Mekong 2030: Without the West, Can We Forge Our Future?

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Mekong 2030: Without the West, Can We Forge Our Future?

Reflecting on Southeast Asia’s relationship with Western cultural powers, I encounter a paradox vividly embodied by Mekong 2030. This anthology film unites filmmakers from five Mekong nations to envision their shared future, yet it was conceived and orchestrated by Western organizers, with additional support from the intergovernmental Mekong River Commission (MRC).

This tension—between regional expression and reliance on external validation—prompts a critical question: who truly shapes and shares our visions of tomorrow?

In 2020, Mekong 2030 marked a milestone for Southeast Asian speculative cinema. Initiated by the Luang Prabang Film Festival (LPFF) in Laos—now evolved into the Blue Chair Film Festival under new leadership—this project brought together directors from Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar, Thailand, and Vietnam. Each crafted a short film imagining the future of the Mekong River, a lifeline for over 60 million people, now imperiled by climate change, dam construction upriver in China, and resource extraction. The anthology features five distinct narratives:

Kulikar Sotho’s “Soul River” (Cambodia): A poignant road movie set in 2030, where the protagonists, reeling from overfishing and climate-induced flooding, sell an ancient Khmer Buddha’s image head to survive. It critiques water privatization of China, cultural commodification, and ecological collapse.

Anysay Keola’s “The Che Brother” (Laos): Xe, who returns to his nearly deserted Mekong fishing village and intervenes in a family dispute over exploiting their elderly mother’s blood, valued by a Western corporation for a plague cure. The film delves into ethical dilemmas, the commodification of human resources, and the impact of global market forces on local communities, showcasing how desperation fuels exploitation.

Sai Naw Kham’s “The Forgotten Voices of the Mekong” (Myanmar): The story focuses on threatened indigenous traditions through the story of Charlie, a Mhong village leader negotiating with a mining company to modernize, opposed by an old grandma who warns of environmental harm and poisoned livestock. The narrative highlights the clash between tradition and modernization, emphasizing environmental preservation and the resilience of indigenous communities against external pressures.

Anocha Suwichakornpong’s “The Line” (Thailand): A video artist’s exhibition on animism and river ecology blurs art and reality, challenging scientific narratives with spiritual and animistic perspectives on the Mekong’s geopolitical stakes. But as she intellectualizes these topics for her creation, does she really know what she is doing?

Phạm Ngọc Lân’s “The Unseen River” (Vietnam): The film connects past and present through two interwoven narratives: a woman reuniting with her ex-lover at a hydroelectric plant and a young couple seeking a cure for insomnia at a temple, linked by a dog. It explores memory, time, spirituality, and human relationships with water, portraying the Mekong as a timeless entity binding these experiences.

The Mekong River, central to this project, is both a historical sustainer and a modern battleground, reflecting colonial legacies and development pressures. It emerges as a metaphor for the ethical stakes of environmental choices and the interplay of ecology, memory, and regional identity.

Mekong 2030 fosters a transnational dialogue, making abstract threats tangible by projecting them to the year 2030. It sparks discussions on policy, conservation, and cooperation. Yet, it has limitations. Despite acclaim at festivals like Tokyo, Locarno, and Sundance, it struggles to reach Mekong audiences. It travels more in international circuits but reaches fewer audiences within the region—a disconnect that distances its storytelling from the very people it portrays.

More critically, while Southeast Asian filmmakers helm the shorts, the project’s framework was shaped by Western leadership. LPFF secured majority funding from The Asia Foundation, Oxfam, Heinrich Böll Stiftung, and the Mekong River Commission. This dynamic positions external institutions as gatekeepers, echoing colonial patterns in cultural production.

I sincerely appreciate the efforts of LPFF (now Blue Chair) and its partners. Their screenings, workshops, and the Lao Filmmakers Fund have nurtured regional talent, while the Talent Lab (2016–2019), in collaboration with the Tribeca Film Institute, empowered Southeast Asian filmmakers to pitch projects and access global markets. Yet, I must urge us to look beyond these laudable initiatives. Why should we await external concern to tell our stories? Decolonization has shown that liberation—and by extension, cultural sovereignty—need not stem from the West. Our storytelling should not depend on it either. We can, and must, forge our own path by empowering regional cultural and academic initiatives including Purin Pictures Fund, SGIFF Film Fund, the Mekong Cultural Hub, Mekong Review, and Southeast of Now. These platforms prioritize our voices, resources, and networks, reducing reliance on foreign mediation. It is through such self-driven movements that we can truly claim our space in global speculative fiction and beyond.

To shape global dialogue, Mekong communities must build on Mekong 2030 with a locally rooted movement—joining forces to create networks of production, distribution, and engagement that reflect our own vision. Our future hinges on defining and sharing it on our terms.

