Jeremy Chua

Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell (2023) is one of those films that just sits in your mind long after the credits roll. The story centers around Thien, who’s basically thrown into a road trip from Saigon to a rural village after his sister-in-law dies in a motorbike accident. She leaves behind her son, Dao, and Thien gets stuck—well, tasked—with bringing the kid to their family back in the countryside. Thing is, Thien’s dealing with his own mess; he’s kind of lost, a bit of a drifter, and not super keen on facing the ghosts of his past. It’s a film that’s not in any rush—lots of lingering shots, rain-soaked roads, endless fields, and those little moments where nothing seems to happen but everything changes. The journey is more than just geographical. Thien is forced to confront old wounds, family secrets, and the stuff he’s been running from forever. Dao, the kid, isn’t just baggage—he’s like this little mirror, reminding Thien of innocence, loss, and maybe hope. There’s a dreamlike quality to it all, with the line between reality and memory getting fuzzier as they go deeper into the landscape. People keep popping up—relatives, strangers, figures from Thien’s past—each tugging at something buried. The film digs into grief, faith, and what it means to belong somewhere, or maybe to someone. It’s slow, yeah, but weirdly hypnotic. You end up feeling like you’ve been on that road too, carrying your own memories and wondering what’s waiting at the end.