DAYDREAMERS (2023)

Saigon, present day. Vampires, once predators of the night, are all but extinct. The few who remain cling to a desperate truce to not kill.

by Remy Dean 30th April 20251st May 2025 Leave a reply

It’s been a few years since I reviewed a good Vietnamese horror film. The last one was Derek Nguyen’s The Housemaid (2016), produced by Timothy Linh Bui, who’s back directing Daydreamers / Người mặt trời, his third feature and the first full-blooded vampire film to come out of Vietnam. Some might point out that Vampire Master / Cậu chủ ma cà rồng (2019) already claimed that distinction, but the vampire element there is minimal, which is a criticism that cannot be levelled at Daydreamers.

In the film’s animated preamble, a voiceover tells us that vampires first came to Vietnam from Europe four centuries ago—at the tail-end of the 17th century. Persecuted in Europe, they fled to Indochina where they wreaked bloody havoc until the indigenous people learnt how to fight them with stakes and silver, rising up in fierce resistance to eradicate all those that fed upon human blood.

However, some vampires retreated to the wild forests, while others suppressed their bloodlust, attempting to integrate with human society. Since then, the vampires have developed their own folklore and tell a story that one of their kind lived as a hermit for a century. When he returned to dwell among the people, he no longer craved human blood and could once again walk in daylight. This myth offers hope of redemption and gives them a goal. So, the vampires who live alongside humans believe the story is true and feed only on the blood of fish and wild animals. They endure regular ritual tests to ensure they can resist the scent of human blood without reverting to their vampire form.

They call themselves the ‘Daydreamers’ and have devised strict laws to guide their behaviour and ensure survival, but their two main tenets are in conflict: harm no human and leave no witness. In other words, a vampire must never hunt people or feed off them, but if their vampire nature is inadvertently revealed, then any witness must be silenced. Permanently.

Nhật (Trần Ngọc Vàng) is one of the Daydreamer cult, living in a houseboat enclave who, quite literally, moonlight as night fishermen. They process the fish to sell, and Nhật distributes flagons of the blood to fellow vampires in the neighbourhood. Things begin to get complicated when a college girl, Hạ (Trịnh Thảo), jumps onto his delivery trailer to escape a gang of bullies just after they’ve bloodied her nose. This puts Nhật in a difficult position because, as much as he wants to help, the scent of fresh human blood threatens to arouse his vampire appetite. He forces her from the vehicle, back into the clutches of the vindictive girl gang, but has second thoughts and intervenes to scare off the attackers.

Nhật is the pensive, brooding type, but his brother, Marco (Thuận Nguyễn), has an abode in the lively heart of Saigon and enjoys what nightlife the city has to offer, including racing motorbikes through the deserted streets with his pack of punky vampire pals. It seems the story could take a turn into The Lost Boys (1987) territory as Marco convinces Nhật to loosen up and join him at a nightclub. One would think that after enduring for centuries they’d get a bit bored of hanging out at the disco. But I suppose if you can only move about at night, the options are limited. Nhật isn’t confident that he’s strong enough to resist his need to feed among a throng of young, sweaty, and very much alive revellers. Marco reassures him and shares a sort of nasal spray that renders the scent of human blood abhorrent. These are modern vampires in a modern world.

Of course, it turns out that Hạ is among the revellers, having been reluctantly dragged along in a borrowed dress by her bestie. Recognising Nhật, she angrily confronts him about why he briefly intervened before abandoning her on the streets and ‘stealing’ her purse—which he didn’t realise was left in the trailer. However, there’s undeniably some chemistry between them, and they end up sharing some drinks. But as we know, vampires never drink… wine. Or shots, in this case. So, it’s not long before Nhật’s throwing up in the gents. Being kindly, Hạ ventures into the restroom to check on him and is shocked by what she sees, or rather doesn’t see, in the mirrors there.

The vampire law now requires Nhật to execute Hạ, but when it comes to the moment, he finds he can’t bring himself to kill an innocent, especially as it was her kindness toward him that sealed the girl’s death sentence. Realising what’s happened, Marco assures his brother that he will sort everything out by silencing Hạ. Nhật and Hạ attempt to leave Saigon together, and Marco is enraged that his brother would take the side of a transient mortal over his own family. It’s Marco’s lover and queen of the vampires, Triệu (Chi Pu), who decrees that both fugitives must be killed, resulting in rifts that threaten to shatter the vampire communities of Saigon.

