From its premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) to winning the Sundance Short Film Jury Award for International Fiction, Will Niava’s Jazz Infernal has made a striking impression on the international festival circuit. Co-written with Kristelle Laroche, the short film explores migration, identity and belonging through a deeply personal story of grief, memory and the enduring bond between a father and son. Rooted in Niava’s Canadian-Ivorian perspective, Jazz Infernal uses the language of jazz to express emotions that words cannot always capture, finding moments of humour and tenderness amid the pain of loss. I spoke to the Montreal-based filmmaker about drawing on his own experiences to create the film, the transformative power of music, and why aspiring directors should never be afraid to embrace their most unconventional ideas.
Your short film Jazz Inferno is such a beautiful and personal piece of filmmaking. Where did the inspiration for the story come from?
It started when I was at home in Montreal, just relaxing one day, and I received a call from the lead actor, Ange Eric N’Guessan, who is a well-known actor in Ivory Coast and across Francophone Africa.
He told me, “Will, I’ve been living in Montreal for the past three years. Nobody knows me here. I want you to make me somebody here. You make films, and that’s what you do. I want you to bring me to life here.”
I thought it was hilarious because he was such a recognisable figure back home, so we started talking about what we could do together. He wanted to tell a story about our experiences as immigrants, and we began reminiscing about our first days in Canada.
I remember the first person from Canada I spoke to was an East Asian man speaking French with a Quebec accent. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, and it was particularly stressful because he was asking for my passport. I knew it was important, and I couldn’t mess it up or risk being sent back!
We started laughing about these experiences and remembering all those little moments. I came up with a funny story, wrote it, and showed it to my wife. She said it was a “cool little story”, and that comment really stayed with me.
She told me that when you get an opportunity like this, you have to make it worthwhile for yourself. It shouldn’t just be about getting a few laughs or going to festivals. It needs to be something healing.
At the time, I was dealing with my father’s passing. The grief was very present, but I didn’t want to talk about it or confront it. Even therapy was difficult for me. My wife encouraged me to put those feelings into my art.
Honestly, that was one of the best things that could have happened to me at that time. I had the opportunity to pour my heart onto the page, to cry through the writing and finally release some of what I was carrying.
I rewrote the script, and that became the version of the film we see today. I feel like I managed to capture the soul of my father in it. He was a great man, somebody you looked up to and wanted to laugh with and hug all the time. He was like a bear.
I’ve also recently become a father myself, so the film has become even more meaningful on so many levels. I don’t think we see enough positive representations of Black fathers on screen. They’re often absent or portrayed as unkind, but that wasn’t my experience at all.
My father travelled a lot for work, which is something I wanted to reflect in the film, but the love he left behind was so rich. Even though he’s gone, that love remains within me forever. I think this film helps cement that for the world to see.
Ultimately, it’s a film for everyone because we will all experience loss at some point. But there is something particularly profound about losing the person who created you. It feels as though a part of you has died, and you have to find that part of yourself again somewhere. For me, that journey has been through this film.
I had the opportunity to pour my heart onto the page, to cry through the writing and finally release some of what I was carrying.
You’ve described music as the only language grief understands. What role does music play in helping audiences experience the story?
My dad and I used to listen to a lot of jazz together, including Dizzy Gillespie, John Coltrane, Miles Davis and Chet Baker.
Jazz is something that never dies. It feels like an old art form, but at the same time, it always feels new. It exists outside of time, and that’s how my dad feels to me. He is still here, in a way, on this constant note.
Music really carries the film, although I would say sound as a whole is equally important. The sound design is incredibly immersive. It plunges you into the music, and then, when the music or sound disappears, you’re left alone with the character’s thoughts.
Sometimes it’s the music itself, and sometimes it’s the absence of music, that creates that heaviness.
The character is trying to remember a tune his father used to play when he was young. That became the centre of the film: trying to grasp something while simultaneously dealing with grief. You’re reaching for a memory, but you can’t quite remember it, and that frustration becomes part of the experience.
My character hasn’t played music since his father passed away. I remember feeling crippled when my own dad died. I didn’t want to do anything, and it wasn’t until my daughter was born that I began rebuilding some of the routines I had before. I’m still finding my way.
I think it’s fascinating to explore what happens when an artist can no longer do the thing that defines them because of a traumatic experience. What does music mean to someone whose entire life revolves around it when they suddenly cannot bring themselves to play?
For me, sound makes up perhaps 70 per cent of my filmmaking. The visual element is important, of course, but I often say that if a blind person experienced my film, I would want them to feel it through the sound and vibrations alone.
I want those elements to resonate so deeply that audiences feel something they might struggle to explain. They might come away saying the film was great without necessarily knowing why. For me, so much of that feeling comes from the sound.