Credits: Directed by Kulikar Sotho, Anysay Keola, Sai Naw Kham, Anocha Suwichakornpong, and Phạm Ngọc Lân; written by Kulikar Sotho, Ian Masters, Anysay Keola, Shunn Lei Swe Yee, Anocha Suwichakornpong, Paul Charbonneau, and Phạm Ngọc Lân; produced by Gabriel Shaya Kuperman, Alex Curran-Cardarelli, Nick Ray, Hang Sokharo, Anysay Keola, Soe Arkar Htun, Worarat Sawatdpisan, Phạm Ngọc Lân, Ngo Dai Trang, Tran Thi Bich Ngoc, and Christopher Larsen.

This essay belongs to the “Mek◊ng Sci-Fi” series by Vorakorn “Billy” Ruetaivanichkul, published in English (billyvorr.com) and Thai (TheMissionTH.co), completed under the 2024 ArtsEquator Fellowship. Views are the author’s own.

Karmalink: A Cambodian Story, Who Owns It?

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Karmalink: A Cambodian Story, Who Owns It?

I watched Karmalink at a time when questions of cultural identity and storytelling ownership were brewing in my mind—when the boundaries between collaboration and appropriation seemed increasingly blurred in Southeast Asian cinema. The film evoked two strong emotions in me: excitement and apprehension.

“Karmalink exemplifies a paradox at the heart of Southeast Asian cinema: international collaborations amplify our stories globally but risk diluting their cultural sovereignty.”

Courtesy of HAL Distribution

Jake Wachtel’s 2021 film offers a fascinating vision of near-future Cambodia, where a neural link device not only accesses personal memories but also connects past lives across the wheel of Saṃsāra. The narrative follows Leng Heng (Leng Heng Prak), a Phnom Penh boy who teams up with Srey Leak (Srey Leak Chhith), a street-smart orphan girl, to search for a golden Buddha statue tied to his previous incarnations. All the while, their community grapples with eviction threats brought on by corporate development funded by China. As the duo delves deeper into memories spanning centuries, ancient Buddhist wisdom seamlessly intertwines with bleeding-edge neuroscience.

Karmalink charmingly blends science fiction with deeply rooted Cambodian spiritual beliefs stemming from Theravada Buddhism, creating a film that is both hauntingly dystopian and thought-provoking. Its greatest strength lies in the bold fusion of sci-fi with a Southeast Asian setting—a combination that remains disappointingly rare. The neural link device emerges naturally within a Buddhist worldview, where reincarnation is not speculative fiction but a profound truth. Moreover, Phnom Penh’s streets are depicted not merely as exotic backdrops but as living entities echoing historical wounds from Cold War bombings by America and colonial struggles by France. This cultural authenticity excited me, suggesting that Southeast Asian sci-fi can harness spiritual traditions and historical experiences in ways Western narratives often cannot.

The international collaboration behind Karmalink deserves special mention. Director Jake Wachtel, an American filmmaker, immersed himself in Cambodian life for years teaching filmmaking workshops to local youth, before working closely with Sok Visal, the local co-producer, and actors to deliver the first Khmer-speaking sci-fi film in history. It was through these workshops that he met actors like Leng Heng Prak, who plays Leng Heng, and Srey Leak Chhith, who portrays Srey Leak.

By casting his own students, Jake not only nurtured local talent but also infused the film with authentic Cambodian perspectives. This approach allowed the actors to bring their personal experiences and cultural insights into their roles, enriching the storytelling. It also underscores the collaborative spirit behind the film—a synergy between an international director and the local community. Involving his students in Karmalink bridged gaps between cultures and showcased the potential of Cambodian youths in global cinema. It’s a testament to how grassroots education and mentorship can empower emerging talent and contribute to more genuine, resonant narratives.

This collaborative synergy unlocked invaluable resources, exposure, and technical expertise that might otherwise have remained out of reach. Its success on global stages—premiering at the prestigious Venice International Film Critics’ Week, earning recognition at festivals such as the Singapore International Film Festival and the Hawaii International Film Festival, and securing an 89% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes—demonstrates that Southeast Asian stories can indeed resonate worldwide, challenging the notion that our narratives are too niche or too local.

“Yet, despite these impressive achievements, a more troubling dynamic lurks beneath the surface. For all its cultural resonance, Karmalink’s production framework reveals a darker truth: even stories advancing Cambodian narratives are subject to colonial-era power dynamics.”

As the film unfolded, I became increasingly aware of a tension underlying my initial excitement. Despite being deeply rooted in the Cambodian language and culture, intellectual property ultimately does not belong to locals. The uncomfortable reality is that this Cambodian story—its creative vision, narrative arcs, and final cut—is owned by Valerie Steinberg Productions, a US-based company. In fact, without it, this film might never have come true. This stark truth stems from our structural issue: few local investors are willing to develop projects deemed too risky for the market. However, this ownership structure reflects a continuing pattern of extracting Southeast Asian resources while centralizing control elsewhere.

While local cultural narratives and talent are central to the film’s authenticity, the financial and creative control often resides with international partners. Such dynamics raise important questions about narrative ownership and the potential dilution of Indigenous voices in favor of marketable, globally palatable content.

This pattern is not only unique in film production. But also mirrors Cambodia’s garment industry, where foreign corporations from China, Taiwan, and South Korea profit from Khmer labor. Similarly, Karmalink’s depiction of Cambodian spirituality and history becomes raw material for global consumption controlled by an external entity—a “creative export zone” where locals assemble the pieces but never own the blueprint.

