Just because AAPI month has come and gone doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be supporting Asian and Asian American stories. For the Asian American International Film Festival (AAIFF), here are four feature directorial debuts that explore grief, trauma, and perseverance in a world that is ever-changing.
The Midnight Sun (dir. Murata Hina)
Feature directorial debut The Midnight Sun by Hina Murata is a bright exploration of dynamics within a Japanese family wrecked by tragedy. Forced to continue with the life they have to face, and damned to forget the one that they could’ve had. Grief is delicately painted in a sunny way through protagonist Fumi’s lens (Sakiko Honda), which her father (Ryushi Mizukami) quickly shadows and dims as he overprotects like a casting cloud.
But it is through this exploration of the sunshine realm that Fumi can meet with her brother Mucchan (Shumpei Hosei) once more, to learn about him now and understand the beautiful tragedy of why her father has chosen to erase all memory of him while she hangs on to threads for dear life.
Murata employs different format ratios to visually distinguish Fumi’s world: 4:3 for the reality she lives with her father, which is tight, boxed in, claustrophobic, and extremely detailed; and 16:9 for her time with Mucchan in their bright, expansive fantasyland, full of hope and opportunity.
The contrast between these worlds shines a bright spotlight on Fumi’s fears, the ocean of what-ifs washing down on her as she begins to second-guess her move. What she believes she owes to her father and brother begins to cast shadows down upon her light.
Mongrels (dir. Jerome Yoo)
Mongrels, Jerome Yoo’s directorial debut, centers on the story of a father and his two kids relocating to Canada after his wife’s passing. The film is told in three separate arcs: the father, the son, and the daughter. Each version portrays their particular journey through grief and adjusting to their new lives.
The family has taken up aiding the farmers in ridding the town of wild dogs that threaten their way of life. Often hunting them and killing them without second thought. Yoo doesn’t shy away from metaphor as he explores the immigrant experience through these characters, using a non-linear way to highlight their respective journeys.
At the head we have the father, Sonny (Jae-Hyun Kim), desperate to make it all worth it. The pain and the agony, set adrift by the loss of his wife. He has relinquished whatever humanity he fostered and decides that survival, at whatever means necessary, is enough. Even at the cost of alienating his children when they need each other the most.
The son, Hajoon (Da-Nu Nam), torn between what he should be and what he wants to become, breaks free from the limitations of the experiences that his culture, society, and family allow him to experience through exposure to how other people live their lives. He’s desperate to save the softness that he carries from the harshness that his father wants to bestow upon him, so that he won’t make the same mistakes he did, but ultimately succumbs to it to survive.
And the daughter, Hana (Sein Jin), forgotten in all the commotion, is thrust into the arms of a surrogate mother who wishes to turn her into something that she is not, but is the only thing that she has to cling to. The standards of beauty are explored through her story, the physical transformation that has to happen for her to fit into her new reality, and the rejection of it as her ultimate act of defiance in the memory of her mother coming back for her.
But there is no going back home…there is only this now.
Surrender (dir. Jess Dang)
Surrender tells a story of addiction from the perspective of Naomi (Andrea Bang), an Asian American woman who uses Blackjack as a way to assert control over her life. Ultimately, she falls victim to it. Adapted from her 2022 short film, director Jess Dang pulls from her own backstory to explore trauma through the family dynamic of Naomi, her mother June (Fiona Fu), and grandmother Mi (Cici Lau), giving reason to her protagonist’s behavior while also not excusing it.
Naomi has found herself in a hole of her own making, triggered by the loss of control in her personal life, which drives her further and further down in her quest to seek out the thrill of taming the uncertain and volatile nature of these games of chance. The worse things get, the more she turns to gambling for release, the better she does, the more strength she regains; and yet the more desperate she becomes, the worse she does, the more it unravels her further — turning into her own father, and paralleling her own relationship with her parents.
Asking for help is something that has been instilled in her not to do, and relying on others is a sign of weakness. And it is through these moments, where we, the audience, are begging for her to seek help, that she sinks herself further into those beliefs, because when her mother asked for help, she was told to suck it up.
Naomi’s world unravels until there’s only one choice left — to choose herself.
Softshell (dir. Jinho Myung)
Softshell plays almost like a hidden camera feed that gets to watch siblings Jamie (Caledonia Abbey) and Narin (Legyaan Thapa) as they go through life after the death of their mother. While it may seem as though nothing really happens, this film is an exploration of life after grief in its most raw form — detachment and numbness. The graininess of film stock makes this world feel real, lived in, and just within reach, as if the events happened long ago, detached from the present, perfectly representing how the main characters are navigating this new world they’re in.
Dealing with grief is not a one-note experience; we all process it differently, and it’s a testament to these characters’ strengths that they choose to do the hardest thing of all — keep going. Their defiance manifests in their continued pursuit of life, finding new joys in their jobs or the relationships they have formed.
From the outside, Softshell is just that, a soft, empty shell that doesn’t amount to anything, but I would argue that it doesn’t have to. Living is already an extraordinary feat, and getting to watch these characters forge their lives, be vulnerable and real with us and each other, and get to experience as they…and then the turtle thing happens.
The use of this video game world to contrast with Jamie’s is a great addition to the film, as it mirrors the inner voice of the character in key moments to show us that there is more brewing under the surface than she shows.
On Narin’s side, he’s a constant companion throughout the film, the siblings complementing each other beautifully. Their temperaments match in such a way that you believe they’re related, like they’ve spent their lives together, and they are being strong so that the other doesn’t have to carry the burden of pain alone. They are together in this experience, and they will continue to be there for each other through it all.
Slanted (dir. Amy Wangs)
Amy Wangs directorial debut, Slanted, tells the story of a young woman desperate to look like her peers — white, blonde, the epitome of American beauty. Unfortunately, I was unable to watch this film, but it remains my most anticipated film of the year, blending the body horror trend with the sinister twist of race.
Thank you so much to AAIFF for the privilege of watching these incredible filmmakers make their feature directorial debuts, and long live Asian cinema.
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