Victor Vu’s untravelled path

Truthfully, I’ve never believed I hold the power to shift public taste. I’ve simply tried to tell stories that I find meaningful, emotionally rich and thoughtfully crafted. If these stories reach people and help, even in a modest way, to broaden appreciation for Vietnamese cinema, then I consider that a gift. But I think the shift in audience perspective stems from many things: the overall development of Vietnamese filmmaking, and an audience that is increasingly inquisitive and receptive to new ideas.

You’ve explored thrillers, supernatural tales, romances and detective stories rather than following a proven path to commercial success. In an industry where predictability often equates to survival, has this ever led others to view you as overly ambitious? And have there been moments when you felt that your refusal to settle into one genre has helped audiences see Vietnamese cinema as more than just formulaic or forgettable?

To me, cinema is a space to explore not only the world around me, but the one within. At any given time, I’m drawn to different kinds of stories, and each genre brings its own demands narratively and emotionally. I should add that not all of my films have found success, contrary to what some may think. But I’ve never regretted pushing myself. It’s the risk-taking spirit of many Vietnamese filmmakers, not just me, that has helped shift how both audiences and critics perceive our national cinema.

If a film can contribute to a greater journey through subtle shifts whether in genre or storytelling, then I consider myself fortunate. Yet ultimately, cinema is a collaborative art form. However skilled or visionary a director may be, he is still only one part of a greater whole, akin to a conductor guiding an orchestra. When the media or an award recognises me, it is not just a personal honour; it is one shared with the entire crew, and emblematic of a long journey shaped by many who believe in the richness and promise of Vietnamese cinema.

See more: Exhibition “Initiation – The Beginning”: Ngo Thanh Van’s self-reflection mirror and healed hearts

One moment has stayed with me: after seeing Toi thay hoa vang tren co xanh, many viewers previously indifferent to literature sought out the original text. As a director with a distinct approach to literary adaptations, do you believe cinema can serve as a second gateway, leading audiences back to the enduring values of literature, an art form that seems to be slipping further from the cultural life of younger generations?

With Nguyen Nhat Anh’s novels, not only Toi thay hoa vang tren co xanh, beauty lingers on every page. If the film genuinely inspires someone to return to his writing, or to literature more broadly, that brings me great joy, though it’s never something I expect. Personally, I see cinema not as a substitute for literature, but as a companion to it. Literature holds a quiet but lasting power. It encourages us to pause, reflect, and imagine more deeply. In today’s increasingly hurried world, I believe that kind of depth is something many are yearning for even if they don’t realise it at first.

While Nguoi vo cuoi cung may not have achieved widespread resonance, it remains compelling for its delicate reconstruction of northern Vietnamese culture in the late 19th century—from its imagery and pacing, to its subtle commentary on women’s roles beneath the weight of custom and authority. It recalls the haunting atmosphere of Nagisa Oshima’s Empire of Passion. In the stillness that followed the film’s unexpected reception, Victor Vu, did you ever question whether your inspiration continued to reach the audience? Or whether your artistic path still aligned with the shifting tastes of today? And what drew you back once more to that setting, theme and character in Tham tu Kien: Ky an khong dau?

Though Nguoi vo cuoi cung and Tham tu Kien spring from the same well of inspiration, they are entirely distinct both in form and in subject. One is a tragedy, centred on the psychological tension of a woman navigating propriety and power; the other is a detective thriller, where logic and morality constantly collide.

To me, these two films offer different vantage points on the same era. I create for those who love cinema, and I do listen to what audiences have to say. But while in the process of making a film, I try not to anticipate how people will respond. In Vietnam, a film’s fate often hinges on factors beyond its artistic merit. At times, a single detail—be it an actor’s casting, the director’s previous work, or an imperfect trailer—can prematurely doom a film in the eyes of the public. That’s why I focus on telling each story as honestly as I can. With Nguoi vo cuoi cung, I believed that a gentle, restrained narrative was the right choice, the one most attuned to the emotional inner world of its central character.