“Raising further questions about creative perspective, and given that science fiction has predominantly evolved in the West, I often wonder how differently the film might feel if it were conceived through a Cambodian filmmaker’s lens. Would the portrayal of destructive trauma be even more raw and unfiltered?”

For many of us across Southeast Asia, this represents a familiar dilemma. Our filmmaking infrastructure remains underdeveloped, and local investors are scarce, leaving creators with a difficult choice: accept foreign collaboration that may compromise cultural ownership or risk having no film at all. While international collaborations and investments from global partners—including behemoths such as Netflix, HBO, or Amazon—continuously enter our region and provide essential financial resources, skill development, and global distribution, they also risk diluting our lived experiences, ultimately crafting our narratives into intellectual property that is not ours.

Despite these formidable challenges, there remains a beacon of promise. Karmalink powerfully reminds us of the immense untapped potential in Southeast Asian cinema—especially within science fiction, where our spiritual beliefs and historical memories offer fresh, compelling perspectives. Southeast Asian filmmakers must continue to pursue international collaborations to build capacity until one day we can tell our stories entirely on our own terms. By forging stronger networks within the Mekong Region and wider ASEAN—uniting Cambodian, Laotian, Vietnamese, Myanmar, Thai, Indonesian, Malaysian, Filipino, Bruneian, and Singaporean filmmakers—we can foster regional co-productions and eventually ensure that the soul of our storytelling remains wholly ours while still resonating globally.

As portrayed in the film, a neural link device acts as an external force that helps us tap into our inner space, harmonizing technology with local culture and spirituality. But ultimately, it reflects the paradox of these partnerships: while they help us tap into these profound visions, they can also cage us in augmented illusions.

Karmalink is directed and co-written by Jake Wachtel, written by Christopher Larsen, produced by Valerie Steinberg (Valerie Steinberg Productions), alongside co-producers Sok Visal (802 Films) and Christopher Rompré (Little BIG Films), with distribution handled by XYZ Films for North America and LevelK for international sales.

This essay is part of the “Mek◊ng Sci-Fi” series by Vorakorn “Billy” Ruetaivanichkul. It is published in English (billyvorr.com) and Thai (TheMissionTH.co) and was completed as part of the 2024 ArtsEquator Fellowship. The views expressed are solely those of the author.

Taklee Genesis: Decolonizing Thailand from U.S. Influence Through Speculative Fiction

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Taklee Genesis: Decolonizing Thailand from U.S. Influence Through Speculative Fiction

2024 has become a significant year for Thai science fiction, with various ambitious projects shaping the new direction of the genre. Among these, Taklee Genesis (ตาคลีเจเนซิส), directed by Chookiat Sakveerakul, the latest President of the Thai Film Directors Association and the mastermind behind Pisaj (2004), 13 Beloved (2006), and The Love of Siam (2007), stands out. With over 20 years of experience and a relentless drive to push Thai cinema boldly forward, Chookiat’s latest work showcases his vision nurtured through his track record of diverse genres, including thriller, family, romance, and queer films, now blended with science fiction and his passion for social issues.

Taklee Genesis exemplifies this vision by boldly exploring the complex relationship between Thailand and American power during the Cold War and the lasting impact on Thai and Southeast Asian history. It combines personal identity, historical memory, and speculative futures, presenting a narrative that challenges us to reconsider the legacies of power, culture, and resistance.

Amidst bouquets and brickbats from the local audiences, the film dares to confront and invite us to reflect on these enduring influences that shape our present, even decades later.

Reflecting on my relationship with America, I find myself in the same boat as millions of Thais—enthralled by the siren song of American pop culture. Watching Titanic in the cinema at eight years old transformed an ordinary night into a life-altering experience. The magic of cinema, with Hollywood’s flair for dramatic, unapologetic individualism, opened up a universe of storytelling possibilities that captivated me for over two decades, ultimately shaping my journey as a filmmaker.

As I grew older, however, I began to see the complexities hidden beneath this enchantment. The influx of foreign cultural superpowers, sugarcoated with entertainment and turbocharged by social and technological change, has woven a tangled web of influences into our cultural identity. The shift from rural traditions to urban modernity, compounded by the relentless stream of media, served straight to our smartphones, has left many of us navigating a chaotic intersection of local and foreign. Within this turbulence, Taklee Genesis finds its voice—not just as a film, but as a mirror to our collective struggle to balance relentless change with deeply rooted traditions.

Taklee Genesis centers on Stella, a Thai-American single mother returning to her childhood home in Don Hai, Udon Thani, after a plea from her childhood friend, It, about her ailing mother. Accompanied by her daughter, Valen, Stella embarks on a journey that unravels across millennia. Upon arriving, Stella discovers unsettling mysteries: her mother’s request to retrieve her long-vanished American father from another spacetime, and the peculiar immortality of community leader Jamnoon and his son Kong, who have remained unchanged even after 30 years have passed.