In terms of vampire mythos, there’s nothing stunningly original, and I think that was kind of the point. Director Timothy Linh Bui wanted to give the Vietnamese audience the key tropes we all know and love—the levitating, entering locked rooms, no reflection, and that grimace to the camera as fangs appear before sinking them into a nicely presented pale and youthful neck. In one scene, we get a vignette of what could’ve happened and then snap back to ‘reality’ to find it hasn’t, which can feel like a cheat. But the ploy isn’t overused here and effectively illustrates the capabilities of the vampires, plus highlighting what they are constantly resisting when among warm humans.

There may be several reasons that the vampires are originally from the west. Firstly, Timothy Linh Bui is a Vietnamese expat living much of the time in the US, where he has enjoyed vampire movies and noted the genre’s perennial popularity, citing Tony Scott’s The Hunger (1983) as an important influence while scripting Daydreamers. Secondly, Vietnam has no equivalent vampire mythology of its own. Perhaps the closest is the Ma Cà Rồng—usually translated as ‘vampire’—which is a possessed or infected person who leads a normal life by day but leaves their body at night as an airborne spectre that feeds on the blood of the injured. There’s also some folklore concerning a demonic woman whose head and entrails can float off to feed on dung and rotting food or, sometimes, to pursue victims it wants to bite. There are variations of this one across Southeast Asia, which I’m sure would be pretty scary, but not so much potential for a romantic frisson.

Thirdly, and most relevant here, there’s the obvious historical subtext of invasion by French expansionists beginning in the mid-19th-century. By the time the first edition of Bram Stoker’s Dracula was published in 1897, much of what we know as modern Vietnam was under uneasy French control. A series of resistance and revolutionary wars ensued which were often linked with religious identities as Catholicism had been spreading among the populace since European missionaries introduced it at the tail-end of the 17th-century and was seen by some as an insidious method of European control. Of course, European vampire lore is indelibly linked with Catholicism due to Vlad Dracul’s rejection of a God he felt had betrayed him.

Within the fiction of Daydreamers, it’s fitting that vampirism was brought over from the west, and the whole colonial sub-summation of Asian culture is a prominent theme, but the vampires we meet are not westerners but Vietnamese. It would’ve added an extra layer if they’d injected more of their local folklore or customs into the behaviour of their night people—something that would’ve surprised or shocked those for whom the vampire tropes have tired. I’m not Vietnamese, so I can’t really second guess what that may be, perhaps some traditional shamanistic defences or vampire behaviours drawing upon their local folklore, mythology, and religious heritage. Caodaism (Đạo Cao Đài) and Hoahaoism (Phật giáo Hòa Hảo) seem to offer some potential, and we never meet the vampires who vanished into the jungles to live in the wild. A post-credit scene teases a sequel, so perhaps those things are yet to come.

Daydreamers still feels far fresher and more emotionally satisfying than the entire Twilight Saga (2008-2012), with which it will inevitably be compared. Although the leads are presented as similarly youthful, their relationship goes beyond teen crush or infatuation. The orphaned Hạ is supposedly still school or college age, but Nhật is at least 120 years old. So, it follows their relationship and power dynamic will be a little unfamiliar. It’s about doing the right thing and going against peer pressure and the mentality of their respective ‘mobs’. His sense of honour and morality motivates him to rise above prejudice, recognising that what he once valued is still within him. On the other hand, she steps up in defence of an individual from a vilified minority because she sees the good in him. They reflect and amplify each other’s moral core, and this is a pertinent lesson in today’s divisive socio-political climate.

This might sound like an odd complaint, but the cinematography of Phunam is a little too clean and slick at times, bordering on a music video aesthetic. The night streets of Saigon are so well-lit that the city seems strange and otherworldly. A plausible reason for this becomes apparent after a scene where a human character fumbles their way around in a pitch-dark storeroom while being observed by a vampire with effective night vision. So, maybe the bright night shots are emulating how it would look through the supernatural senses of a vampire. Although this makes perfect cinematic sense, any chance of a spooky atmosphere repeatedly dissolves.

