Nowadays, my answer to “How would you describe the Vietnamese cinema scene?” is “A fireworks show.” Activity, plenty. Things of note, many. At times, they can be the reason my family members who live abroad reach out to me via WhatsApp or Viber.
A call between my aunt and I, if memory serves, focused on the multi-hyphenate Trấn Thành and the historical epic Song of the South (Đất rừng phương Nam) he appeared in and co-produced. Although the mid-October release was fast approaching of the local “trăm tỷ” success standard, or seeing ticket sales of more than 100 billion VND (4 million USD), the numbers didn’t become a talking point at any point. Throughout, we were zoned in on historical accuracy, the adaptation process and the definition of each, not unlike all the news articles available to us at the time. It felt like everyone had something to say about the adaptation of Đoàn Giỏi’s famous novel. Fireworks were seemingly everywhere, online and off.
It should be a safe bet, then, to say that Thành and company’s year was more positive at the start. Right on the first day of Tết or Lunar New Year, long-regarded as the most desirable and competitive period for films, the domestic dramedy The House of No Man (Nhà bà Nữ) that he acted in, co-produced, got a story credit and directed was released. The January release, inspired by a woman who sells Saigon’s priciest crab noodle soup bowls, took more than 450 billion VND (18 million USD), according to Box Office Vietnam.
What I thought also made 2023 Vietnamese cinema more muted at the close of the year was the low performance of films with new storytelling elements. Depending on whom you ask, or potentially argue with (especially online), it was either misaligned sensibilities or flawed filmmaking that muddied Fanti’s morally ambiguous protagonist, Giao Lộ 8675’s anthology structure, Drowsy City (Thành Phố Ngủ Gật)’s allegorical violence and Daydreamers (Người Mặt Trời)’s vampiric premise.
In their year-end roundups, local media would often cite the low numbers of Fanti and Daydreamers – 1.8 billion VND (73 thousand USD) and 5.1 billion VND (208 thousand USD), respectively. That their directors are Vietnamese Americans, Andy Nguyễn and Timothy Linh Bùi, may have also affected their reception. At these films’ preview and timed Q&A events, the filmmakers, despite genuine effort to speak Vietnamese, weren’t fluent enough to clearly answer questions from attendees – many of whom were journalists and influencers. What I could hear in the crowd: “That was confusing” ... “Not sure what to write here” ... “Did you get that?” ... “This may be ‘too Westernized’ for me.” The atmosphere might have been more beneficial to the films had there been a translator for the filmmaker or a bilingual host.
Drowsy City’s low intake (230 million VND or 9.3 thousand USD) also shed light on something I’ve long been curious about: the relationship between local films that got international attention and local support. Or lack thereof. Much like Hà Lệ Diễm’s Children of the Mist (Những đứa trẻ trong sương), which made it into the Oscar’s 15-shortlisted documentaries, and Phạm Thiên Ân’s Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell (Bên Trong Vỏ Kén Vàng), which won the Cannes’ Caméra d’Or, the film didn’t make a splashy debut at the box office after it came back from abroad. There are plenty of theories for this disconnection, and through observations and discussions there are three I often return to. The first is how, to many Vietnamese filmgoers, films are still an escapist device, so their accolades might mean they will be a more-burdensome-than-usual experience. The second, which is in a way related, is local press, local exhibitors and these international-scale awards bodies haven’t communicated well enough (or at all?) to audiences so that the cinematic accolades make sense – or become the biggest point of attraction. The third is there remains a lopsided emphasis on the Oscars among the filmgoing and film-discussing communities, partly fueled by Anglophilic press and PR companies, and so films may have no appeal if their accolades aren’t related to the golden statue.
Whatever the cause may be – and some have been known to create emotional fireworks, like accusations of “crowding out showings” (“chèn ép suất chiếu,” as referred to by press and people alike) so that their work can dominate – it’s been disheartening to see local audiences being cold to films that have found success or attention abroad. Often, I wonder what must the global cinematic stage think of Vietnam when approval from the former generates so little in the latter. I also question whether Vietnamese cinema genuinely wants to be embraced by audiences beyond local borders. I say it should, so that I can have a job.
I’d like to think I, too, have a role in this effort to expand the reach of Vietnamese cinema. I’ve been subtitling local productions such as The Soul Reaper (Kẻ Ăn Hồn) and The Last Wife (Người Vợ Cuối Cùng). It’s been a pleasure to offer my skills in an understanding of cinematic, instead of literalistic, translation. To this day, many local current subtitlers are still confused about which is which, or forget certain technicalities that will make audiences read the film when they should be watching it. In the bigger picture, said confusion continues to erode the significance of the subtitles’ ability to act as a bridge for filmgoers everywhere, which is something Vietnamese cinema can benefit from.
All this subtitles talk is connected to box office numbers. To again refer to The Soul Reaper, reportedly the first Vietnamese period horror and throughout its local rollout had scored 67 billion VND (2.7 million USD), it has subtitles allowing it to access other markets and find additional success – among them the U.S. This would be a good place to note that, despite measures to please censors like notably awkward cutaways, framings or restraints, Vietnam has quite an active horror or horror-tinged scene. Besides this feature from Trần Hữu Tấn, the year also saw the release of fetus-based horror Vong Nhi (from Hoàng Tuấn Cường), zombie sequel Bến Phà Xác Sống (from Nguyễn Thành Nam), folkloric Taboo (or Điều Cấm Kỵ Kinh Hoàng, from Vũ Thành), cryptid-driven Quỷ Cẩu (a major hit from Lưu Thành Luân scoring 108 billion VND, or 4.4 million USD) and the mukbang-centric Live: Phát Trực Tiếp (from Khương Ngọc, also shown in the U.S. thanks to distributor 3388 Films, and perhaps posters “made” by AI).