The story escalates when Stella receives a mysterious radio transmission from her father. His message reveals a temporal paradox: while decades have passed for Stella, only 30 minutes have elapsed for him. The mystery leads Stella to the heart of the story—the Taklee Genesis device at Ramasun Camp, a secret Vietnam War-era project exploring faster-than-light travel.

The film ambitiously traverses millennia, linking Thailand’s ancient Ban Chiang Civilization—a Bronze Age society celebrated for its ceramic innovations and social complexity 3,500 years ago—to U-Dawn, a dystopian vision set 200 years into the future. These temporal shifts transform Udon Thani into a rich speculative tapestry, weaving entertainment with incisive reflections on Thailand’s historical journey.

Central to the narrative is the Ramasun Camp, modeled after actual U.S. military bases in Thailand during the Vietnam War. These installations represent the profound and lasting effects of America’s intervention in Southeast Asia. Between 1965 and 1975, the United States and its allies dropped over 7.6 million tons of bombs on Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia—more than double the tonnage used during World War II. Among the horrors were the 270 million bombs scattered across Laos and the widespread deployment of Agent Orange in Vietnam, both of which have left enduring environmental and human devastation, killing generations to this day.

This historical backdrop echoes through the film’s narrative, embodied by Lawan, a Laotian princess who morphs into a bloodthirsty monster from the effect of the Taklee Genesis experiment. Her haunting presence in Don Hai and the desolate future of U-Dawn highlight the inescapable legacies of conflict and the exploitation of vulnerable communities, which continue to shape regional memory and identity.

At the story’s core lies the Warp Ball, a small but potent device capable of altering past, present, and future. As Stella retrieves its missing components across various spacetimes, her actions unintentionally bring disaster to the societies she encounters, paralleling the historical recklessness of foreign intervention in Southeast Asia.

The Warp Ball emerges as a powerful metaphor, raising questions about the ethical consequences of wielding unchecked power and the complex interplay between history, memory, and identity.

Taklee Genesis offers a profound exploration of Thailand’s tension between traditional values and Western influence. Through half-blood characters, Stella and It, the film examines the complexities of hybrid identities, reflecting the cultural dualities many Thais navigating in a world shaped by modernity and globalization.

The narrative critiques the enduring impact of U.S. intervention, particularly its role in shaping Thailand’s historical narrative. Even archaeological discoveries across the country and at Ban Chiang, conducted in partnership with American institutions during the Cold War, allowed the U.S. Military to gain information on the communists, reflecting how Thai heritage was mediated through foreign agendas aimed at countering communism.

The film underscores the political consequences of U.S. involvement, highlighting how American support for Thailand’s military government facilitated significant human rights abuses.

This is poignantly illustrated through the backstory of Kong and Chamnoon, characters who remain ageless due to their earlier exposure to the Taklee Genesis device. Chamnoon, the former bodyguard and lover of Princess Lawan, bears endless love and guilt for not being able to protect her, leading to her transformation into an eternal monster. Meanwhile, Kong’s timeline is tied to the tragic events of the Thammasat Massacre in 1976, where government forces turned the university into a killing field for student protesters. Kong, misunderstood as dead, was sent to Don Hai to dispose of the bodies.

In a climactic sequence, the Causality Breakdown juxtaposes the government’s brutal crackdown on the students with a futuristic rebellion in U-Dawn, where a spaceship from the “Capital” dramatically traverses dimensions to massacre rebellious youth at Thammasat University.

This parallel draws a grim conclusion: political dynamics in Thailand will remain unchanged, and the dire consequences of America’s prioritization of its geopolitical interests over democratic values will persist.

Through its layered narratives, Taklee Genesis argues that Thailand’s ongoing struggle for identity and democracy cannot be disentangled from the historical legacies of foreign influence. The film invites viewers to confront the profound and often painful complexities of Thailand’s modern journey, urging reflection on the forces that have shaped—and continue to define—who we are today.

Taklee Genesis claims sci-fi as a medium for Thai voices, proving that the genre is not exclusively Western.

By blending regional history with speculative elements, it disrupts the status quo and demonstrates how local voices can challenge and enrich international narratives while staying true to their roots.

The strength of the film lies in its ability to reinterpret Thailand’s historical encounters with foreign influence in a new light, reflecting the present and suggesting that understanding the past—not just as a series of victories or defeats, but as a dynamic source of wisdom—is key to envisioning alternative futures.

The director exceptionally weaves local culture and beliefs into the sci-fi genre, captivating the audience with the spellbinding 15-minute opening sequence depicting a ghost-worship ritual in Ban Don Hai. This scene takes on a profound depth when it is revealed that the “ghost” feared by the villagers is, in fact, a haunting scar left by the impact of American actions. Equally evocative is the poetic finale, which tenderly explores the longing between Stella and her parents. In a poignant dream recounted by her mother, she envisions herself reborn as a great tree, standing eternally alongside Stella’s father, who becomes the boundless sky.

