Locarno Review: Lê Bảo’s Captivating Hearing Engages the Senses

      Lê Bảo’s *Hearing* begins in the chaotic atmosphere of a bar in Saigon, yet for much of its duration, this mysterious and alluring film unfolds in a surprisingly tranquil world, resembling a fluid space where sounds flow softly. Quiet, but not silent: the most striking aspect of Lê’s second feature is its ability to awaken your auditory senses. Watching the film essentially invites viewers to experience the world with fresh ears, focusing on sounds that typically go unnoticed: milk splashing into a water bottle, bubble wrap snapping between fingers, or a single piece of glass coaxing a cricket from its burrow.

      Lê’s debut film, *Taste*, which won at Berlinale 2021, marked him as a filmmaker to keep an eye on, akin to Carlos Reygadas and Apichatpong Weerasethakul, directors who share Lê’s preference for direct emotional expression over intricate plots. Set mainly within a dim, labyrinthine array of sparsely furnished rooms around Saigon—a vision reminiscent of Italo Calvino’s *Invisible Cities*—that surreal first outing not only resembled a dream but also flowed like one. Its story comprised a series of chilling vignettes loosely tied together by the tale of a Nigerian football player abandoned by his team after a career-ending injury, who is compelled to navigate this shadowy underbelly in search of his son. *Hearing* is significantly more ambitious in both its settings—the narrative shifts between the city and the countryside—and its storyline.

      Ninh (Nguyễn Quốc Tuấn), a divorced father of two, earns his living through the installation of decibel meters, devices that flash a blue light when noise levels exceed a certain threshold. We observe him as he outfits bars, private residences, and even a section of rainforest inhabited by two loud gangs of monkeys. Primarily, however, we see him yearning for his ex-wife (Khánh Huyền) and spending time with his elderly mother (Ngọc Tản), who is estranged from her husband (Minh Hùng), living a reclusive life in the countryside cultivating mushrooms instead of cohabitating with his family in the city (Lê, who penned the script, presents both family dynamics as fractured by domestic violence, hinting at a cycle of traumas that propagate through generations).

      This narrative is considerably more intricate than that of *Taste*, yet a denser plot does not necessarily equate to a more powerful film. While sweeping judgments about Lê’s ability are premature given that he has only two features to his name, I can’t shake the impression that he excels at creating striking images rather than seamlessly integrating them into a cohesive story; indeed, whenever the film shifts to focus on Ninh’s familial challenges, *Hearing* risks losing some of its enigmatic charm.

      The film becomes far more captivating during the passages where Lê collaborates once again with *Taste*’s cinematographer, Nguyen Vinh Phuc, allowing it to meander beyond conventional cause-and-effect storytelling. How can one explain the coin-sized beams of light refracted from an unseen surface that dance across Ninh and his children's faces as they traverse the forest? Or the incredible stillness that envelops an entire residential building in the city, so quiet that no traffic or voices can be heard—only the shrill calls of swifts flying overhead? Who are those ragged figures stuck in a dilapidated warehouse in the jungle that Ninh frequently visits to provide boiled eggs? The further you delve into *Hearing*, the more tenuous your grip on reality becomes—an indication of the film's entrancing ability.

      Vincent Villa’s sound design possesses an ASMR quality, transforming even the simplest sounds into auditory enchantments, while Nguyen alternates between indoor scenes that echo the dim, bleak ambiance of *Taste* and outdoor shots that capture the misty landscapes Ninh wanders in search of the same magic found in another recent Vietnamese triumph, Pham Thien An’s 2023 *Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell*. It’s no surprise that they share producers with Trương Minh Quý’s dreamlike *Viet* and *Nam*. Notably, Nguyen’s deep-focus cinematography plays a similar role to Villa’s soundscapes, breaking down visual hierarchies and allowing viewers’ gazes to roam freely within the frame, absorbing Nguyen’s compositions in all their detail—each minute aspect is given equal significance. Food also plays a crucial role, suggesting a Proustian resonance as characters turn to meals (soups, eggs, dumplings) for comfort, with tactile moments—like a scene where Ninh’s mother rubs her hands over rain-soaked stones—highlighting *Hearing*'s emphasis on sensory experience.

      If one were to predict Lê’s future projects, his next films might likely be named after the two other absent senses, touch and sight (with smell loosely associated with a