Di at the very least deserves recognition: A review and reflection on “Children of the Mist” Documentary
Notes: This review/reflection contains spoilers. It also contains tidbits of information from a director’s discussion hosted by CineCulture and Fresno State’s Hmong Studies program on January 27. At this time, the recording of that discussion hasn’t been made available to the public. When/If it does, I’ll link that here. Also, I took notes during my two viewings of the documentary, but didn’t write every single word of dialogue verbatim. I clarify that in certain parts.
Before I watched “Children of the Mist” by first-time director Hà Lệ Diễm, I first came across the New York Times review. It shaped my expectations of this documentary–that it would be “disturbing” — and thus gripping in the same way serial killer documentaries are these days. They titled it “Stolen Youth.”
But it wasn’t all that, I realized, after watching the film for the second time. It was upsetting to watch what Di endured, of course, but the film was also tender.
The first time I watched it, I had been so caught up in waiting and expecting for the most distressing part to come and for the confrontation with the documentarian/director Diễm. But it didn’t unfold the way the NYT review made it sound. Diễm could barely do anything about the situation. It was Di who fought for her life with an iron will.
But let’s go back to tenderness first. There is much of it, even if it’s put in seemingly insignificant order. There is Di staring into the darkness with her makeshift lantern with her siblings. There is Di’s mother making indigo for Di and Di’s married older sister La. (Later, there is a shot of indigo cloth hanging outside the house to dry.) There is Di feeding her younger sister from her spoon some hot water or soup. There is Diễm speaking in a voice-over at the beginning of the documentary about how, despite being from different cultures and languages, they became friends. “Sisters, even,” Diễm shares.
It is this tone that sets the film and how I see it.
The tone gets interrupted at times by bad English translations (with the occasional surprising expletives), something that the director herself admitted having troubles with during post production. Finding a capable translator took some time to translate from Hmong Leng to Vietnamese and then Vietnamese to English and, let alone this difficult process, the director needed “simple” (her direct word) translations for dialogue with poetic language so that a global audience could understand. Which is understandable, but not acceptable when the art of translation is critical and necessary for non-Hmong audience to understand the entire picture. To the ears of a Hmong, you can tell that something was off, even to a White Hmong dialect speaker like myself. (One of the most glaring translation errors is Di’s age. During the marriage negotiations, Di’s mother states that Di is 15, though translations state that she’s 14 and a half; worse, NYT and other places place her age at 12 or 13.)
But the tone gets one thing right where the NYT reviewer got wrong. NYT wrote that, after Di’s abduction, her parents are “frustrated at best — who will feed the pigs when they go drinking?” I wondered how closely this reviewer paid attention or if they wanted to just cite the most “shocking” statements.
Di’s mother says the line “Who will feed the pigs when I go drinking?” once, in a joking manner, as I recall, and she says it before the actual kidnapping takes place. Even if she had said it twice, what remains in my memory is Di’s mother’s search for her daughter after the abduction, like, talking to her daughter on the phone asking for her location; asking to one of Vang’s (the boy who took Di) friends to see if anyone knew who he is and where he lives so she knows where her daughter is; advising her daughter on the phone at night, crying and missing Di. So what if she wanted her daughter to do chores like feed the pigs? As director Diễm shows from an early scene, Di’s mother wants her daughter to wait until 18 to get married. Di’s mother has her flaws just like anyone else, but not caring about her daughter is not one of them. I’ll never forget Di’s mother advising Di over breakfast on the day when Vang’s family returns for Di. They don’t look at each other while they eat, and Di’s mother gives her instructions on how to do it in a proper manner. All of this is said in an almost hushed tone and we’re only able to hear her because the camera is up close to the mother. Di’s mother is assisting however she can.