Our musician, Hichem Khalfa, who is an incredible Algerian trumpeter, developed the melodies. We worked tirelessly together, and he orchestrated a band to record the music you hear in the film. All the music was recorded in post-production rather than live on set.
The musicians and team did such an amazing job creating that experience. I’m incredibly proud of what we achieved.
The sound design is particularly striking when the character takes to the stage. What was the audition process like, and were there any unexpected qualities your actors brought to their roles?
Ange Eric N’Guessan was always going to be the lead because he inspired the story in the first place. He actually told me that if I wanted to cast somebody else, he would be fine with it because he loved the creative process we had shared. I told him he was crazy! We had worked on this together, and I couldn’t imagine abandoning him. He was the face of the film.
The other actors were a different story because they had never acted before.
Alexis Belhumeur, who plays the Quebec character, represents the wildness and craziness of the place as I experienced it when I first arrived. You meet people, spend one night with them, and might never see them again, but that night becomes an unbelievable experience. Sometimes you nearly get arrested! I had a few experiences like that, and I wanted to capture that feeling.
For me, arriving in North America as a young African was like discovering that the things you see in films can actually happen in real life. Montreal also has its own fascinating cultural identity, with its French language and history of colonisation and liberation. I found connections between my African roots and the place I now call home, and I think that’s part of why I stayed.
Alexis is a director and a brilliant photographer, but he also has this incredible screen presence. I remember thinking that he couldn’t always be the person behind the camera when he looked that cool! I asked him if he would be interested in acting, and he was completely up for it.
Kaz, meanwhile, has been my friend for around 12 years and had always told me he wanted to appear in a film. I finally had a role for him.
They were all nervous because they were new to acting, so my job was to make them feel comfortable and encourage them to be themselves. I told them that I had cast them because I liked their personalities and who they were. That was what I wanted to see on screen.
I think knowing that helped them relax, and they all did an incredible job. I’m so proud of them.
My approach to directing actors is quite simple. I want to discover who you are, and then we can make little adjustments together. Those adjustments should come from within you, finding experiences and emotions that connect with what I’m asking you to portray.
I believe acting is about listening, being willing to learn and understanding that we’re building something together. I don’t see it as a situation where there has to be a boss. I want us to make art together.
You can achieve so much when you have the right people around you, but you can also lose everything if you have the wrong team.
The film initially feels quite comedic before revealing a much deeper emotional story. How did you approach balancing comedy and drama?
The film was always funny in certain ways, although I initially wanted it to be much more serious.
My director of photography, Harley Francis, is one of my best friends. He’s like a brother to me, and he has an incredible eye for visual comedy. He was constantly suggesting little things we could add to the background or moments that would make the audience laugh without anyone having to say anything.
He would suggest things like somebody accidentally knocking over a suitcase as the character walked past. There were all these ridiculous little moments happening around the main story.
I loved that because it reflects how arriving in a country where you don’t speak the language or know anybody can feel. Everything seems ridiculous, and you’re either going to cry or laugh out loud. Sometimes you do both.
Kristelle Laroche, who co-wrote the script with me, also brought so many funny moments into the story. Along the way, I realised just how hilarious the film could be, and I think that became one of its greatest strengths.
That duality is what real life feels like. Sometimes life is incredibly funny, sometimes it’s deeply sad, sometimes it’s introspective, and sometimes it’s horrific.
As I continue discovering my style and developing my voice as a filmmaker, I’ve realised that I’m drawn to all genres. I don’t want to box myself into a particular type of filmmaking. Even the word “drama” can feel limiting to me.
I’m much more interested in life itself and the emotions people experience. I want to show the ridiculousness of life alongside its softness, and the way different emotions can exist in the same moment.
Something might be hilarious to everyone around you, while one person is quietly crying inside. I’m fascinated by those clashes of emotion, culture and language.
So, yes, the balance was important, but I also think it emerged quite naturally. The central story needed to be serious, but the environment around it was already ridiculous enough to create comedy without forcing it.
This sounds like a particularly significant project in your career. What did making Jazz Inferno teach you about yourself as an artist and as a person?
I had never led a production on that scale before, and when I walked onto the set on the first day, it felt like everything I had dreamed of. It felt like making a feature film.
The support we received from organisations including SODEC and Telefilm Canada allowed us to create something on an incredible scale. The production design, the number of people on set and the overall ambition could have been daunting, but I felt ready.
I was calm, even when other people were getting stressed. I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, and that I had worked my way towards this moment.
It had been 18 years in the making. I’ve been making films since I was 15, and I finally felt that everything I had worked towards was coming together.
