Cover From left, director Lan Hongchun, actors Wang Yantong, Wang Xiaohui and Li Sitong, and producer Zheng Xuanxuan attend a screening during the 83rd Venice International Film Festival. (Photo: Stefania D’Alessandro/WireImage)
From left, director Lan Hongchun, actors Wang Yantong, Wang Xiaohui and Li Sitong, and producer Zheng Xuanxuan attend a screening during the 83rd Venice International Film Festival. (Photo: Stefania D’Alessandro/WireImage)
1 / 1
As Teochew drama ‘Dear You’ grosses US$300 million in China and opens internationally, we unpack the diaspora memories and universal empathy that bridge cultural divides
Few sights at the Venice Film Festival were as striking as the arrival of the cast and crew of Dear You. Amid the shimmering glamour of high cinema was an indie, dialect-heavy drama, shot in the coastal towns of Chaoshan—the eastern Guangdong region encompassing Chaozhou, Shantou and Jieyang—and Bangkok, fronted largely by first-time actors.
On September 8, the two-hour feature was screened at the M9 Museum in Mestre as part of a Chinese-language film spotlight held alongside the 83rd edition of the festival.
Dear You is a moving meditation on identity and ancestral memory, particularly for those whose lineage weaves through China and Southeast Asia. Through the lens of qiaopi, the handwritten remittance letters sent home by Chinese immigrants since as early as the 17th century, Shantou-born director Lan Hongchun crafts an ode to the often overlooked sacrifices made by earlier generations of the diaspora.
Read more: Dear You proves you don’t need stars or spectacle to break hearts and box offices
Above ‘Dear You’ grounds its narrative in the authentic, lived-in textures of coastal Chaoshan and Guangdong
Having generated over 2 billion yuan (nearly US$300 million) at the domestic box office and being screened initially in markets including Hong Kong, Macau, Malaysia and Singapore, the film is now making an impressive footprint in North America, opening on more than 160 screens across Los Angeles, New York, Toronto and Vancouver. This marks the latest leg of a global cinema rollout, with releases also planned in the UK, France, Ireland, Japan, South Korea, Thailand, Vietnam, Australia and New Zealand.
It is predictably disheartening to watch some critics frame the film’s global appeal as a calculated instrument of soft power or “non-coercive” influence aimed at binding overseas communities. Must every story of heritage be perceived as statecraft? Could the truth simply be that audiences are hungry for an unvarnished portrayal of family devotion? Dear You is a worthy case study. It accomplishes what even multi-million-dollar budgets don’t guarantee: touching a global nerve.
Central to the narrative is qiaopi—the physical envelope containing a letter and money sent back home from overseas Chinese workers. Set against the brutal 1950s migration wave from Chaoshan to Southeast Asia, also known as “going to Nanyang”, the film traces a decades-long saga of separation.
Mother-of-three Shurou waits faithfully in Chaozhou, while her husband, Musheng, endures gruelling labour in Bangkok, sending monthly remittances home. Crucial to this connection is Nanzhi, an innkeeper’s daughter in Bangkok who helps the illiterate Musheng compose his letters, shaping an enduring paper trail of devotion and, at times, miscommunication.
Above The UK poster for ‘Dear You’. (Photo: IMDB)
Above The Japanese release poster for ‘Dear You’. (Photo: IMDB)
The UK poster for ‘Dear You’. (Photo: IMDB)
1 / 2
In an interview with Tatler, psychology researcher and Tsinghua University lecturer Sami Wong says the tactile, delayed nature of qiaopi fulfils a deep emotional longing amid the digital overload of modern life.
“When our needs can be satisfied almost instantly, thanks to technology and modern convenience, we have fewer opportunities to experience a sense of lack; but lacking isn’t always a bad thing,” says Wong, who founded 3Drips, a Beijing-based brand consultancy focused on psychodynamic and cross-cultural insights.
“In a culture conditioned by instant gratification, slow correspondence opens up a rare psychological space: the moment between wanting and having, where we can pause to consider what we truly need.”
