Bouncy ’80s pop takes root in ‘New Wave,’ a film about Vietnamese Americans’ glam glory days

As I delve into the captivating tales of these trailblazing artists, I can’t help but feel a profound sense of connection and admiration. Like Taylur Ngo, a fellow writer, I too have been drawn to stories that explore family secrets, confront societal norms, and delve deep into the intricacies of life within households.

Intense, distressing images unfold before your eyes – scenes of combat, gunfire, families tending to wounded children, and crowds escaping Vietnam, seeking sanctuary in America – as the documentary “New Wave” begins. This is a familiar portrayal of war’s harsh realities.

However, unexpectedly, danceable rhythms and captivating synthesizers permeate the historic recordings of Saigon’s final days, a time when the U.S. government intervened in 1975 to evacuate over 120,000 refugees from military bases. This mass rescue came after violent events that continue to have a profound impact on lives today.

Filmmaker Elizabeth Ai, already pregnant as she embarked on this project, found herself searching for creative ways to pass down tales about her family history to her yet-to-be-born child. Suddenly, familiar melodies popped into her mind. “Growing up in the ’80s, I was deeply influenced by my substitute guardians – my parents were absent and my uncles and aunts took over that role instead.

As I pondered what to tell my daughter, Ai recalls, a wave of new music from my past suddenly surfaced in my mind – this melodious tide was connected to some of my earliest and dearest memories. Moreover, most Americans’ understanding of the Vietnamese experience has been confined to violent war films or stereotypical portrayals. In my opinion, it’s high time we shift the narrative and shed light on a subculture that remains largely unknown.

And so “New Wave” was born. The film will screen at Laemmle Glendale from Friday through Oct. 31.

On a quest to unearth a hidden tale, AI delved into the tumultuous realm of Vietnamese New Wave, uncovering the story of punks and discovering a more profound cultural reality beneath the chaos, anarchy, and teased hair reminiscent of towering peaks, as well as catchy but cheesy tunes that echoed the spirit of youthful rebellion.

The director remarks in the film’s introduction that those who preceded him were constantly evading their pursuers. In a Zoom interview, Ai, aged 44, analogizes refugees to “master escape artists.” As she delved into the lives of her family members and influential figures from the Vietnamese New Wave scene – a group distinct from the American-known MTV icons like Blondie or Billy Idol – she unearthed a rich tapestry of shattered aspirations and unfulfilled promises. She characterizes them as more than just fleeting acts of teenage rebellion, but rather acts of resistance against the lingering specters of war and the sacrifices made by a generation striving to reconstruct.

In my creative journey, I’ve woven together the clandestine escapades of my uncles and aunts in hidden nightclubs across Southern California during the “New Wave” era with the shattered fragments of my own tumultuous childhood, marked by parental absence. After six long years of dedication, my directorial debut finally premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival last June.

Despite the Vietnamese labeling this genre as “new wave,” it’s commonly known globally as Eurodisco. Its electronic beats, punk-goth vibe, keyboard and drum machine sounds embodied a period that was both nostalgic and revolutionary in nature.

Ian Nguyen, a DJ and concert producer who features prominently in the film, stated, “The term ‘refugee’ stirs up memories I’d rather forget.” As an early advocate for New Wave music, he often played it for audiences then and now, likening its tunes to those of Depeche Mode and OMD.

In the movie, we follow Nguyen as he delves into his complex personal bond with his father, the renowned Vietnamese writer Nguyen Mong Giac, who sought a more settled existence in Orange County. His father was unsupportive of his son’s chosen path and vocation.

In my perspective, the contrast between their styles unfolds against a pulsating, passionate beat, infused with deep feelings. For young souls like Nguyen, the music symbolized a cultural metamorphosis, a reawakening that emboldened us to break free from traditional shackles, explore motel living, and navigate through tumultuous relationships. However, to their older generation, this amplified sound was far from the melodies they would ever hum along.

Ysa Le, the head of the Viet Film Fest, shares that she was spellbound by the documentary “New Wave,” which held its debut on the West Coast earlier this month and received the grand jury’s top feature award.

She emphasizes that the story is deeply rooted in family dynamics, addressing intergenerational wounds. It’s a tale we must share, she insists. “It chronicles our personal experience, and I believe it will encourage viewers to examine the heartfelt dialogues portrayed between grandparents, parents, and children in the film. These discussions are crucial, as they can prevent misunderstandings from growing into regrets before opportunities pass.

During the film festival she established in 2003, which lasted for three days, enthusiastic audiences packed two sold-out cinemas in Santa Ana, eager to watch the film. People waited patiently in long lines for Ai to sign copies of its accompanying book, “New Wave: Rebellion and Reinvention in the Vietnamese Diaspora,” published by Angel City Press and the Los Angeles Public Library. This hardcover edition contains photographs and essays from renowned Vietnamese scholars and celebrities.

Among the crowd, one accountant held onto five copies of the book, planning to post them to his relatives in the Midwest who are his nephews and nieces.

She notes, “I’ll be passing it onto female filmmakers instead. These creators are the ones delving into family mysteries. They are the ones who portray family and domestic life in a deeply insightful and compassionate manner. They aren’t shy about challenging the power dynamics within families, whether matriarchal or patriarchal, in a film that transcends music.

“I think it’s time for us to go inside households and capture what’s complex and hidden,” Ngo adds.

A mom of two, she admits to having listened to key New Wave vocalists, even though it was an era slightly prior to hers. She wasn’t aware of the rebellious aspect of it, nor its impact on helping those who belong to the 1.5 generation – individuals who immigrated as children or teenagers and embody traits from both first- and second-generation immigrants – understand and accept their identities.

In the vibrant realm of the New Wave era, no figure shone brighter than Lynda Trang Đài, affectionately dubbed the “Vietnamese Madonna.” With her anthemic single “Jump in My Car,” a tune that resonated with its catchy chorus (“Jump in my car / Don’t be afraid / Only youthful heroes can never wait / You are my priority / Until the dawn breaks”), she sent shockwaves through the crowd, electrifying us all.

In various Paris by Night videos, her bold stage demeanor captivated audiences, as she donned form-fitting jumpsuits and bikini tops. Her confidence and seductive tone left the older generation astonished. Her performances sparked a rebellious energy among younger fans, encouraging them to challenge traditional Vietnamese customs. The crowd flocked to her shows wearing denim, leggings, and neon shirts, with their hair styled using Aqua Net hairspray.

Đài, aged 56, shares during a phone call, taking a break from managing Lynda Sandwich, a renowned Westminster baguette restaurant, that she feels her career has been inextricably linked to New Wave music. “I believe I was meant to be a part of this movement and contribute to it significantly,” she says. “This genre holds such a unique charm because it encapsulated an era when Vietnamese Americans were making their mark in the American music scene. It was a time filled with joy, regret, and the culture, fashion, and cars that defined it.

Back in ’75, when folks first arrived, our options were limited because we didn’t have much to select from. Instead, they primarily listened to traditional Vietnamese melodies.

Đài, Tommy Ngô (her spouse), Trizzie Phương Trinh, Tuấn Anh, and others entered the scene as the New Wave brand expanded, coinciding with a rise in VHS tape sales. This growth contributed to the development of California’s Little Saigon, an entertainment and cultural hub that flourished behind it.

Indeed, there were hardships and pain, but they found joy in creating music,” Ai expresses. “Making my debut film is a unique opportunity for me, and I wanted to express something meaningful. It was during this process that I delved deeply into understanding the people who shaped my life.

To a captivated generation, the music of this genre continues to live on – a testament to the enduring desire for connection, which remains undiminished.

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2024-10-23 13:35