If you’re a Vietnamese filmmaker, presenting a story to the world about two star-crossed lovers nicknamed Viet and Nam is all but asking the audience to interpret the trajectory of their relationship as a metaphor for the nation itself. The third film from writer/director Truong Minh Quy attempts to avoid this straightforward categorization due to its entrancing “slow cinema” approach to storytelling, letting a tale about a slow-to-reveal rift in their relationship reveal itself over time, closing off the world around them whenever they’re together, as if to defy any reading of their partnership as a grand state of the nation address. However, with the ghosts of the Vietnam War and the unresolved trauma of generations born into its aftermath lingering around their romance, the film is unable to shake off this interpretation, especially if the reasoning given for the ban in its home country is to be taken at face value. If you can acclimatize to its very deliberate pacing, you’ll be rewarded with a quietly haunting tale of a doomed relationship, albeit one where the quietness often comes into conflict with such a historically potent backdrop.

The film possesses a disarming out-of-time quality, only gradually revealing that it’s set in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 via some uncharacteristically clunky exposition. We’re introduced to Viet (Dao Duy Bao Dinh) and Nam (Pham Thanh Hai), two miners working deep underground in the country’s north who have long settled into a courtship; even though there’s a distinct sensuality to their moments of intimacy, it’s their complete ease around each other at all times which really speaks to the actors’ chemistry. Although downplaying any notions of being a couple when around others, many around them – such as Nam’s mother (Nguyen Thi Nga) and his dead father’s friend Ba (Le Viet Tung) – assume that, with both being unmarried whilst their peers have settled down with families, they are an item. Without scolding them for it, this may be an unconscious factor into why they’re eager to help Nam try to find the site where his father was killed in the war, in what will be Nam’s final pilgrimage before fleeing from the country in a shipping container headed for the US, in search of a better life.

With the wheels in motion for him to make the perilous journey, an air of finality consumes his relationship with Viet, although the writer/director largely reserves any displays of aching emotion. To both the credit and detriment of his film, its stylisation as an atmospheric dreamscape keeps anything but the most tender moments at something of a remove, their closeness never more richly drawn than in the sweaty, sensual depictions of their underground trysts. That the harrowing, unforgettable closing scene is as impactful as it is can be attributed to it directly forming a throughline with these moments of intimacy; although the actors are at complete ease with each other, the film often underplays the weight of their partnership outside of the bedroom (or, more correctly, mountainous pile of ashy coal). As their relationship has to mostly function within the shadows, the rooms they are most comfortable in are often rendered barely visible on screen due to their lack of natural light. It’s a logical creative decision, but one that also means their shared pain as their era together comes to a close can be easy to forget about even as we see them share a final trip together.

Because while it’s true that their relationship resists being read as a mere allegory for a generation looking abroad as their country still finds its feet in the post-war period, this history is still integrated into the very DNA of the story. Told on such an intimate register, with many subtly surreal flights of fancy intertwined with a grounded character drama, the enormity of its surrounding subject matter is harder to reconcile with a quietly tragic love story. Both actors are listed as playing “Viet” and “Nam” in the end credits, which only makes it less satisfying in retrospect; is this a nod to the fact that each character harbors the same trauma, passed down from their elders, as does the country itself? As rife as it is for interpretation, all it does is increase the emotional distance with the characters onscreen, only furthering the sense that doing justice to their heartbreaking tale was a secondary concern for the filmmaker. 

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Written by Alistair Ryder

The BFI Flare: London LGBTQIA+ Film Festival will take place at BFI Southbank from 19^th-30^th March. Tickets are on sale now via bfi.org.uk/flare.

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