The tone of the film I think allows space for the multitudes that a person has. Di’s father is a little goofy with his big grin and his heavy drinking and whatnot, but I recall he doesn’t force Di to marry Vang. He may have asked for a bride price, but he insists that the choice to marry is up to the kids, not his’s. The adults who gather, drink, and joke around may be a little rowdy and crude, but they are enjoying themselves and each other’s company after working all day. The Vietnamese teachers are a bit preachy and idealistic, but they seem to mean well. Even Vang, the boy who kidnaps Di, is given an empathetic view. If this were a fictional story, I would despise him for his lie of “I’m a good guy, I won’t kidnap her.” But director Diễm shows a scene of Vang confessing he doesn’t know why he took her. It doesn’t excuse his behavior, but it provides a context to his persistence in trying to convince Di. He, like other men before him and among him, have partaken in this tradition. Now that it’s not going the way he expected, he’s facing his own crisis.
But most of all, let’s not forget Di, the subject of the film, the closest to director Diễm. I can’t help but like Di; she comes across as honest and brave and vulnerable. She seems familiar, like my own sisters, or myself. She’s mischievous, like starting a mud fight at the paddy fields. She has desires like wanting to be rich and wanting to show her mother something different beyond the village. She has boy problems, feeling upset about an ex-boyfriend, but also telling herself she won’t take him back. She argues with her mother and sister. She’s smart and seems to be doing well in school and looks like she has lead responsibilities during color guards and attendance. She’s hard-working too at home where she’ll carry several rice stacks on her shoulders. In a different scene, she tries to carry two long log sticks in her basket by herself, despite Diễm telling her it’s too much. Di stubbornly insists, but promptly falls over. Then, she simply picks herself up and tries a different method.
It is this determination that lends to how she saves herself. The NYT (and other reviews) frame it as if director Diễm swoops in and saves the day, but that isn’t the case. Di fights back with an iron will.
To be clear, director Diễm does interfere to some degree — which raises the argument of what a documentary is and should be, but I won’t digress too far into this point. It’s an old-age question that filmmakers in the genre have debated for a long time and they’ll continue to debate it long after. You can see how it’s grown and changed as technology made it easier, but I’m no expert in this genre.
Some insight is provided from a director’s discussion with Diễm in which she explained that throughout the three years as she became closer with the family, they had begun to ask for her opinion on a variety of things. Diễm seemed reluctant to answer at first, but eventually does lend her thoughts occasionally. Perhaps this fact should’ve been more transparent in the documentary: the change from outsider to quasi-insider/confidant. It surprised me when Diễm explained that the parents themselves had asked her to do something during the marriage negotiations and when Vang’s family tried to take Di. Because Di’s parents couldn’t intervene, they told Diễm that “Only siblings can interfere” — and asked Diễm to do so.
What is your responsibility to art and what is your responsibility to humans?
So, Diễm interferes on two main occasions. One, revealed in the discussion, is that Diễm is the one that calls the Vietnamese teachers to the family’s house to try to mediate between the families. Di had initially run away to school, but her mother took her back, saying something to the effect of how Di can’t run away from the consequences.
At the house, the Vietnamese teachers are awkwardly out of place as they cite the law and, instead of asking for the marriage to be broken, suggest for the marriage to be postponed until legal age. Unlike director Diễm who has been with the family and is recognized by the villagers, the Vietnamese teachers are truly outsiders. They’re well-intended, but it’s not enough as they’re not as well versed in what it means to be culturally married versus legally married. They don’t even seem to recognize that Di doesn’t want postponement–she wants the whole thing to be called off. In the end, the Vietnamese teachers’ intervention was simply a detour and a delay. They couldn’t help Di and Di continues to face the same issue: Vang won’t give up on her.
And Di has made it clear every step of the way during her return to her house that she doesn’t want to marry him. When she and Vang return to her house to finish marriage negotiations and for their final decision on marriage, Di immediately drinks the “break up” wine as per tradition to end it. However, Vang doesn’t drink it. Because it’s one-sided, tragically, Di is still stuck.
And so she uses every tactic she knows to try to get rid of him: she runs to the school, which, as mentioned above, doesn’t help. She also antagonizes Vang by calling him by his last name (Thao) and turns away from him at every chance she gets. She has told everyone in her family, including Diễm and to the camera, that she doesn’t want to marry him. She doesn’t want her family to interact with him either, but they must since he stays over at her house. When some of her family members, like her father, teases her about marriage and “sleeping” with Vang, Di gets angry; she won’t be persuaded by anyone to give up and marry Vang.
