Polished, forthright, and very moving, Ham Tran’s Journey From the Fall ought to stand on its own two feet despite offhanded comparisons to Schindler’s List. It is by turns a tough and tender survival story of Vietnamese boat people that’s more intimate, less remorseful, and not in slightest bit self-righteous. It concerns the plight of the Nguyen family post-Vietnam war: husband Long is imprisoned in a series of grueling re-education camps, forced into hard labour and the regularly fatal practice of clearing landmines; meanwhile his wife, mother and son defect via an overcrowded vessel headed anywhere but ‘Nam. Initially harrowing and without hope, the film relocates at its mid-point to California in the eighties, where the family have immigrated successfully, albeit uneasily, with the undertow of those left behind a heavy burden to bear. Crucially, Tran narrows the focus from the outset, allaying the broad chaos and resentment of a war-ravaged country in favour of the closeness of his four affected family members – the universality of their flight bound to resonate with most Vietnamese (9 out of 10 in the US, for instance, either were or knew boat people), as well as anyone who’s sought refuge from their tarnished homeland. With a generous budget, this is impressively fielded in scale, yet maintains a modesty that’s humbling. It may be financed by producers Stateside, but the American influence is otherwise non-existent: there are no marines or platoons; no embittered war veterans in wheelchairs; nor is there the overbearing presence of an Oliver Stone. He may not admit to it, but Journey From the Fall is also Tran’s backlash against imperialism: just as Americans are compelled to impose themselves on every conflict overseas, so to are they insistent on making them into movies from their own perspective. A film about Vietnamese, by Vietnamese, this is an imprint of war that’s thirty years overdue, yet fresh off the boat.—Tim Wong