However, condensing such an expansive and layered world into a 2.5-hour runtime brings its challenges. Secondary storylines involving time dimensions and a sprawling cast, while contributing to the narrative complexity, dilute the emotional weight of key relationships. This is particularly evident in the bond between Stella and her daughter, Valen, which is hinted at but never fully developed, leaving their arc frustratingly underexplored.

Certain directorial choices further undercut the film’s grander ambitions. The entrance to the Ramasun camp, for instance, unfolds with unreasonable ease, raising questions about the narrative’s stakes. Similarly, characters, including Stella, grasp and wield the intricate “Five Rings” warp-ball technology with unrealistic swiftness, undermining the plausibility of their mastery. The design of past and future worlds also falters at times, with elements like the Ban Chiang community veering into a caricatured primitive aesthetic and a portrayal of teenagers 200 years into the future that feels oddly reminiscent of 1990s pop culture.

However, propelled by Neramitnung Film, Taklee Genesis is the first Thai film to secure an international distribution deal with Warner Bros. Despite earning a modest box office of $161,000 domestically against the budget of $1.76 million, the film has transcended national boundaries, securing distribution rights across 80 countries spanning North America, Latin America, Europe, Australia, and Asia. It is also reaching international audiences through Amazon Prime.

More than a story of time travel, Taklee Genesis invites us to reconsider how the past shapes our current and future identities, urging us to reflect on the complexities of cultural identity and the necessity of reclaiming our sense of self. Perhaps, to transcend, we must first turn inward—acknowledging and reclaiming what is inherently ours to ponder a sustainable path forward.

This essay is a part of the “Mek◊ng Sci-Fi” series by Vorakorn “Billy” Ruetaivanichkul. It is published in English billyvorr.com and Thai TheMissionTH.co and was completed as part of the 2024 ArtsEquator Fellowship. The views expressed are solely those of the author. Connect with him on Facebook, IG, X, or Discord.

The Long Walk: A Female Gaze on Laos’ Speculative Fiction, Spirits, Attachments, and Gender Violence

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The Long Walk: A Female Gaze on Laos’ Speculative Fiction, Spirits, Attachments, and Gender Violence

The Long Walk charmingly blends science fiction with deeply rooted Laotian spiritual beliefs, creating a film that is both haunting and thought-provoking. I watched The Long Walk at a time when its themes resonated deeply with my own life—when I had just lost two uncles. One from my paternal side and one from my maternal side within a day, both to cancer. In the past decade, I’ve experienced the loss of six family members, beginning with my mother. This film, with its haunting exploration of longing and letting go, offered a poignant reflection on these experiences through the lens of Theravada Buddhism.

“What the heck is Theravada Buddhism?”—You might ask.

It’s the oldest form of Buddhism, predominant in Southeast Asia, including Laos, Cambodia, and Thailand. It is often overshadowed by the more widely recognized Mahayana and Tantra practices in the Western world. Yet, its teachings on the impermanence of life, the nature of suffering, the cease of suffering, and the complexity of human minds and relationships are profoundly depicted in Mattie Do’s narrative.

Mattie Do, a Laotian-American filmmaker, trained as a ballerina before becoming Laos’s first and only female film director, known for her work in horror cinema. Born and raised in America after her family emigrated during the Laotian Civil War (1959-1975), Do’s journey from ballet to filmmaking is as unique as her cinematic style. She maintains her distinctive charm and style through the emotional nuances in her films, not unlike the improvisation of a dancer during a performance. Her three films – Chanthaly(2012), Dearest Sister(2016), and The Long Walk(2019) – all feature ghosts.

Do often employs speculative fiction to explore the cultural authenticity of the Lower Mekong Basin region, using horror elements to examine the lives of people in Laos.

Her position as a diasporic filmmaker allows her to bridge Laotian cultural narratives with broader speculative fiction genres. This approach is particularly notable because it’s a relatively new genre in Laotian cinema, which she uses to explore complex themes of spirituality, gender, and cultural identity. Through her films, Do examines the intersections of tradition, contemporary life, and the future in Laos, creating narratives that resonate both locally and globally. This is especially evident in “The Long Walk,” which has become an inspiring work both nationally and internationally.

“The Long Walk” tells the story of an old man living in a future remote Laotian village who discovers he can traverse time, aided by the ghost of a woman he encountered half a century earlier. The film brings us back to a pivotal moment in the protagonist’s life: when he was a boy, he stumbled upon a fatally injured woman in the bush with an overturned motorcycle. He stayed with her until she took her last breath, then befriended her ghost. This encounter marks the beginning of a lifelong attachment, leading the old man to begin his quest to travel through time, attempting to alter the past and make the present better.

However, as the film unfolds, it becomes clear that the protagonist is not merely a well-intentioned figure. He is a serial killer, engaging in acts of mercy killing suffering women without their consent. His actions are not just about misguided compassion but are deeply rooted in toxic masculinity. The film critiques male savior complexes, showing how these can lead to further harm rather than genuine help. He believes he is helping those in need, forcefully imposing his twisted sense of compassion on others. His actions reveal a deep-seated violence inherited from his father—a loser who acted irresponsibly and failed to provide a stable and nurturing environment for his family. The protagonist’s actions are also driven by a desire to change the events leading to his mother’s death.