At the time of writing, The Soul Reaper is the No. 1 film in Cambodia. Variety previously reported that this would be one of the markets to which the local sales agent Skyline Media would bring the film.
Speaking of foreign markets, at one point The Last Wife also got to be in the U.S., Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the Czech Republic, again thanks to 3388 Films. Its availability in international markets reportedly helped bring the total returns of the film, a romance drama set during the Nguyễn Dynasty, from 97.6 billion VND (nearly 4 million USD) to the aforementioned coveted “100 billion” bar. Victor Vũ’s latest hit is currently on Netflix, a home-of-choice for a lot of Vietnamese films after their theatrical rollout.
The Last Wife’s performance is also part of another narrative that got everyone cheering. At the end of the year, the top 10 films were all Vietnamese – Nhà Bà Nữ, the social class drama Sister Sister 2 (Chị Chị Em Em 2 from Vũ Ngọc Đãng, 121 billion VND or 4.91 million USD), heist-based Hustler vs Scammer (Siêu Lừa Gặp Siêu Lầy from Võ Thành Hòa, 122 billion VND or 4.95 million USD), action-packed Lật Mặt 6 (from Lý Hải, 273 billion VND or 11 million USD), Song of the South, and The Last Wife. This is reportedly the first occurrence of its kind in the industry’s history. More or less, it’s something that should get people to re-evaluate the heat of foreign IPs – namely Korean remakes and Hollywood blockbusters – and reconsider the appeal of local ones. No films from Hollywood got to reach that “100 billion” mark in ticket sales. Audiences seem to be more selective, to do more analysis regarding what they’d like to watch in theaters. They also seem to be more willing to support local voices and stories. But hurdles for both to really make an impact, or make a meaningful kind of impact, remain. Parties who get to dictate what gets released and what gets shown can make head-scratching decisions. I’m still at a loss as to why Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell was released alongside Oppenheimer in a field without Barbie (which was banned). As discussed, the willingness to support Vietnamese films, however much, seems to dissipate the moment they get to interact with “the world out there” – or have returned from it. It would be lovely to never again hear the “Why do you need English subtitles for Vietnamese films? We’re Vietnamese, we can understand it fine” sentiment from people in the industry, especially if I could recall when they once said along the lines of “The world needs to see more Vietnamese films” or “The language of cinema is universal.” There’s also this interesting matter of how some filmgoers interpret the term “arthouse” and then tag it to a film simply because it won international awards, or, again, awards that aren’t “Oscars.” This would leave me speechless, without fail, every time.
Regardless, if I’m to look ahead at where Vietnamese cinema is heading, I have to say I’m hopeful. Overall, the scene is still malleable enough to be daring – or still surprising enough that being more daring is encouraged. The year 2023 saw the presence of Wolfloo and the Mysterious Island (Wolfloo và hòn đảo kỳ bí) from Phan Thị Thơ as Vietnam’s first commercial animated feature. Government-funded films have long been adhering this “screen once and done” model because they are considered niche, but then, unexpectedly, Phi Tiến Sơn’s Peach Blossom, Pho & Piano (Đào, phở & piano) saw, and is still seeing, demand from other market segments. It was announced that many promising projects were winning funds or being in production like Quang Nông Nhật’s Baby Jackfruit Baby Guava, Ash Mayfair’s Skin of Youth, Nguyễn Võ Nghiêm Minh’s Picturehouse (Chớp bóng), Dương Diệu Linh’s Don’t Cry, Butterfly, Trương Minh Quý’s Việt and Nam and Phạm Ngọc Lân’s Cu Li Never Cries (Cu Li không bao giờ khóc).
The latter film was awarded the GWFF Best First Feature at the 74th Berlinale on Feb. 25.
It was also announced that Ho Chi Minh City will host its first international film festival. As the event is scheduled after the deadline for this write-up from April 6 to 13, I can’t tell you how things will unfold or will be received. I can only hope that all will be well.
See, I did tell you that we have much to see and tell. But as the title I’ve chosen for this write-up suggests, there’s caution in my optimism, restraint in my joy. Current figures in the industry are doing a lot for Vietnamese cinema that ensures momentum, but I do think they should ask if their activities – really – make us attractive to international-minded interested parties. To cite a particular example, based on an article by Liz Shackleton for Deadline, “Vietnam doesn’t currently receive government support for overseas promotion.” In a “fireworks show” context, isn’t this pretty much refusing to invite people to come and see the way we have been lighting up filmdom’s night sky? Even if some of them have explicitly said they are interested in us? And so, to me, our cinema scene is as vibrant as it is volatile. As gorgeous as it is scalding. To me, it must decide which of the two traits it would like to exude to the creative population, and it is now at the best point possible to do so. I pray it will go for the more ideal one.
Alternatively, as I’ve been told that dragons, 2024’s animal symbol, can see into the future, perhaps I should ask it. Does anyone know of any I could reach out to? One that uses either Viber or WhatsApp like my aunt?