The bold use of coloured lights in the nightclub and vampire temple scenes – reds clashing with greens, pinks competing with blues—lends a strong visual identity harking back to the early films of Mario Bava and Dario Argento. This stylistic choice also serves a narrative purpose with the hot and cool hues poetically echoing the conflict between the warm living and cold undead.

Phunam comes from an arts and documentary background and first came to my attention with the filmed installation Flooded McDonalds (2009) in which a meticulously accurate facsimile of a full-size diner was built in a huge water tank and gradually submerged. He also made the arty short The Living Need Light, the Dead Need Music (2014) documenting the idiosyncratic funerary traditions of Southern Vietnam. Daydreamers is his third feature as cinematographer, but its high dynamic range feels more like modern television than classic cinema, which could work in its favour on streaming services.

However, this current fashion to light things too well somehow cheapens a movie when compared to the lower budget old-school films made using two or three lamps and reflectors. Digital makes good quality possible on lower budgets with opportunities for correcting in post-production, but the result can look too clean and clinical. Luckily for Daydreamers, the slick visual design matches the fashion-shoot aesthetic that in turn suits the cast who could all be fashion models – indeed, they sometimes are.

The considerable appeal of the lead actors will certainly attract the target demographic among the Vietnamese diasporas but will likely be lost on mainstream audiences. Singer, model, and actress Chi Pu is arguably the biggest star. After being discovered as a 2009 Miss Teen Vietnam contestant, she made her acting debut in The Talent / Than Tuong (2013), which won six ‘Golden Kites’ at the Vietnam Cinema Association Awards. Among her other notable leading roles is Love / Yêu (2016), an LGBT movie that grossed more than $500,000 within three days of its release. In 2020, Chi Pu was listed among Forbes 100 of Asia Pacific’s most influential digital stars. Well known for her campaigning charity work, she also produces for film and television and has her own fashion line, which she has also modelled on the cover of Elle (Vietnam), the influential magazine that listed her as ‘Upcoming Female Actress of the Year 2015’ and again as ‘Actress of the Year 2017’.

After a succession of supporting roles, Thuận Nguyễn has shown himself to be versatile enough to handle drama, action, and romcoms. He rose to prominence with his romantic lead in The Last Wife (2023), made immediately prior to taking on the role of Marco. Trần Ngọc Vàng leapt straight into lead roles, starring in Bridge of Destiny (2020) and What we Forgot to Remember (2020). While the whole cast carry their roles at least competently, it’s newcomer Trịnh Thảo who really stands out as Hạ, in her first significant role after just a handful of bit parts.

On its initial run in Vietnam, it received mixed reviews, some lauding its look and appreciating its attempt to introduce the vampire mythos to the country’s mainstream media, while some lamenting its overt westernisation. One often aired criticism is that the romance between Nhật and Hạ develops too quickly to be convincing. However, those complaining have got hold of the wrong end of the stick and are missing the point. Although the dynamic is certainly gendered, the relationship between the two main characters is not built on romance. They never so much as kiss. They are two people with unwavering moral commitment and a staunch sense of what is the right thing to do. Neither will compromise, and this gives them their strength and humanity in adversity. The film examines different relationships and is as much about the filial love between Nhật and Marco and the carnal attraction between Marco and Triệu. The comparative strengths of these bonds are what drive the narrative and decide the outcomes. Love versus loyalty or ethics versus obligation.

Some have criticised the dialogue for flat delivery, lacking emotional depth. Being a non-Vietnamese speaker, this didn’t present a problem, and I was soon emotionally invested, even getting a bit tingly behind the eyes a couple of times. Also, the director handles the lead cast with aplomb, coaching them to underplay their parts. Being undead fiends, devoid of human feelings, they were called upon to appear unmoved but to exploit the subtext, expressing their resurfacing emotions through astute posture and expression management. Despite being told that vampires cannot cry, Nhật often looks on the verge of tears as his suppressed feelings well up from some almost forgotten place deep within, and pay very close attention during the last few minutes—only the heartless viewer will remain unmoved.

VIETNAM | 2023 | 120 MINUTES | COLOUR | VIETNAMESE