This exploration of the protagonist’s gendered identity adds another layer of complexity to the narrative, positioning him as both a victim and perpetrator of patriarchal violence.

The protagonist’s delusion is further highlighted by his practice of collecting the finger bones of those he has killed, which reflects his severe attachment issues. This act echoes the story of Aṅgulimāla, a figure from Buddhist scripture who collected his victims’ fingers to prove his prowess. Aṅgulimāla was eventually redeemed by the Dharma of Buddha, becoming an Arahant and transcending Saṃsāra. This is a significant event in Buddhist history, often seen as a symbol of the Buddha’s compassion and the possibility of transformation. However, unlike Aṅgulimāla, the protagonist in The Long Walk remains trapped in his mirage, convinced that he is leading his victims’ spirits to true peace. His graveyard garden, filled with spirit houses and the remains of those he has “liberated,” becomes a macabre reflection of his misbelief that he is a Messiah, not unlike a twisted version of the Western concept of utopia.

The presence of the ghostly figure in the film underscores the spiritual beliefs that have long existed in the Lower Mekong Basin—a region that includes Laos, Cambodia, Myanmar, Vietnam, and Thailand. This area is a significant part of the Indosphere, a cultural and religious territory deeply influenced by Indian civilization. However, it’s important to note that the Lower Mekong Basin’s religious and cultural practices are not just a product of Indian influence but also a result of a complex history of local development, trade, and exchange with other cultures, including China, other parts of Southeast Asia, and Europe. Here, cultural practices represent a unique blend of Indigenous beliefs, such as the worship of spirits, ancestors, and Theravada Buddhism, which were introduced through trade and interaction with India, later influenced by the Khmer Empire, and further developed through connections with Sri Lanka.

Spirit houses, small shrines embodying local animism, exemplify the fusion of indigenous beliefs with Buddhism in the Lower Mekong Basin. These structures, predating Buddhism’s arrival, house and honor local spirits. Rather than replacing animistic practices, Buddhism blended with them, creating a syncretic spirituality. This integration demonstrates how the region’s beliefs adapted to new religious ideas while preserving traditional elements, reflecting the complex cultural tapestry until today.

“In Theravada Buddhism, which is a significant influence in Laos, Cambodia, Myanmar, and Thailand, the concept of karma plays a central role.

Karma refers to the law of cause and effect, where one’s actions in this life or previous lives determine the circumstances of future existence. The old man’s journey in The Long Walk is a poignant reflection of this principle. His actions, though seemingly altruistic, are ultimately self-serving; they stem from his inability to let go of his own pain and guilt over his mother’s death when he was young. The metaphorical use of time travel to explore the concept of karma and its consequences is a core tenet of Theravada Buddhism: suffering (dukkha) is an inherent part of life, and trying to manipulate outcomes with bad karma can often lead to more suffering. His desire to change the past is not truly about helping others but about alleviating his own suffering, which only leads to more complications, locking himself in a thousand loops of suffering across countless rebirths, still attached to the pain of his failed family.

This film is not merely a ghost story but an exploration of the complexities of suffering, letting go, and the consequences of one’s actions.

By using ghosts as a time machine, Mattie Do’s clever storytelling presents a profound work about accepting reality and the death of loved ones when it comes, while also telling us not to cling to what has already passed.

The Long Walk thus becomes more than just a sci-fi narrative. It is a meditation on the human condition through the lens of Laotian spirituality, Buddhist philosophy, and gender dynamics. The film’s blending of genres—sci-fi, horror, and spiritual drama—allows it to explore the complexities of karma, guilt, patriarchal violence, and the cycle of life and death in a way that is both culturally specific to Laos and universally resonant for audiences worldwide.

Mattie Do’s The Long Walk offers a unique cinematic experience deeply rooted in the influence of Indian civilization on Southeast Asia, as reflected through Theravada Buddhism. The film employs supernatural elements not merely for entertainment but to probe profound insights into the human psyche, the innate desire to alter the past, and the repercussions of such attempts. It also delves into family violence, revealing the deep emotional scars it leaves on the protagonist.

The film is a potent reminder that our actions, even when well-intentioned, may often stem more from our ego and personal pain than from a genuine desire to help others. True peace of mind comes from accepting reality and understanding nature, rather than attempting to control what lies beyond our grasp. Yet, despite these lessons, it’s not easy to let go—just last night, I still dreamed of making merit for my mother, even though it’s been ten years since my beloved passed away.

This essay is the first in the “Mek◊ng Sci-Fi” series by Vorakorn “Billy” Ruetaivanichkul. It is published in English (billyvorr.com) and Thai (TheMissionTH.co) and was completed as part of the 2024 ArtsEquator Fellowship. The views expressed are solely those of the author.

Uranus 2324: Sapphism to Girl’s Love—From Ancient Greek Heritage to Lesbian Sci-Fi

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Uranus 2324: Sapphism to Girl’s Love—From Ancient Greek Heritage to Lesbian Sci-Fi

On July 4, 2024, Uranus 2324 (2024), Asia’s first “Girl’s Love” space romance, had its premiere in Bangkok, Thailand. Truth be told, tears have streamed down my cheeks since the first scene. “It’s that good?” You ask. Well, wrong. But listen, I have a good reason.

