When thinking back on his childhood, Kit (Henry Golding) doesn’t remember much, with his younger years in Vietnam being nothing but a blur, since his family fled the country when he was barely six years old, taking him to the United Kingdom, where he spent most of his life. Three decades later, Kit finally has a reason to return – both of his parents have died, and he and his brother are set to find a place in their homeland where they can scatter the ashes of their mother and father, who retreated from a place they called home for many years. Kit has a head-start of a few weeks, and decides to get to know the country prior to his brother’s arrival, visiting locations from their childhood, as well as reconnecting with old friends and acquaintances, who doubtlessly remark on how Kit has seemingly grown entirely detached from his Vietnamese identity – he doesn’t speak the language, is ignorance of many of the customs, and doesn’t carry himself like a local, despite the fact that nearly everyone he encounters immediately assumes that he is a native, a fact that he both appreciates but rebels against, since he is too insecure to fully allow such assumptions to exist for long before clarifying. He meets a variety of people along the way, such as Lewis (Parker Sawyers), an American entrepreneur who starts as one of Kit’s near-anonymous hook-ups one lonely night, but rapidly becomes a strong friendship, the two wayward individuals finding themselves to be kindred spirits in a country they’re both captivated and terrified by. Kit also gets to know Linh (Molly Harris), a reserved art curator who has lived her entire life in Vietnam, but actively avoids being defined by this way of life, yearning to escape and follow her passions, which Kit assures her isn’t nearly as exciting as it would appear. Over time, Kit seems to realize there is a narrow boundary between a nation’s history, and one’s own personal connection with it – a fact that is difficult to learn, but liberates him from the existential despair that he has feared since his arrival in a country he no longer recognizes.

Monsoon is a film that asks a very simple question – can you recognize a person, place or thing that they never really knew in the first place? Hong Khaou (in his second feature directorial effort) put together a thoroughly compelling drama that aims to capture different elements of the human condition through the story of a young man’s trip back home, as well as his concurrent self-reflection, which also serves to be something of a journey. Khaou made a film about an outsider trying and failing to fit in, which is only made worse when he realizes that he exists in the ambiguous space between belonging and isolation, and that finding your place is a lot more difficult when you abandoned it in the first place. Monsoon is a film that focuses on a journey that functions as less of a homecoming, and more of a reintroduction, a metaphysical quest that sees a young man coming to terms with his own identity through being surrounded by locations that are only vaguely familiar, weaving through crowds of people he should call his compatriots, but who look at him as some kind of traitor, simply because he is one of the few people who managed to escape and make a life for themselves elsewhere. This is a hauntingly beautiful film, one that has a great deal of emotion scattered throughout it, but really functions as a very simple drama about individuality, and how one’s cultural imprint – regardless of how vague or distant it is in one’s memory – plays a fundamental role in establishing who we are as individuals. Khaou has gradually made his career through intimate, well-composed films of varying lengths, all of which extract from the same set of fundamental concepts that seem to be exceptionally fascinating to the director, who in turn composes something absolutely stunning and unforgettable, if not heartbreakingly honest in both its view of cultural disillusionment, and the insecurity of feeling alienated from a world one has yearned to be a part of for a long time.