With Tham tu Kien, you not only expanded the production scale but also ventured into a genre rarely explored in Vietnamese cinema: a detective story, infused with elements of horror, set against a medieval backdrop. The sweeping, intricately choreographed scenes reflect a determination to reconstruct a world that is both visually refined and rich in cultural symbolism. What gives you the confidence that Vietnamese audiences are ready to embrace a genre where investigation, power and human nature unfold in layered narratives? Are you attempting to draw a new boundary where a commercial Vietnamese film can both challenge the intellect and captivate to the very end?

I don’t see myself as setting new limits. I believe audiences have always welcomed films that offer both entertainment and substance so long as the story is told with care, clarity and respect. The desire to bring the detective-thriller genre closer to Vietnamese viewers has been with me for quite some time, simply because this is where my true passion lies. I’ve always been fascinated by stories that involve mystery and moral tension. This genre allows for layered storytelling, while retaining strong cinematic appeal. With Tham tu Kien, I hoped to craft a complete experience that is suspenseful, evocative, and inquisitive. The medieval setting serves not only as a striking visual canvas but also as a platform to explore enduring questions of power, desire, and human nature filtered through the eyes of a detective. If the film holds the audience until the final frame, and leaves a lingering thought as they exit the cinema, then I would consider that the greatest reward.

Victor Vu’s two most recent films mark a continuation of his long-held interest in historical and costume dramas, a thread first explored in Thien Menh Anh Hung. For you, these films are not only a feast for the eyes but also a way to confront contemporary audiences with timeless questions of destiny, time and agency. What stirred you return to this genre, after years spent exploring other forms?

In truth, the inspiration for historical and costume dramas has never left me, even during the years I was immersed in other genres: psychological thrillers, detective stories or fantasy. You can see echoes of it in Nguoi bat tu. For me, history should not be confined to the backdrop of a film. At its best, it becomes the truest mirror reflecting the quiet intricacies of the human condition. When I place modern characters into historical settings where the laws, traditions and power dynamics differ so starkly, then age-old questions of fate, freedom and choice become suddenly sharper, more resonant. That’s both compelling and deeply challenging. After Thien Menh Anh Hung, I felt I needed time to step back, to explore other genres, to recalibrate. With Nguoi vo cuoi cung and Tham tu Kien, I returned to period dramas with a new perspective. These films may not match the scale of Thien Menh Anh Hung, but I feel they reflect a more mature, more grounded version of myself.

Read more: When Vietnamese cinema tells stories of ancestors: identity and the collective memory

In your view, what qualities must a director possess to sustain audience loyalty to Vietnamese cinema, especially amid growing commercial pressure from the global film industry?

I believe that anyone making films for the public must strike a balance between courage and adaptability. You need the conviction to stay true to your own voice, rather than chasing trends simply to please the market. But at the same time, you must remain attuned to the shifting desires of the audience, understanding what they long for, how their expectations evolve. From there, find a way to tell stories that resonate, without sacrificing emotional depth. Above all, regardless of genre, we must approach every film with sincerity, dedication and respect.

I believe Vietnamese audiences today are discerning enough to recognise works created with genuine passion. In a relatively small market constantly competing against global blockbusters, retaining viewers requires the combined efforts of an entire ecosystem: producers, screenwriters, actors, cinemas and the media. Yet if every filmmaker begins by asking, “What story do I want to tell, and is it truly worth telling?”, then Vietnamese cinema will continue to resonate deeply with audiences.

Regarding your future career, what plans do you have in mind? Will you continue to challenge yourself with unusual genres and themes, or focus on building a cinematic ecosystem so that each film remains connected with successive generations of viewers?

The longer I work, the clearer it becomes that each film is more than just a “project”. It forms part of a longer journey: a path that keeps me connected to audiences, culture, and to myself. So far, I’ve always been drawn to new genres and challenging subjects. But experimentation has never been my ultimate goal. What truly matters in every film is a meaningful story, one deep enough to pursue fully, and sincere enough to move the audience. Genre or style is, at the end of the day, merely a vehicle to convey the story’s message. The most crucial question remains: what are you telling, and how do you persuade the audience to share your vision—why is this story worth telling?

Article first published in Tatler Vietnam print edition, July 2025

CREDITS:

Editor-in-Chief: Nikita Chu

Art Director: Andy Tran

Digital Managing Editor: Hong Dang

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Editor board: Lang Minh, Hai Dang

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Producer: Giang Thao

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Special Thanks Ms. Marielle Genet

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