In my lifetime, I never thought about the possibility of a $2 million Girl’s Love sci-fi film being produced in my homeland. The fact that Thailand’s screen industry allows this fantasy to come true struck me. Considering its capitalistic nature, investors always do everything to eliminate as much risk as possible. In other words, they need to know how the product will sell. This means there is a market for this Girl’s Love space romance film. “In Thailand?” you ask again. Thailand, and beyond. The film was made possible by the global fans of the two lead actresses, #FreenBeck, and, more precisely, their purchasing power.

The growing international “Sapphism” community celebrates love between women, drawing inspiration from the ancient Greek poet Sappho of Lesbos, who wrote about love for other women and is the origin of the word “lesbian.”

This sapphic economy presents an alternative model for female empowerment, exemplified by Thailand’s emerging “Girl’s Love” wave. Girl’s Love combines elements of the Japanese “Yuri” manga subculture with K-idol business models, creating a genre featuring all-female protagonists. This trend is gaining popularity in Thailand and beyond, challenging the long-standing dominance of Boy’s Love (BL) content. BL, which originated from Japan’s “Yaoi” manga subculture and Korea’s idol business model, often portrays idealized same-sex male romances that many queer individuals find unrealistic. This is because Yaoi manga was originally created by and for women, offering an escape from patriarchal realities rather than authentic queer representation.

In Thailand, a unique subculture has emerged known as “Y Girl.” The “Y” in this context has a dual meaning. It represents girls who are fans of “Yaoi” and BL content (boy-boy relationships); at the same time, it also stands for “Yuri,” the girl-girl counterpart to BL, reflecting the growing interest in sapphic content. This “Y Girl” phenomenon illustrates the fluid and inclusive nature of fandom in Thailand, where audiences appreciate both male-male and female-female relationship narratives in media. The rise of Girl’s Love content alongside the established BL genre demonstrates a diversification of storytelling and representation in Thai popular culture, catering to a wide range of preferences and identities.

#FreenBecky refers to Thai actresses Sarocha ‘Freen’ Chankimha and Rebecca ‘Becky’ Patricia Armstrong, who frequently portray couples in various works. Their 2022 debut, “Gap: The Series,” Garnered over 756.6 million YouTube views. catapulting them to stardom.

As of July 2024, both artists command impressive social media influence, each boasting over 4 million Instagram followers. Their fanbase, while primarily Thai, extends across Asia and into the West, with significant followings in the Philippines, Vietnam, Singapore, China, Japan, South Korea, and the US. Building on this success, #FreenBecky embarked on a series of fan meetings across Asia, with US events planned. Their on-screen chemistry has earned them several domestic entertainment awards, including accolades from the Nine Entertain Awards and KAZZ Awards 2023-2024. Their rising profile led to invitations to the 2024 Cannes Film Festival and Saudi Arabia’s Red Sea International Film Festival’s “Women in Cinema” event. Their Cannes debut proved remarkably lucrative: according to Lefty.io and Vogue Business, Rebecca generated $4.7 million in earned media value (EMV) for Balenciaga (75% of the brand’s total EMV) and Chopard, while Freen produced $4.7 million for Ferragamo, Chopard, and Burburry combined. This growing fame has paved the way for more ambitious projects, such as their starring roles in “Uranus 2324.”

“Uranus 2324” is a collaborative project between Thai companies VelCurve Studio, GM Generates, and C EYE (Public Company). It’s one of four films awarded a 2024 government grant to support the Thai Soft Power Policy. Directed by Thanadol Nualsuth and written by Thitipong Chaisati and Nut Nualpang, with Keetawat Chinnakote as executive producer, the film narrates the multiverse love tragedy of “Lin” and “Kath” as they overcome various challenges to reunite across different realms—on the ground, underwater, in space, and in parallel universes.

As a fellow filmmaker, I want to congratulate the team for realizing this ambitious project. It’s surely not easy to get done. Kudos to the filmmakers, actors, crews, including Spaceth.co (the space production advisor), studios, and investors for making it through. You’re advancing the history of the Thai film industry to another level. Tears streamed down my cheeks at the opening, which showed promising quality production and delivery I never expected to see in a Thai queer film. I admire this film for contributing to the representation of Thai women and allowing young Thai girls to extend their horizons and imagination. One day, they might become astrophysicists, astronauts, or freedivers! This image will surely inspire the next generation of young girls who have a chance to watch it.

As it markets itself as a romance, I didn’t expect the film to be complicated or philosophical. The story is an inter-spacetime struggle to be with your soulmate. The first half is fine. Freen and Becky have great chemistry, which explains their rapid rise to success. As someone who has never watched their show before, I enjoyed seeing them together and genuinely wish more cinematic projects came their way in the future.

