only traces embedded in cold soil.

Told without dialogue, Halimun moves like the fog itself: calm, oppressive, and inescapable. A visual elegy about memory, destruction, and time that continues to move forward long after human presence has disappeared.

  • Rakhaad Febrikha
    Director
    Room 65
  • Lim Po Chong
    Writer
  • Feb Rakhmad
    Producer
    Room 65
  • Project Type:
    Experimental, Feature, Short
  • Genres:
    AI Drama, Experimental, History, Anti-War
  • Runtime:
    21 minutes 51 seconds
  • Completion Date:
    February 6, 2026
  • Production Budget:
    300 USD
  • Country of Origin:
    Indonesia
  • Country of Filming:
    Indonesia
  • Language:
    Indonesian
  • Film Color:
    Color
  • First-time Filmmaker:
    No
  • Student Project:
    No
  • Digital Cinema Package:
    Unavailable
Director Biography - Rakhaad Febrikha

Rakhaad Febrikha is a surrealist filmmaker and visual artist working at the intersection of artificial intelligence and psychological horror. Based in Indonesia, he explores power, memory, and identity through symbolic narratives, ritual imagery, and immersive sound design.

With a background in the media industry and digital experimentation, Febrikha sees AI not merely as a tool, but as a mirror of the collective unconscious.

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Director Statement

Halimun means fog. For me, fog is not merely a visual element, but a condition of history itself. It obscures, silences, and erases, while allowing violence to pass without clear witnesses. In many rural histories, especially those shaped by colonial power, what remains is not a complete narrative, but fragments suspended in haze.

I chose to make Halimun without dialogue because words often soften violence. Silence, on the other hand, forces the viewer to confront duration, absence, and aftermath. This film does not seek heroism, explanation, or resolution. It observes what happens after destruction, when time continues to move forward and the land absorbs what humans leave behind.

Visually, the film moves slowly and deliberately. The camera does not chase events; it waits. Fog becomes both atmosphere and metaphor, flattening space, erasing certainty, and turning the landscape into a witness that cannot speak, yet remembers everything. Sound is treated as a physical presence, distant, muted, and restrained, mirroring how trauma lingers without articulation.

Halimun is not a historical reconstruction, but a meditation on memory and erasure. It asks how violence survives in silence, how landscapes carry the weight of what is no longer visible, and how history persists not through spectacle, but through what remains unseen.