It takes so much strength to face what feels inevitable.
On the final morning before Vang’s relatives arrive, Di’s mother advises her how to properly and amicably break up. Di makes another attempt to break up and tells Vang face-to-face gently: She thinks his family is good, but they’re not in love, and they should keep living their lives to find someone else who will make them happy.
Vang is still not persuaded. When his relatives come to take the bride, Di is on the ground, holding onto the leg of the bed. She is protesting over and over that she doesn’t want to marry, but the female relatives are saying typical phrases like “Come with us and you’ll begin a new life.” At one point, Vang’s mother tries to get involved in dragging Di up, but Di’s mother promptly pulls her away and reminds that parents can’t interfere.
The female relatives pull Di and say their assurances, only frustrating Di further. Di breaks etiquette, screaming, “I already said I don’t love him! I said I don’t want to marry him!”
Still, they take her. (They already see her as the daughter-in-law.) The scene cuts to outside the house by the door. The camera is getting shaky. As Di gets pulled outside, Diễm tries to stop them. During this second time of intervention, she directly reaches for Di and tells them to stop, but Vang’s male relative pushes her away and tells her to “Fuck off” and “It’s not your business.” As much as Diễm might’ve become like family, she is still not Hmong. She may be a quasi-sister to Di, but she is not a blood sister. She is still an outsider and is effectively useless to the situation.
Di, who is getting farther from the house, tries to go limp and let her legs drag, but she’s not making much progress. She sees Diễm and calls out, “Diễm, help me!” Just as she says this, Vang who has been following alongside, starts to pick up Di’s legs.
Di knows this is the last chance: If Vang carries her legs, she won’t be able to struggle. So, she screams louder than ever and kicks her legs so much that the black wraps around her shins unravel. She’s a mess–and it’s at this point that the camera swivels away from the scene to show Di’s mother who has been following the group and Diễm shouts at her, “Do something!”
The camera turns back to the scene where Vang and his relatives are lowering Di. It is unclear why they do so, though one can make a few guesses: Perhaps Di was looking a bit too unbecoming with clothes all disorderly, or perhaps the relatives were feeling strained and stressed. But the scene cuts again, this time bringing the screen closer to Di who sits on the ground as Di’s mother says sternly, “If you want to end this, you have to drink the ‘break up’ wine!”
Di jumps up, pushes back Vang, and runs to the house. Vang, after a beat, follows.
The scene cuts to Di facing Vang, both of them holding the two cups of wine. Di, in her disheveled appearance, tells him strongly that they are not meant to be, they don’t not love each other, and that they will drink the wine to break off the marriage. They drink the first cup. On the second cup, Vang appears to hesitate briefly, but he drinks.
Di forces down the second cup so fast, she immediately runs off screen to throw up.
Di, ultimately, saves herself. She received some help–Di’s mother advising and stepping in to remove obstacles, Diễm getting involved a couple times–but dismissing Di’s efforts based on this would be a disservice. Di literally uses her entire body to reject what she didn’t want. It’s commendable just as it’s horrifying that she must resort to every piece of herself to say ‘no.’ But I am relieved.
Watching Di, who has come to represent what some of our sisters and aunts and mothers have gone through, I am incredibly relieved that she escapes this tricky situation.
This documentary was not what I expected in different ways. I was prepared for a grim, research-style documentary on the bride-kidnapping tradition that I know I would’ve been compelled to watch and care about because it’s about my people. It’s about a tradition that I know still happens everywhere, including the United States, and it affects my fellow Hmong sisters.
But instead I saw a personal journey of a young girl, and it still resonated. It’s not because of the fact that we’re both Hmong girls. Sure, that makes it easier to “relate” to her difficulties and to understand her, but that’s not the only reason why.
A research style documentary would’ve allowed us the ability to emotionally distance ourselves from the hard topic of bride-kidnapping and view it from a more clinical perspective. A personal level, I’d argue, forces us to care — because we’re following the journey of someone who becomes familiar to us over three years, someone who shows her many sides of herself and becomes admirable, someone who becomes like a friend.
I said it earlier, but I’ll say it again: I like Di. And it’s because I like Di that this coming-of-age documentary resonates.
