Still Night, Burning House
(Canada, 76 min.)
Dir. Carol Nguyễn
Prod. Audrey-Ann Dupuis-Pierre, Rob Vroom, Ariel Nasr
Programme: TIFF Docs (World premiere)
Filmmaker Carol Nguyễn has shown in her short films that she understands how to delicately peel off the tensely wrapped bandage of secrets covering familial wounds. She brings that same compassionate touch to her feature-length documentary debut Still Night, Burning House.
Turning the camera on her own family once again, Nguyễn’s documentary skilfully examines how a tragic event has left a decade spanning wave of emotional pain and guilt.
Back in 2007, when the filmmaker was 10 years old, her paternal Uncle Thatch died by suicide leaving behind a wife, Aunt Phan, and two young daughters, Jennifer and Jenny. At first, Nguyễn and her cousins were told that Thatch had fallen down the stairs, then the story was revised that he had a heart attack. The truth was he had a long history of mental illness dating back to his journey from Vietnam to Canada, via an Indonesian camp, at age 18 in 1983.
Acquiring his medical records, covering over 20 years of time spent in and out of the hospital, Nguyễn and her cousins embark on a journey to better understand the side of Uncle Thatch’s life that had remained hidden to them for years. Using archival documents to guide them through the difficult terrain of the past, what they uncover is both a family and a society that was not equipped to properly handle the challenges her uncle’s condition posed.
Weaving together the transcripts of Uncle Thatch’s interviews with hospital staff and family testimonials, Nguyễn constructs a moving quilt of emotion, one whose patches provide the audience with insight into her uncle’s struggles with schizophrenia, and how it initially coincided with a time of great change. As issues surrounding mental health were not openly discussed in the 1980s like they are today, the stigma around it posed additional hurdles for a family who was already facing the obstacles that come with being new immigrants to Canada.
In one revealing moment, Nguyễn’s father discusses the difficulty of trying to help his brother while dealing with his own struggles to assimilate into Canadian culture. This led to many arguments and misunderstandings as he did not fully comprehend what his brother was going through. Furthermore, his attempts to offer advice were interpreted as being combative by Uncle Thatch.
As if finding themselves on once common ground that has been split in two by a seismic quake, Still Night, Burning House captures how the divide within the family was further widened by culture and secrecy. Nguyễn’s documentary makes it clear that keeping the realities of her uncle’s condition hidden did not help anyone. Not only are the sense of grief and guilt still prevalent among the director’s father and aunt, but Jennifer would find herself, much like her mother did, in a relationship with someone dealing with his own mental health disorder.
In observing Nguyễn’s transitions from award-winning short films to making a stirring debut about a family coming to terms with mental illness, audiences will no doubt think of Sophy Romvari’s fantastic drama Blue Heron. However, the similarities end with the subject matter. Nguyễn constructs a documentary that finds beauty in the rituals and familial customs that make collective grieving easier to bear.
Still Night, Burning House may swim in the family pool of sadness, but the soothing towel of hope is always nearby. Documenting a family trip to Vietnam, where specific items are gathered to give her uncle a proper send off, Nguyễn’s documentary manages to reclaim a sense of dignity for a man whose life after death was mentioned in whispers. In doing so, the audience feels as if they too are mourning a relative.
A confident and delicately crafted feature debut, Still Night, Burning House reminds us that family cannot truly step into the healing light if some members are left in the shadows.
