Pham Thien An’s debut feature is an existential story laid out in elegant visual poetry

Within the carcass of Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell lies a story of a man in constant search, both inwardly and outwardly. Pham Thien An paints a vivid and indulgent picture of the distinctly surreal Vietnamese landscape in harmony with spiritual thematics represented by the main character, Thien (Le Phong Vu).

The film opens up with a local pickup soccer game being played in a bustling Saigon, with slow horizontal movement eventually bringing into frame a large group of bar patrons, some of which are Thien and his friends enjoying some pints of beer. Thien introduces a conversation about faith but immediately seems uninterested in the matter as his friends talk about their beliefs without him. Soon after, off-screen — a key term that I’ll continuously come back to — a screeching deadly motorcycle crash puts a halt into the busy night, but Thien’s mind still seems to be elsewhere as he barely reacts to it at all. He comes to learn that the deceased victim of the crash was his sister-in-law, leaving behind her 5-year-old son Dao. As Dao’s father, Thien’s biological brother, is no longer in the picture, Thien goes on a soul-searching journey that consists of both taking care of his nephew and finding his brother.

A new motivation now exists for Thien: a search not only for his brother, but a search for something more existential. To kickstart his new journey, Thien must take Dao and his deceased mother’s body to their hometown village where the funeral ceremony will take place. A trip to his hometown is all it takes for both the past and present to unfold extensively in real time, as he is faced with the confrontation of hisself and the nostalgic environment he once lived in. Although Thien’s monotonous and almost spiritless demeanor is still physically apparent, he doesn’t seem like the same person we’ve seen in the first few scenes of the film. There’s something that he’s now chasing that wasn’t previously there.

The film itself is slow and immersive, not in a self-indulgent or pretentious way, but rather in a way that intricately imbues its technicalities into its substance. The beauty in the film lies purely in its deliberate, undemanding sensory detail, one that grips onto the viewer without letting go. Off the bat, within the opening sequence of the film, we are introduced to this off-screen concept that molds the entire film. The camera’s position at the beginning of the scene typically doesn’t hold as much weight as to where the camera finishes, playing with the theme of searching, or looking elsewhere. It’s almost as if the viewer is put into the shoes of Thien himself, initially looking in the wrong places or paying attention to the wrong things, eventually being led to another place not currently important. Pham makes it impossible to miss a detail in this unhurried dream-like world he’s created, with each pixel of the screen screaming for attention.

There’s one particular scene where Thien is looking for an elderly man, who had known his sister-in-law in the past, that lasts about 25 minutes with no cuts in between, making the viewer an intimate passenger on this journey. We follow Thien on his trek to seek out the man, and when he eventually does, the majority of their conversation is held off-screen in his quaint home. A dark yet warm interior fills the frame with subtle and slow panning, as Thien and the elderly man talk about his past where he served in the Vietnam War. Most of the scene’s importance lies in the subject matter; the elderly man speaks on his unease of adapting to a non-violent society when all he knows is war. The scene evokes a sort of enigmatic depiction of Thien’s current position in his life, with his dilemma on faith and jumbled perspective on past and present.

In a film so slow and still, movement somehow remains persistent. Whether it’s movement within the frame, the slowest camera-panning, or movement through sound, we’re constantly taken from one place to the next, both literally and metaphorically. Frames are filled and emptied with the same pace, leading to the next with the utmost grace. Masterfully done, Pham Thien An introduces and removes a multitude of characters, whether human or object, in single takes. There’s a high level of meticulousness that is displayed through what is deemed necessary in each shot, giving the film the sense that it was inspired by auteurs such as Tsai Ming-liang.

Failing to mention the hypnotic sound design would be an injustice to the film, as it not only complements the rich cinematography with the greatest conformity, but it often serves as the leading element in certain scenes. Dialogue in the film is rarely solitary, as words seem to compete with the sounds of nature around them. Whether Thien himself decides to move in any direction with his journey doesn’t necessarily matter, the lively environment moves without him as the sounds of birds chirping, water flowing, and leaves rustling engulf the world around him.

The film ends with a dream sequence, with Thien not knowing if he has truly found anything after looking for so long. He literally and figuratively strips down, removing himself from the world, but at the same time, letting himself be immersed in it. It may be argued that the substance of the film is unembellished, but the intricate layers of technical elements interwoven throughout allow for a comprehensive and mesmerizing experience. Pham Thien An dives deep into metaphysical questions surrounding spirituality and faith with immaculate attention to detail in regards to cinematic composition.