As a nation, we are irredeemably doomed. We used to be a cultured people -- culture, not intellect or diplomas. We used to believe in love instead of endless appetite or material pursuit. We used to have a real sense of humor, not brainless repetitive jokes. We used to look up to beauty instead of looking down at pointless distractions. Most importantly, we used to make films -- real, watchable, meaningful, communal films for the masses -- ones for families to gather around an old TV set and marvel at (Pedro Costa's Soviet dream -- "Warhol's TV") -- not high-end popcorn-chewing, cola-sucking, forgettable entertainment, nor postmodernist artsy cinema for pretentious international critic and filmbro circles that no one else cares to see or is encouraged to.
But we've forgotten all that.
That is by no means to say that this is a masterpiece, or a pinnacle of our national cinema of any sort. But it's a true film (or "phim" as we write it) that does everything a film should do and purports nothing else. It made me laugh at the characters' goofiness and surprisingly funny jokes, ache for their pains and sorrows, feel awkward when the mise-en-scène gets awkward, and fill with real warmth inside when the characters treat each other like real human beings despite their conflicts and differences of belief. It's a human film. A film that makes me feel, for once, not foreign in my own country.