Simplicity is absolutely the driving factor behind Monsoon, a film that benefits tremendously from such a subtle, quietly insightful premise that grows on the view as we elect to undertake this journey alongside Kit (played by Henry Golding in a performance that proves that he is an incredibly gifted actor, and far more than just the object of desire he is constructed as in the majority of recent films he has starred in), venturing into a world that may be foreign to the majority of us, but still has some sense of familiarity, even if one hasn’t been able to visit the locations Khaou uses as the setpieces for this film – to his credit, he does exceptionally well in capturing the beautiful chaos of Vietnam, with the opening sequence, whereby an overhead shot portrays the insect-like scurrying of the cars, motorcycles and pedestrians down below, being the first of many captivating moments that shows that Monsoon is far more than just a drama about a man searching for a sense of identity, but also a poetic ode to a lost generation, and a steadfast celebration of a culture that is rarely given the platform to be presented in such a delicate manner when it comes to western productions, with many mainstream representations of Vietnam outside of Asia portraying it as a hive of stereotypes at best, outright villainizing it at worst, which is an unfortunate misstep in the way we tend to look at this vibrant, beautiful culture and the people who populate it. While the film doesn’t necessarily promise to be the definitive statement on any of these ideas, the ways in which the director weaves such a compelling story that gives the under-represented something of a voice is absolutely remarkable, even if it is only showing something in something as inconsequential as demonstrating the process of making scented tea, or a curb-side lunch with an old friend. Working as a series of moments woven together to form a powerful message, Monsoon makes far more of an impact than most would imagine based on the premise.

The director has been quite vocal in explaining that the impetus for Monsoon is to do with identity, and while it may not appear to be particularly involved in exploring these themes in depth, the film is a remarkable entry into the canon of modern queer cinema, where the intersections between one’s inner quandaries and the expectations (and sometimes even conventions) of their particular culture come into conflict with the person they’re aiming to be. The character of Kit is a bundle of contradictions, and he is portrayed as a man who is both assured of himself, yet so deeply insecure, seeking validation wherever it’s available to him. This is reflected in all the relationships – romantic and otherwise – that he finds himself forging over the course of the film. Most significant is his brief romance with Lewis, an equally-broken young man who is undergoing his own crisis of identity, and who is seeking some solace in the hustle and bustle of contemporary Saigon – it may be chaotic and disorienting (or in the words of the protagonist, “absolutely relentless”), but it lends them some anonymity to be the people they want to be – you can be anyone when no one knows who you are, and if that isn’t a powerful message, then nothing else is – not so much making a fresh start as it is entirely reinventing oneself and everything you stand for. Khaou shows incredible restraint throughout the making of this film through avoiding overwrought expressions of emotion, and pays attention to constructing these characters as fully-formed individuals with their own personal journeys that they undergo, rather than thin archetypes existing solely for the sake of maintaining a story that wouldn’t have been nearly as successful had this film resounded with even the slightest note of inauthenticity. It creates a powerful portrait of existence that is far more profound than you’d imagine, especially when the film cuts to the core and allows the story to be propelled on its own virtues, rather than preaching unrealistic ideas to an audience who may not take kindly to heavy-handed portrayals of such issues.

Monsoon is sadly the kind of film that flies under the radar, and will therefore not be something that will be easily accessible for many viewers, since its fiercely independent nature means that it will naturally not announce itself as some major work. However, there is very little doubt that Khaou is a director to watch, and as he has made exceptionally evident in all of his work thus far, his talents are those teetering dangerously close to an enormous breakout, which would be perfectly fitting, considering that he is clearly a skilled director who can weave a compelling story out of the most paltry yarn. This is a film that may not be particularly enthralling for those seeking out a more traditional work – it is ultimately a slow-paced meditation on grief and love (perhaps even in that order), and one that takes its time in ruminating on a wide array of ideas, without getting to a discernible point of conclusion, or even making a clear decision on the vast number of issues that it uses as its foundation. Long stretches of the film are conducted without dialogue, and it can often be laborious in its execution – but for every complaint about its pace or lack of excitement, there are a dozen further reasons to adore this film, such as the wonderful performances given by Golding and Sawyer, the stunning cinematography (Khaou and director of photography Benjamin Kracun really do capture the vibrant chaos of Saigon and Hanoi beautifully) and the strong story that foregoes all cliches in favour of a very touching series of conversations that seem truly genuine. It’s a wonderful work of contemporary filmmaking, and an essential film that traverses a range of themes, and emerges a triumphant, poetic tapestry of life and its many strange contradictions, and the importance of fighting against these odds, in the hopes of finding yourself along the way, even if its in the ruins of the past.