August 22, 2019
Owl and the Sparrow
– Vietnam, 2007
There’s nothing particularly new about the plot of Stephane
Gauger’s well-directed movie Owl and the
Sparrow. If you’ve seen films like Annie
and Three Fugitives or any of Gary
Coleman’s NBC specials from the 1980s, you’ll recognize the scenario within
fifteen minutes, which is about the time it takes for each of the film’s main
characters to be introduced. In films of this sort, we usually get a child who
is wise beyond her years and undaunted by challenges that would crush mere mortals,
and that eventually, she’ll come across good people who easily slip into the
role of protectors. Oh, and her protectors should both be in various states of
loneliness so that circumstances just happen to bring them together. We’ve seen
it before. And yet, Owl and the Sparrow
has something that makes the old seem new enough – location.
Much of the film takes place in Saigon, a city seemingly
swarming with abandoned children. (There’s reference to it having six
orphanages, and no reference to anyone seeking to adopt any of their
inhabitants.) In addition, its streets are swarming with homeless children,
many of whom are hired by adults more than willing to take advantage of the
cheap labor they provide out of necessity. In fact, the film depicts Saigon as
being so accepting of the unacceptable that not one person bats an eye at the
sight of a child selling postcards or flowers on a street corner, and almost no
one cares enough to enquire about the circumstances that led them to accept such
perilous conditions. Notice I said almost.
The central character is Thuy, a ten-year-old girl being
raised by her uncle, Minh (Nguyen Hau), due to the death of her parents. I
probably should have put raised in
quotation marks for only a bribed official would ever describe his treatment of
her as anything other than abusive. In the opening moments of the film, we see
Minh question one of his employees about a bundle of bamboo that was not cut to
his specifications. Slowly, the blame for the error is passed down the plant
floor, and the camera follows a procession of tall women in their twenties or
thirties before settling on a space where a worker’s height does not match that
of the other ladies. Minh makes a bee line for this worker and proceeds to
berate and belittle her in front of her co-workers, most of whom watch with
looks of resignation that reveal just how regular an occurrence this is. The
employee is, of course, Thuy (Han Thi Pham). In his diatribe against her, Minh
reminds her how lucky she is to be in his care and how utterly worthless she is.
He does this while routinely pushing her head back forcibly with his pointer
finger. It’s no wonder she goes home, breaks her piggy bank, and runs away.
What is surprising is the almost routine way she does it. She’s clearly already
heard that runaways can find work to the streets of Saigon regardless of their
status as minors.
In a way, the film is reminiscent of Zhang Yimou’s Not One Less. In that film, a very young
boy leaves the countryside to find work in one of China’s big cities. One of
the most crushing moments in the film comes when a reporter asks him what he’ll
remember about his experience there. He responds, “I’ll never forget that I had
to beg for food.” Thuy never suffers that indignation. The son of a local
noodle shop, only slightly older than her, gives her a complimentary dinner (“The
first one’s on the house,” he tells her.) and a fellow homeless child helps her
find a relatively stable job selling flowers. Eventually, she meets Hai (The Lu
Le), an employee of the local zoo, and Lan (Cat Ly), a flight attendant in town
for seven days. We can almost see the moment when Thuy begins to think about
bringing them together.
It’s this seven-day time frame that I had the most problem with.
I can buy people befriending a homeless child in such a short time, for most of
us would be quite willing to help an individual that we developed a personal connection
with, especially if that person was a child. It requires either a leap of faith
or an exceptionally well written screenplay to buy that true love can flourish
under such conditions, even more so seeing as Hai and Lan don’t actually meet
until Wednesday evening, giving them just two days to make a love connection.
What is needed then is something along the lines of Before Sunrise. We need Hai and Lan to have long conversations
about art, food, the meaning of life, literature, and their future dreams. We
need to see them recognize the other as the missing piece of their lives.
Sadly, this is not what we get. Instead, we see an awkward conversation, a few
hints of nervousness of their part, and a short montage of the three of them
having a good time at a night market. We’re subsequently meant to believe they
are in love. It’s not enough, and this has the effect of making the film’s Hollywood
ending seem a little ridiculous. Sure, it brings a warm feeling to the heart,
but it never really earns it.
Fortunately, the cast gives the film their all and make up
for what the screenplay lacks. Both Le and Ly are convincing as people whose
lives have been upended by the little girl who brought them together, and the
film’s most powerful scenes often involve them displaying emotions whose depths
surprise even them. A key scene shows them practically pleading with authorities
to be allowed to take care of Thuy, all the while knowing they have no legal
basis for doing so. I cared for these characters, and I wished there were more
people like them.
I’m always grateful for a movie that shows me something I
haven’t seen before, and Owl and the
Sparrow opens the curtain on a situation that should set alarm bells
ringing. Gauger has made a film about people who are as ordinary as you and me –
hardworking, unsure of ourselves, not always able to move on after setbacks. I
admired the way Gauger didn’t rush scenes of their everyday lives. We see the
loneliness, the starts and stops, the powerlessness they feel when decisions
they disagree with are made, yet we also see the will to go on, to persevere,
to make what they have as close to paradise as possible. We see than not all
families are determined by blood; sometimes they just find each other. It’s not
a revolutionary notion, of course, but in Gauger’s capable hands, it resonates. I’m glad I saw it. (on DVD from
Image-Entertainment)
3 stars
*Owl and the Sparrow
is in Vietnamese with English subtitles.
*Stephane Gauger made just five films before his untimely death
in 2018 at the age of 48.
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