With his
elaborate soundstage set of pre-war Vietnam, Tran Anh Hung guides us back into
a time and place where serenity pulses with unease. Amidst soaking us in lush greens
and rich sounds of crickets and leaves in the breeze, the regular curfew
sirens, the roar of planes over head and the shrill of a flute in minor keys
tell us that times are not untroubled as we enter a household together with
Mui, the young servant.
From her
first day, Mui navigates the workings of her middle-class employers with quiet curiousity,
while her newfound presence soothes the aching heart of the family’s mother, as
Mui’s bright eyes remind her of her own late daughter. In time, Mui’s tranquil
presence weaves itself into the lives of those around her. Even as the family
slips into increased instability, her work never ceases as she cares for the
family’s young and old.
Years
later, the mother is forced to send Mui to Khuyen, a friend of the household’s
eldest son. While this decision is in part because of the family’s finances, her
role as Mui’s unspoken maternal figure also appears as a factor. While it clearly
hurts her, the knowledge of Mui’s affection for Khuyen and the hope that Khuyen
might accept Mui as family pushes her to send Mui away, as she gifts Mui with a
simple dowry to pack with her belongings. As Mui begins life in Khuyen’s home,
just as she did before, she now begins weaving her presence into his life
through her work, tending to Khuyen and his belongings with gentleness.
In the dowry
is a bright red dress that Mui tries on when she thinks Khuyen and his fiancé
are not home. As she checks her reflection while applying the fiancé’s
lipstick, we are reminded of an earlier moment, when a young Mui carefully
buttoned her red top and checks her reflection in still waters before rushing
to bring dinner to the family’s table when Khuyen was a guest, eagerly hoping
to be sighted by him. Now as she cheerfully paints colour on her lips, she
spots Khuyen, and runs to hide in her own safe space. In this moment, the role
between “Master” and “Servant” are apparent, as Khuyen steps into her living
area without reservation. From here on, the film leaps into a flurry of
important moments, his apparent disdain for his fiancé, him stepping into her room,
his fiancé’s outrage, until finally we slow down, and we finally see them together
as Khuyen teaches her how to read and speak.
Now, for
the first time, we hear the voice of the adult Mui confident and clear as she
recites a poem, of which there is a line:
But the interesting thing is
that…
however much they change,
they still resemble cherry
trees.
If a
cherry tree can continue to be a cherry tree amidst waves that sway it, then
perhaps it has found its own place to live and bear fruit. In Mui’s different
reflections, we see that in her ways, she has weaved her place in the hearts of
those around her that go beyond her work. Throughout the serenity that pulses
with unease, Mui’s tranquillity brings me a quiet comfort.
Check out which other films made our list of the 10 Most Life-Changing Southeast Asian films.
Check out which other films made our list of the 10 Most Life-Changing Southeast Asian films.
Written by Priscilla Liew
Priscilla Liew dreams of sushi and working for cinema. She is in love with film and is more than okay to talk about it.