It takes a while to realise that there will be no dialogue in The Last Room in Hanoi. Once that little nugget sinks in, it changes how you approach the movie. With no conversations to follow, the emphasis shifts entirely to the visuals, demanding greater attention from the viewer. Every image, gesture and change in expression becomes important in understanding what is unfolding on screen.
The cinematographer Gary Long makes the streets of Hanoi and other locations, including Quang Phu Cau and Sa Pa, intoxicating without allowing their beauty to overwhelm the viewer. Consider Hoan Kiem Lake and Turtle Tower, among Hanoi’s most recognisable tourist attractions.
Although the area features prominently, they often deliberately blur it and relegate it to the background. The camera remains devoted to its protagonist, Aron, rarely straying from him in the beginning portions.
This visual approach is interesting because the cinematography relies on fog and blurred images. Almost as though we are seeing the world through the haze of Aron’s grief. However, the more he stays back and travels to neighbouring towns, the camera gradually pulls back to take in more of the surrounding landscape.
It is as if he is paying attention to the world around him again, or perhaps coming to terms with his loss. This is also when the movie, and the places it visits, appear ravishing.
Now, Aron could easily be mistaken for a privileged traveler making his way across Southeast Asia. There are even moments when you might wonder whether he is just another passport bro trying to strike up a relationship with a local woman. Yet despite his appearance and demeanour, or maybe also because of it, you realise he is mourning. What he is grieving for, however, is not always easy to decipher.
The absence of dialogue also makes it challenging to establish what is happening between the characters. Thankfully, Jack McEvoy and Jessica Truong bring a disarming sweetness and innocence to their respective roles. Their performances convey an affection that develops through gestures and expressions rather than words. You almost wish you could be a fly on the wall, just to overhear the conversations that are kept from you.
The broad outline of Aron’s predicament eventually becomes apparent. He appears to have brought a mysterious woman from his past back into reality through the power of his imagination or despair. Or did he?
The decision to make the film silent also leaves considerable room for interpretation. The way you perceive certain events can change what you think you are watching. Like if the woman is a manifestation of Aron’s loss, the story could be a heartbreaking drama about grief and longing. If, on the other hand, she is a figment of his imagination, brought into existence through his writing, it takes on the qualities of science fiction or fantasy. It is an intriguing ambiguity, but one that can occasionally leave the viewer grasping for something more concrete.
Director Coz Greenop, working alongside Jack McEvoy, effectively portrays the five stages of grief through Aron’s journey. Starting with denial, anger, bargaining, depression and, ultimately, acceptance. The narrative and visual storytelling weave these emotions throughout the story. Allowing us to follow his gradual confrontation with loss.
It is a lovely idea, though it takes a considerable amount of time to reveal itself. You cannot help wondering whether a shorter runtime might have made the experience more affecting. Even at a crisp 80 minutes, your patience can be tested. When its deliberate silence and slow pace appeared more like an obstacle than an invitation to engage.
As a concept, The Last Room in Hanoi has plenty going for it, and there is little to fault in the effort that Greenop and the cast and crew have put into bringing it to life. The silence can be challenging, especially for viewers accustomed to films that offer more immediate gratification, but it is also central to the experience Greenop is trying to create.
Apparently, the filmmakers initially shot the movie under the title The Last Mermaid. Changing the name was likely an excellent choice. The Last Room in Hanoi captures the picture’s mood and atmosphere far better. There is something vague and disorienting about the title, without giving away too much, much like the film itself.
For all its visual beauty and intriguing ideas, the film occasionally feels hollow. As though it has overstayed its welcome. Even if, its alluring images, atmospheric score, and understated performances makes a stronger impression. Perhaps even more than the movie itself.
