In the glittering Alpine resort of Crans-Montana, Switzerland, New Year’s celebrations at Le Constellation bar were meant to ring in 2026 with joy and revelry. Instead, a seemingly harmless tradition—parading champagne bottles topped with lit sparklers—ignited one of the nation’s worst modern tragedies. Internal security cameras and mobile phone footage have revealed a chilling timeline: flames spreading across the basement ceiling in just 92 seconds after initial ignition, transforming a packed nightclub into an inferno. The rapid escalation, fueled by highly combustible acoustic foam, left little time for escape, claiming 40 lives and injuring 119 others, many with severe burns. Adding to the horror, revelations that fire extinguishers were present but went unused—or were inaccessible in the chaos—have sparked widespread public outrage, raising questions about safety protocols in a venue popular with young locals and visitors.

The fire erupted around 1:30 a.m. on January 1, 2026, in the basement of Le Constellation, a beloved spot for teenagers and young adults drawn to its affordable vibe amid the luxury of Crans-Montana. The bar, with a capacity of about 300 inside plus a terrace, was thrumming with hip-hop music, dancing, and the excitement of midnight toasts. As part of the festivities, staff carried trays of champagne bottles adorned with fountain sparklers—those sparkling pyrotechnics meant to add glamour. In one captured moment, a waitress, playfully hoisted on a barman’s shoulders while wearing a crash helmet, held bottles aloft, the sparks mere centimeters from the low ceiling.

Investigators believe this was the ignition point. The ceiling was lined with acoustic foam panels, designed to dampen sound but potentially non-flame-retardant, a common issue in older or renovated venues. Sparks from the sparklers caught the material, and security footage shows the flames licking across the surface with alarming speed. From the first flicker to widespread involvement: exactly 92 seconds. Experts describe this as a near-flashover event, where heat buildup causes simultaneous ignition of combustibles, turning the enclosed space into a furnace with temperatures soaring past 1,000 degrees Celsius. Thick, toxic smoke billowed rapidly, disorienting the crowd and reducing visibility to zero in moments.

The timeline is harrowing in its brevity. At T+0 seconds: initial contact, small flames appear on the ceiling. Patrons, many filming on phones, initially react with confusion—some laughing, others cheering as if part of the show. By T+20 seconds: flames spread horizontally, fed by the foam’s polyurethane composition, which burns fiercely and releases deadly fumes. Young revelers attempt to intervene, swinging T-shirts, towels, or jackets at the blaze in vain efforts to smother it. No one reaches for a fire extinguisher in the visible footage, despite the bar reportedly having them on site.

By T+45 seconds: the fire races across much of the ceiling, dropping burning debris onto the dance floor. Panic sets in as smoke thickens; music still plays, masking screams at first. People surge toward the single narrow staircase leading upstairs—the primary exit in the basement layout. An emergency door exists, but in the darkness and crush, few find it. By the 92-second mark: full engulfment. The room flashes over, an explosive wave of heat and flame consuming oxygen and trapping those unable to escape quickly.

Outside, the transition was equally swift. Queuers at the entrance saw smoke pouring out within seconds, followed by a massive blast of heat and fire. Survivors describe emerging with singed hair, blistered skin, and lungs burning from inhalation. Bodies piled near the exit, some victims found later clinging to one another in desperate final embraces. The youngest known victim was just 14, with many in their teens—locals and international visitors celebrating the holiday.

Emergency response was rapid: police arrived at 1:32 a.m., firefighters shortly after, mobilizing 150 personnel, helicopters, and ambulances. But the damage was done in those critical initial minutes. Hospitals in Valais overflowed, with severely burned patients airlifted to specialized units in Switzerland, France, Italy, and Germany.

Public outrage has centered on preventable failures highlighted in the footage. Fire extinguishers were allegedly mounted on walls, yet in the videos and witness accounts, none were deployed effectively. Some speculate panic overrode training; others point to potential inaccessibility—perhaps obscured by decorations or crowds. Reddit discussions and social media erupted with frustration: “Grab a fucking extinguisher!” echoed countless comments, criticizing why staff or patrons didn’t act sooner. Investigations are scrutinizing whether extinguishers were properly maintained, visible, and sufficient in number.

Broader scrutiny falls on the bar’s owners, a French couple facing criminal charges for negligence, including homicide by omission and arson by negligence. Questions abound: Was the acoustic foam compliant with fire standards? Had it been flagged in prior inspections—the venue reportedly passed several in recent years? Why no sprinklers in the basement? Why reliance on a single main exit for hundreds? The use of indoor pyrotechnics without strict permits adds another layer.

Le Constellation, opened in 2015 after renovations, was a staple for younger crowds in a resort catering to wealthier tourists. No entry fee made it accessible, fostering a vibrant, youthful atmosphere. But that popularity contributed to overcrowding allegations on the night. The foam, noted as loose in places days earlier, accelerated the spread disastrously.

In the aftermath, Crans-Montana transformed from festive haven to site of national mourning. Switzerland observed days of remembrance, with church bells tolling and vigils drawing hundreds. Makeshift shrines of flowers, candles, and notes line the sealed-off bar. Families endured agonizing waits for identifications, relying on DNA and dental records due to burn severity. International victims—from France, Italy, Belgium, and beyond—prompted cross-border cooperation.

Survivors’ stories underscore the timeline’s terror. Two French women escaped early after spotting the ceiling ignite. Others, like a young man who smashed windows to vent smoke, acted heroically amid chaos. But many couldn’t: the 92 seconds weren’t enough.

This disaster echoes historical nightclub fires, where flammable materials and poor egress turned minor incidents deadly. Public anger demands accountability—not just for Le Constellation, but for nightlife safety across the Alps. Calls grow for mandatory sprinklers, flame-retardant certifications, and bans on indoor sparklers.

As snow falls over Crans-Montana, blanketing the scars, the 92-second timeline serves as a stark warning. What seemed harmless—a spark of celebration—unleashed devastation in the blink of an eye. The unattended extinguishers symbolize missed opportunities, fueling outrage that this tragedy might have been mitigated. For the families of the 40 lost and the scarred survivors, healing will take far longer than those fateful seconds.