Rather than lecturing the audience on historical hardship, the film illustrates the plain reality of those envelopes: monthly proof that someone on the other side of the sea was still holding on.
For families across the diaspora, stories of migration and hardship can feel faraway when passed down through fragmented recollections or restrained ancestral pride.
“We may be familiar with our ancestors’ resilience, but without their specific stories, those traits remain abstract concepts,” Wong explains. “Cinema bridges the gap between knowledge and experience, allowing us to feel what our families lived through and draw our own meaning from it.”
Read more: China’s most ridiculed animation Niu Lai is the resistance against AI slop that we need
Above The ‘Dear You’ cast and crew connect with fans following a screening at the New York Asian Film Festival, where the movie served as the closing night film. (Photo: Liao Pan/China News Service/VCG via Getty Images)
The ‘Dear You’ cast and crew connect with fans following a screening at the New York Asian Film Festival, where the movie served as the closing night film. (Photo: Liao Pan/China News Service/VCG via Getty Images)
1 / 1
Sheng Zou, assistant professor of communication at Hong Kong Baptist University, sees the film’s focus on altruism and familial care as a welcome antidote to a fractured and transactional social landscape.
“These values appear more precious today, as contemporary society becomes more individuated and atomised,” Zou says, pointing out that the movie also represents family in diverse forms, such as single motherhood and non-biological bonds, that transcend cultural boundaries.
Dear You’s intimate, hyper-local storytelling stands apart from the top-down messaging of state-sponsored media initiatives which, as Zou observes, often lose foreign audiences by attempting to influence rather than connect.
“Effective public diplomacy often facilitates two-way communication that entails an effort to enhance genuine understanding rather than the brute imposition of ideology,” he explains. “Organic storytelling communicates but does not propagandise, leaving room for the audience to interpret their meanings.”
Shot predominantly in Teochew, the film anchors itself in gritty, lived-in locations in Chaoshan and Bangkok.
“It is touching but very restrained; it conveys intimacy through minute details and sentimental or poetic lines and iconographies,” Zou says. “It does not rely on star-studded cast, expensive props or advanced visual effects, but appeals to the audience with a type of emotional authenticity that potentially evokes resonance across languages and regional cultures.”
Above Lan Hongchun alongside Li Sitong and Wang Yantong at the Hong Kong premiere of ‘Dear You’ in June 2026. (Photo: Zhang Xiangyi/China News Service/VCG via Getty Images)
Lan Hongchun alongside Li Sitong and Wang Yantong at the Hong Kong premiere of ‘Dear You’ in June 2026. (Photo: Zhang Xiangyi/China News Service/VCG via Getty Images)
1 / 1
Rather than chasing global reach, Dear You reveals a simpler reality: the deeper a story digs into specific human truths, the better it translates. And its international reception signals a shift in global appetites away from monolithic, grandiose productions and toward decentralised narratives.
“Hyper-regional specificity also speaks to the plurality of Chinese-language cinema: there is not just one singular accent, voice, narrative or way of life,” Zou says. “The experiences of Chinese-speaking communities both in and outside of China are very complex, and dynamic … Dear You shows us vividly the commonalities and the differences, and reveals the possibilities for Chinese-language cinema.”
The film’s journey from Chaoshan to Southeast Asia, and now to Venice, North America and Europe, reinforces a fundamental human truth, as Wong puts it: “Our stories may be different, but the feelings that connect us are often remarkably similar.
“Understanding is where empathy begins—and in the arts, that empathy is what truly transcends culture, language and borders.”
Cyril Ip is the Features Editor at Tatler Hong Kong, where he shapes digital strategy, curates long-form features and drives trending cultural coverage across multi-platform digital experiences. He writes about culture, society and self-development. Having lived and worked across Hong Kong, mainland China and the UK, he brings a multifaceted background that spans media, music and publicity—including a four-year tenure as a culture and diplomacy journalist at the South China Morning Post.
