Phở real

Vietnam may be in the news for all the wrong reasons lately (hint-hint: exorbitantly high tariffs), but one recent export that has proved to be a valuable cinematic offering is Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell, directed by Phạm Thiên Ân and released in 2023. This debut feature-length film won the Caméra d'Or (Best First Feature) at the Cannes Film Festival, marking a significant emergence of Vietnamese cinema on the global stage. The film follows Thien, played by Le Phong Vu, a man living in bustling Saigon who is abruptly drawn into a spiritual and emotional journey when he is tasked with returning the body of his sister-in-law, who died in a motorbike accident, to their rural hometown. Along the way, he travels with his young nephew, Dao, and reconnects with elements of his past and lost faith, encountering old acquaintances such as his childhood friend, Sister Thao, played by Nguyen Thi Truc Quynh.

To hear a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell, conducted last week, click here.

Cocoon Shell is notable for embracing the classic hallmarks of “slow cinema”; this movement immerses viewers in a contemplative experience by emphasizing atmosphere and mood through deliberate pacing, evocative visuals, and simplified sound design. Often exploring everyday life, slow films highlight the mundane and unsaid, favoring subtle, non-verbal storytelling over dialogue. Typical characteristics include long takes (in this film, often extending several minutes, such as the sequence where Thien meets and talks with the older war veteran, which consists of an unbroken shot lasting over 20 minutes); moments of stillness, as evidenced by pauses in conversation, inaction, or simple acts of waiting; ambiguous and unresolved narratives; and sometimes cryptic dialogue.

Instead of presenting straightforward stories that progress ahead, slow cinema movies often employ reflective and meditative qualities that linger long on visuals and emphasize thematic elements. This film revels in all these traits, particularly extremely long takes (this may have been the easiest three-hour film to edit ever), as well as slow zoom-ins that are nearly invisible and leisurely camera moves.

What’s the benefit of consistently relying on marathon-length takes? Consider how most viewers are more accustomed to more frequent and rhythmic cutting between shots to break up scenes and provide visual variety, giving us new images to focus on and redirecting our attention. Letting a shot breathe longer without edits forces us to pay closer attention to the entire misc-en-scene, including the smallest details in the frame. And with so little dialogue and a meager plot, we remain more intently focused on Thien’s journey, interactions, and observations.

“By letting each scene play out in near-real time, Pham emphasizes Thien’s slow process of reconnecting with his roots, as well as the contrast between the pace of life that characterizes the village, where the slow camera movements and shot durations feel natural, and Saigon, where they come across as unnaturally sedentary,” wrote Slant magazine critic Jake Cole.

Nick Schager of the Daily Beast seconds these sentiments: “(Phạm Thiên Ân’s) camerawork moves at a contemplative, ambulatory pace which heightens the sense that Thien is floating through the world—an impression amplified by vistas of Vietnam’s rural villages, valleys and mountains encased in a layer of mist that seems to be pressing down on the Earth’s inhabitants, as well as a dream in which Thien bikes silently along hazy roads punctuated by other vehicles’ blooming headlights.”

Interestingly, the director also commonly prefers deep-focus long shots in which Thien is shown from a far distance amidst expansive outdoor settings, like the uncut sequence where he receives roadside help from a fellow motorbiker. Additionally, Thien and other characters are frequently framed within doorways, windows, behind glass, or opposite other portals, and placed symmetrically center in the frame.

Pham Thien An doesn’t only keep the camera running much longer than expected; He enjoys moments of quietude, visual stillness, and attention to relatively small details, too. Case in point: the protracted shot of the strange silvery object (apparently a cross) floating among the reeds, or the prolonged image of the glowing clock face.

Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell is a masterclass in fascinating sound design, as well. We hear a myriad of ambient noises in both city and rural scenes, but our ears perhaps hone in more intently on the pastoral sounds.

While the scenes (with many typically consisting of one uncut shot) serve more as real-time vignettes shown linearly, the filmmakers interrupt temporal order and reality with a flashback (involving Thien and Thao kissing) and at least one dream or fantasy sequence: Recall the POV shot of Thien riding his motorbike through the rainy streets, and the scene where he visits with his brother’s new wife and baby – which may or may not be real, as we see him awaken abruptly atop his motorcycle, suggesting that the previous shots were slumber-ifically surreal.

Inside the Cocoon Shall explores navigating death through the prism of faith and spirituality. Thien reveals in his debut scene that he’s not a religious or spiritual person, that his mind won’t let him be, and that belief is ambiguous. But the sudden death of his sister-in-law, coupled with a newfound urge to find her lost husband (his brother), sets him on a journey through the Vietnamese countryside and his old hometown in which he encounters various characters – particularly the old woman, the old man, and the good Samaritan on the road – who cause him to reconsider God’s presence and how faith and goodness can motivate people. But at the same time, he’s puzzled why a higher power would so unfairly make his nephew an orphan and take the life of his sister-in-law, a practicing Christian.

(Spoilers ahead) Much remains unresolved by the conclusion, and the film’s title is open to interpretation, without any clear reference. Thien never finds his brother Tam. We’re also not sure if our protagonist feels any spiritual clarity after his many journeys. But the message is clear: This is a story about reconciling with one’s past. Thien reconnects with his former love, Thao, who has become a nun; the flashback between them reveals that he experiences unresolved longing and romantic feelings for Thao, who eventually comes to peace with her choice. Likewise, Thien searches for his long-lost brother, the father of his orphaned nephew, hoping to reunite and learn why he ran away. His journeys lead him back to his hometown and kindle a nostalgic sentiment.

Sometimes asking questions is more important than finding answers. Again, Thien never locates his brother or experiences a spiritual epiphany that we can clearly identify. But by being forced to revisit his roots, assume responsibility for his young nephew, and try to better understand his former lover and her choices, we can hope that he’s on the path to finding purpose and fulfillment in life and seeking deeper spiritual truths.

Similar works

• Other films within the “slow cinema” subgenre, include:
• The works of Apichatpong Weerasethakul and Terrence Malick
• Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975) – A landmark of slow cinema, meticulously depicting a widow’s repetitive daily routine, highlighting the mundane and unspoken
• Mirror (1975) –Tarkovsky’s poetic, autobiographical film using nonlinear storytelling to explore memory, family, and time through meditative visuals
• Stalker (1979) –Tarkovsky’s philosophical sci-fi journey with long, contemplative sequences, delving into existential and spiritual themes
• Sátántangó (1994) – A seven-hour epic portraying the bleak, monotonous lives of villagers on a decaying Hungarian collective farm
• Taste of Cherry (1997) – A minimalist Iranian film exploring life, death, and personal choice through quiet, meditative storytelling
• Eternity and a Day (1998) – A dreamlike Greek film by Theo Angelopolous blending flashbacks and slow pacing to reflect on memory, loss, and time’s passage
• Werckmeister Harmonies (2000) – A haunting black-and-white film with long takes and an unsettling atmosphere, reflecting on societal decay
• Goodbye, Dragon Inn (2003) – A meditative portrayal of a grand movie theater’s final night, focusing on its ghostly, near-empty ambiance.
• Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (2010) – A surreal, dreamlike tale of a dying man visited by ghosts as he contemplates his past lives
• An Elephant Sitting Still (2018) – Hu Bo, A profoundly melancholic film following the intersecting lives of lonely, struggling individuals in a bleak Chinese city

Other films by Pham Thien An

• The Mute (short, 2018)
• Stay Awake, Be Ready (short, 2019)