It reminded me of who I am, where I’m going, and that this journey is only just beginning. I had put in the work, made enough films to start finding my voice, and now I was refining it. I felt that I deserved to be there.
Watching the film in a cinema is an incredible experience, too. The production value feels so grand, and the sound is immersive. You can hear things coming from every corner of the room, and it makes you appreciate the work that went into creating the experience.
I’m not bragging when I say that I’m proud of it. I sometimes sit in short film festivals waiting for my own film to begin, despite having watched it a thousand times, and I’m still amazed by what we achieved.
I also learned how important it is to have the right team around you. My producers, Zion and Sam, took such good care of me and helped me focus on things I might otherwise have overlooked. They genuinely cared about me and the film.
You can achieve so much when you have the right people around you, but you can also lose everything if you have the wrong team.
I have to mention our production designer, Alpha, because every detail was so carefully considered, from the colours of the costumes to the overall design. The greens and oranges reflect the Ivorian flag, while we also incorporated Canadian colours. Everything was thought through so intelligently.
I’m amazed by what we managed to achieve together, and I’m incredibly grateful to everyone who helped bring the film to life.
You speak so fondly of your collaborators. How did you bring this particular team together?
Harley was always going to be involved. We met on our first day of school, and he’s somebody I expect to work with for the rest of my life. He’s the godfather of my daughter, and I’m the godfather of his child. He understands me, and I love his eye, so having him as my director of photography was non-negotiable.
Beyond that, I wanted people who would make the right choices for the film and help bring the vision to life.
Zion was one of the first people I spoke to about the project, and Sam was somebody I looked up to. He was finishing a film that went on to receive an Oscar nomination, so I felt I was surrounding myself with people who could help take the project where it needed to go.
Other collaborators came through friends and recommendations. My friend Kativa recommended Alpha, and we found our musician after Zion heard him playing in a bar. I went to listen to him myself, and immediately knew we needed to work together.
It happened quite organically, but I was also very intentional about building a diverse team. I wanted to prioritise having people of colour, particularly Black people, working behind the scenes.
In Quebec, those are not always the people you see represented on film sets or on screen, and I wanted our production to create opportunities for people who are often overlooked.
I think we brought together a group of brilliant collaborators, and I hope to keep working with them for years to come.
What advice would you give to aspiring directors who are trying to find their own voice?
Don’t doubt your crazy ideas. Your crazy ideas are the best ones. Anything safe is boring, and if you only make safe choices, you’re unlikely to create something that really stands out.
Take risks in your choice of words, the stories you tell and the characters you choose to put on screen. We’ve seen enough of certain people and perspectives. There are other people whose stories we need to hear.
I’m particularly interested in marginalised characters and people who don’t speak very much, those who are often quiet or overlooked. I want to give them a voice.
You also have to make things. You need to fail, particularly on your first few projects, because if you never fail, you never learn. You need those mistakes to understand what works and what doesn’t.
I think people sometimes spend too much time asking questions or sending scripts around, waiting for someone else to tell them what to do. I want to see people make films. A script can tell me a story, but it can’t necessarily show me how you’re going to direct it. I want to see your intention and your voice.
One of the ways I started making films was through music videos. I would make a music video and then suggest turning it into a film. People would tell me there wasn’t enough money, so I would try to raise a little more funding on top of what we already had for the music video.
In my mind, I was making a film and then cutting a music video out of it. That approach helped me find ways to make something bigger with the resources available to me.
Music videos can be a great starting point because artists may be interested in creating something that lives beyond a single promotional video. You might be able to persuade them or their record label to invest a little more money and develop a proper project.
That’s one of my ways of getting a film made. There are always questions you could ask yourself about where to begin, but sometimes you just have to go and find out for yourself.
You have to be shameless about trying. Imposter syndrome is real, and I’ll probably experience it throughout my life, even as I continue reaching places I’ve always dreamed of being.
But eventually, you have to recognise the work you’ve put in and remind yourself that you deserve to be there.
My advice is simple: just try. It’s hard, but you’ll never know what’s possible if you don’t.
Finally, what would you like audiences to know before watching Jazz Inferno? Is there anything you hope they take away from the experience?
I actually want people to know as little as possible before watching it!
I wanted a title that would grab people’s attention. When they see Jazz Inferno, I want them to wonder what it is and what they’re about to experience.
I’m happy for people to go into the film without any expectations and allow themselves to be surprised by the journey. I want them to come out feeling full, or at least moved by what they’ve experienced.
And I want to thank everyone who watches the film and takes the time to support it, whether that’s by commenting on IMDb, rating it on IMDb or Letterboxd, or following us on Instagram. It genuinely helps us, and we have some exciting news to announce soon.
