Three Seasons

by Jon Reinsch, Free Press Contributor

ietnam has stimulated the cinematic imagination as have few other places. But when we think of that country, we imagine choppers, gunships, trip wire and bodybags. Never mind that all that ended long ago, and that - aside from 3,500,000 leftover land mines- to millions of young Vietnamese the War is not even a memory. Rectifying this distorted view is the main achievement of Tony Bui's film Three Seasons.

Bui was born in Vietnam, but has lived in the U.S. almost all of his 26 years. He chose to make the film in Vietnamese, with mostly Vietnamese actors, and to film on location in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City).

It's not just that Vietnam, The Movie is a war film - it's also one in which most Vietnamese fade into the background. In Three Seasons, Bui intertwines the stories of four residents of Saigon. There's a cyclo (pedicab driver), a prostitute, a lotus seller, and a small boy.

These people are getting by, but in some cases just barely. As in The Bicycle Thief, we see the contrast between wealth and poverty through the eyes of a child. He stares in wonderment at a chandelier, and at a sumptuous banquet. Through much of the film, this boy searches for something that has been stolen from him, upon which his livelihood depends. Again, it's hard not to be reminded of The Bicycle Thief.

For this boy, life can change dramatically in an instant. Absorbed in an old western movie, he suddenly goes from observer to observed. Asleep one moment, in the next he's playing soccer in the rain.

In the Vietnam of today, everything, apparently, is for sale. The people of Three Seasons form connections in a harsh world, and demonstrate love by foregoing the benefits of commerce. Thus, the cyclo, infatuated with the prostitute, must win a race in order to make the $50 with which to purchase a night with her. But he turns out to be a john with a heart of gold. Less dramatically, the lotus seller makes a gift of her flowers in a gesture of solidarity against the uncontrolled pace of change.

To the extent that this film has a political slant, it is a gentle questioning of the erosion of traditions that miraculously survived the War but may not survive global capitalism. In the first scenes of Saigon, it's jarring to see signs for Maxell and Mobil. Here's a film that looks at the mixed blessings brought by the West.

Indeed, despite the Vietnamese contributions, this is ultimately an American view of the country. Tellingly, Harvey Keitel appears as a former Marine who has come to find the daughter he fathered during the War. He says he wants to "make peace with this place", but whether the Vietnamese of today have much interest in this "peace" is open to question. Keitel's presence unintentionally leads to considerable distress for one of the characters. Unfortunately, he's too absorbed in his own quest to care much.

It was probably shrewd to put someone in the movie for Americans to identify with. But perhaps Americans could learn to identify with people who don't look like them and don't speak their language. Throwing away the crutch of a surrogate can be disorienting at first, but ultimately liberating. If you dare, seek out Anh Hung Tran's film The Scent of Green Papaya. It features some of the most fluid, complex, camera work you'll ever see, and there's nothing but Vietnamese interacting with other Vietnamese.

Three Seasons features some beautiful images: women harvesting lotuses on a tranquil pond, the cyclo going over a bridge under a bluish nighttime sky. The ambient sounds of a pleasantly busy city contrast with those in The Scent of Green Papaya, which suggested a Saigon of 50 years ago that was very close to the jungle. The Saigon of Three Seasons is not as idyllic as that, but neither does it approach the surreal horror of Tran's second film, Cyclo.

The creators of Three Seasons were motivated, in part, by the desire to give us a positive portrayal of Vietnamese people. Add to this the official censors who permitted only oblique social commentary, and it's not surprising that the resulting characters are often two-dimensional. Still, there are convincing moments: as the lotus seller lingers in a doorway, we can almost see her coming to a compassionate decision.

After you've seen a critical mass of films set in a foreign country, its look, its sounds, its people begin to seem familiar. That's why any serious moviegoer has a store of impressions of France and Japan, and even Iran is starting to become a familiar place. Three Seasons helps acquaint us with the real Vietnam as well.

Three Seasons opens May 7 at the Broadway Market Cinemas.