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USA/Vietnam 1998
Reviewed by Geoffrey Macnab
Our synopses give away the plot in full, including surprise twists.
Vietnam, the present day. Kien An starts a new job picking white lotuses for Teacher Dao, a reclusive master. While at work, she sings an old song her mother taught her many years ago. After hearing her, Dao invites her to his inner sanctum and asks her to write down his dictated poems since he has lost his fingers through leprosy. Meanwhile, impoverished kid Woody wanders the streets of Ho Chi Minh City in the rain with a suitcase full of cigarettes and lighters to sell to tourists. He comes across ex-GI James Hager, who is searching for the daughter he left behind after the US-Vietnam war. Woody loses his suitcase and mistakenly thinks Hager stole it. His master won't allow him home until he retrieves it.
Hai, a cyclo driver, becomes obsessed with Lan, a young prostitute. He begins to wait for her every night outside the hotels where she services western clients. He earns a big cash prize for winning a cyclo race and with the winnings pays for a night with Lan in a hotel room. To her surprise, he only wants to watch her sleep. Woody finds his suitcase. Kien An's master dies. Hager is reunited with his daughter. Hai tracks Lan down to her grubby apartment. Ashamed of her profession, she tries to make him leave, but is eventually won over by his protestations of love.
Three Seasons portrays Vietnam as a country of glaring contrasts: beautiful lotus-strewn rivers and ancient temples on the one hand; the squalor of Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) on the other. Writer-director Tony Bui (now 26) may have grown up in Northern California, but his sympathies here are with the Vietnamese, not the rich westerners visiting the country. Bui repeatedly contrasts the struggles of the locals with the pampered luxury the tourists enjoy. Early on, we see two tourists sitting in the back of a cyclo, sightseeing, blithely unaware of their driver's agony as he pedals uphill.
Rather than analyse the social conditions in Vietnam, Bui (who left the country as a young child) uses them as the backcloth for a very sentimental folk tale. His characters could have stumbled from the pages of Dickens: there's Woody the waif who roams the streets selling cigarettes, Lan the beautiful but unhappy prostitute, Hai the big-hearted cyclo driver and Kien An the demure lotus picker. There's even a gnarled ex-GI (Harvey Keitel at his most lugubrious, also the film's executive producer) who haunts the city in search of the daughter he left behind in the war. ("I just know it's time to find her... to make some sort of peace with this place," he mumbles.)
Bui made Three Seasons in reaction to US war movies in which the Vietnamese are depicted "as faceless people running through the jungle with guns," but he risks replacing one set of stereotypes with another. Outside Woody's Fagin-like boss, there is hardly an unsympathetic Vietnamese character in the film. Outside Keitel's kind-hearted GI, westerners (and western influence) are invariably seen as a force for the bad.
It is intriguing to compare Bui's vision of contemporary Vietnam with that offered by Tran Anh Hung in Cyclo. Like Bui, Hung was born in Vietnam but educated abroad (in his case, in France). Cyclo is also set in Ho Chi Minh City and features rickshaw drivers, vagabonds and prostitutes. Instead of picture-postcard imagery, its city is one where corruption is always festering close to the surface, with vicious turf wars going on between pedicab drivers, gangland killings, and drug abuse. Cyclo has a delirious, expressionistic quality to its film-making which Bui doesn't come close to matching. Where Cyclo is dark and ironic, Three Seasons is optimistic and benevolent in tone. But there's a thin line between optimism and mawkishness. Whereas the street kid in Walter Salles' Central Station was tough and resilient, Woody is a doe-eyed little boy lost. The story of the prostitute and the driver obsessed with her is uncomfortably close to Mona Lisa. As Bui flits between the four main characters, there are lapses in continuity editing. (Whenever Woody is on screen, it is pouring with rain, but as soon as Hai appears, the weather miraculously clears up.)
Three Seasons is exquisitely shot and in its own naive, lyrical way, is also often moving. Bui is an accomplished (if very manipulative) storyteller. Whether through the poetry the leprosy-ravaged master dictates to Kien An as he prepares to die, the imagery of Woody asleep beside the little girl in the rain, or the big emotional set-pieces (for instance, the ex-GI finally meeting his daughter), the young writer-director knows how to crank up the pathos and makes the one big action sequence - the cyclos hurtling through the city - almost as dynamic as the chariot race in Ben Hur. The portrayal of modern-day Vietnam may sometimes seem as ersatz as the fake lotuses sold on the street corners, but taken as simple melodrama, Three Seasons just about stays afloat.