For most people, there comes a point where they have to leap out of their comfort zone, preparing to face the wider world – and whether this is a physical or psychological process (or both in many cases), it can be a daunting process, especially when moving from a small town to the big city, which often tends to be overwhelming to those who aren’t able to temper their expectations appropriately. This is the starting point for Vũ Ngọc Đãng when making his directorial debut, Lost in Paradise (Vietnam: Hot boy nổi loạn và câu chuyện về thằng Cười, cô gái điếm và con vịt), in which he tells the story of a young man moving from his home in the Vietnamese countryside to Ho Chi Minh City, where he hopes to find a better future than he would have ever been able to experience had he stayed in his hometown. He soon learns some very difficult lessons, particularly when a pair of seemingly friendly locals decide to show him some kindness, but in reality were only looking to take advantage of his gullible, small-town nature, leading our protagonist down a dark path in which he realises that there is a malice lingering beneath every metropolis, preying on the weak and vulnerable and forcing them to become part of its vicious cycle of abuse, violence and despair. A very complex film presented in a way that is easily accessible and quite straightforward, Lost in Paradise is a fascinating work, a pioneering moment in Vietnamese film culture, both for its themes and how they are brought to fruition, and which has secured this film a firm place in the history of the country’s artistic output.

While it may not appear to be particularly notable at first, Lost in Paradise did represent a substantial step forward for the Vietnamese film industry, solely because of the approach it took to exploring certain themes. This is a film in which two subjects – namely homosexuality and sex work – are the very centre of the narrative, and not viewed as either fodder for humorous scenarios or the impetus for a lecture on morality and decency. Instead, it’s viewed with compassion, heartfulness and a sense of genuine awareness for these people. Prior to this, such a film was impossible to find, which immediately differentiates this film from the many others that had been made over the years. Its portrayal of queerness in particular is quite remarkable, since it follows the trials and tribulations of various gay characters as they navigate a society that is not entirely receptive to their lifestyle. This is particularly interesting considering Vietnam is one of the rare countries in which homosexuality was never formally viewed as a criminal offence, with all struggles the community faced coming from social perceptions rather than any legal barriers. In this regard, there were some boundaries in choosing the right way to tell this story – how do you craft a film about gay liberation in a country where the community was always free, at least in terms of legal parameters? The results speak for themselves, with the film following these characters as they undergo a complex journey in which they learn to acclimate to different ways of life, which ultimately ties into the central premise of Lost in Paradise, which was to be a sprawling portrait of Ho Chi Minh City in the 21st century, a city undergoing immense change.

The simplicity of Lost in Paradise allows the film to focus on bringing out strong performances from its cast, which consists of a number of very good actors who commit entirely to the various challenging aspects of this story. Hồ Vĩnh Khoa is the primary lead, a young man who moves from a small town in the hopes of making a better future for himself in the city, only to come across the darker side of a place that was supposed to be the key to prosperity and true happiness. His performance is very subtle and is mostly quite reactionary, acting as more of an audience surrogate, someone whose journey doubles as our own personal glimpse into this city and its residents. The other main characters are played by Lương Mạnh Hải and Linh Sơn, both of whom start the film as dyed-in-the-wool villains, taking on the part of these young men who are so desperate to survive by any means necessary that they’ll resort to robbery just for the sake of earning a few measly banknotes that will barely last them until the end of the day. However, the former eventually has something of a redemption arc, becoming a guide to the protagonist (and eventually his lover, as the film constantly seems to imply), their friendship being the core of the film. Lost in Paradise was a slightly superfluous sub-plot about a homeless man who befriends a duckling, and while this is very clearly placed in the film as a means to both stretch the running time to a respectable 90 minutes and break the somewhat tense monotony in which the film is shrouded, Hiếu Hiền is truly compelling as the lead of this story, and would have been a fascinating protagonist in a film based on that particular concept had the directors chosen to pursue that on its own.

Lost in Paradise is a film in which our expectations do not necessarily match what the film intends to do – and at the surface, we genuinely believe that this is going to be a lighthearted, endearing story of queer friendship and love, since the opening few scenes seem to be heading in this direction. However, almost immediately we find that the narrative is far more serious and sombre, and the film doesn’t make use of much optimism until the very end, where the tides begin to turn for the characters. Navigating the emotions of such a film was clearly a challenge, but one that everyone involved was more than committed to realising in some way or another. The director deserves credit for not only being willing to tell this story, but to do so in a way that was certainly not conventional based on previous entries into Vietnamese cinema, which was decidedly more conservative in terms of how it handled more complex themes such as the ones at the heart of this film. It’s not particularly innovative, and it does veer towards melodrama on more than one occasion, but this is to be expected – there are elements of this story that may have benefitted from a more subtle approach, and there are only so many moments in which we can find the swell of emotions entirely impactful before it becomes trite. Yet despite these obstacles, Lost in Paradise still achieves what it set out to do, which was to be a touching story of love, friendship and identity – it doesn’t matter that the journey to get there was slightly overwrought and did feature a few too many instances where more heavy-handed emotions were present, since intention is far more impactful than execution in these scenarios.

For outsiders, Lost in Paradise seems hopelessly pedestrian – the narrative is very simple, and the handling of its central themes is nothing particularly noteworthy, coming across as any ordinary romantic drama about the trials and tribulations of a marginalised community. Yet, taken in the context in which it was made, we can understand why it was viewed as something of a revolutionary moment – stories like this were simply not being produced in Vietnam, and we can only imagine who revelatory it was for members of the queer community, who had always been allowed to exist but rarely achieved the visibility this film afforded to them, may have felt seeing themselves reflected on screen. It’s a wonderfully compelling work with incredibly interesting ideas and a firm, consistent execution that may be very simple, but is nonetheless effective in conveying the core emotions that drive this story. It’s a beautiful film that makes up for its very rudimentary exterior with an abundance of heart and soul, and some solid performances on which the film builds some very touching moments. In the grander scheme, Lost in Paradise is yet another charming queer story in a sea of similarly themed narratives, but the circumstances surrounding its creation and the reception it received in its native country are more than enough to convince us of the merits of this work, making it an entirely effective and thoroughly meaningful affair, and one that lingers with us long after it has ended.