However, as the narrative progresses from the middle toward the end, the film ambitiously explores complex themes but struggles to deliver them succinctly. A solar storm burst muddles the parallel universes, with spacetimes intertwining; the past, present, and future seem to happen all at once, and their struggle to be together intensifies to a supernatural level. This setting is supposed to provoke our thoughts on philosophical questions about soulmates and life. But the film seems to get lost in the universe and never comes back. The parallel stories lack integration to create a sublime climax. The backbone of the narrative—genuine emotion—sadly isn’t evoked.

Despite its potential to leverage Freen Beck’s global fanbase and the growing interest in queer narratives, the film doesn’t reach beyond surface-level appeal. The excessive cuddling scenes without meaning diluted the narrative. This magic fails to spellbind non-fans.

Let’s talk about patriotism. With a healthy dose, I believe it is good. We are living in a globalized world, continuously interacting, cooperating, and doing commerce (oftentimes conflicting) with each other. It’s smart to know what capital we have and how to present it to the international community.

This film, with partial support from Thailand’s Ministry of Culture, features Thailand (or, to be specific, a Thai enterprise) as a strategic partner with NASA in the Lunar Gateway mission; it supplies space-grade food for space missions. Great. Unfortunately, the execution resulted in what feels more like a product showroom for the Thai nation and the Thai enterprise.

The cohesive narrative should be valued as the top priority. As this project is meant to be watched on the big screen, brands should understand that over-featuring products can be counterproductive and affect brand reputation negatively. The cinematic experience is different from watching on smaller screens, and subtlety in product placement often creates a better psychological effect.

Please don’t get me wrong. I am not writing this to attack anyone. I understand that these capitalistic fulfillments—seeking funding and sponsorship—are fundamental for project finance. However, if disproportionate, it dilutes the narrative and steals the magic the cinema should possess.

Patriotism oozes throughout the storyline, from the future to the past, which features a speculative situation where the Axis won World War II. When the protagonists, who are “Free Thai Movement” members (sided with the Allies), face challenges as they overhear their fellow citizens’ doubts about the future of Thailand (freshly renamed from Siam) as the Japanese were overpowering the country, one of the protagonists bursts out, “Regardless of spacetime, Thailand has never been colonized!” “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!” I internally screamed, not knowing how to properly react. I think the line is fine, but the execution is so blunt. Thoughts bubble up as I think of Thailand’s perspective within the framework of post-colonialism and its pride in the title of being “a country that was never colonized.” Anyway, I continued with the film through the end and witnessed it struggle through the messy last act before it finally landed.

Overall, I am impressed by the way the filmmakers try to weave these narratives together. The “2324” in the title “Uranus 2324” actually refers to the Buddhist calendar year when Uranus was classified as a planet (1781). The fact that Thailand is the only country using the Buddhist Era as an official calendar makes me realize that we are 543 years apart. In this film, Uranus serves as an analogy for the protagonists’ star-crossed romance. Uranus is significant because it is billions of miles away from Earth. It represents a fantasy, something unattainable, an object of desire. If we are Earth, each of us has our very own Uranus. It is the destination the film urges us to strive for, no matter how impossible it seems. I think this concept resonates with the story. However, I believe more cinematic devices should be employed in execution to give flesh and blood to the narrative.

Despite its challenges, Uranus 2324 has achieved a significant milestone by securing distribution rights in 27 countries across various regions. This international reach demonstrates the growing global interest in queer narratives and Thai content. As the film enters a month of domestic screening, it has grossed $241K against its $2M budget. While these initial figures may seem modest, the true test lies in its international performance. I sincerely hope this film succeeds, not just for its own sake, but because it represents a crucial step forward. The realization of a queer sci-fi film at this scale is a landmark event, and its success could pave the way for more diverse and ambitious projects in the future. Let’s wait and see if Uranus 2324 can captivate audiences worldwide and prove that there’s a viable market for the next project.

#FreenBecky fans, ultimately, what the investors care about is your purchasing power. So, I’m urging you to demand more. The ambition for this high-concept sci-fi is there, but the execution is not. Don’t just settle for projects that feature your idols as product ambassadors. Instead, demand films that could see #FreenBecky walking the red carpet at the Cannes Film Festival—not just as celebrities but as actresses of films in competition. You have the power to shape the future of Sapphic cinema and push it to new heights of artistic achievement.

“Who runs the world?”—“Girls!”—And the power is in your hands.

This essay is the first in the “Mek◊ng Sci-Fi” series by Vorakorn “Billy” Ruetaivanichkul. It is published in English (billyvorr.com) and Thai (TheMissionTH.co) and was completed as part of the 2024 ArtsEquator Fellowship. The views expressed are solely those of the author.

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billyv◊rr
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Manifesto: The Dawn of Mek◊ng Sci-fi

billyv◊rr
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Manifesto: The Dawn of Mek◊ng Sci-fi

I am billyv◊rr, an emerging author spearheading a new movement: Mek◊ng Sci-fi.

My journey into the realm of speculative fiction is deeply rooted in my international filmmaking experience. Storytelling serves as my platform to explore alternative realities through ‘what if’ scenarios, challenging us to imagine alternate pasts, presents, and futures. It’s a reflection of where we stand today.

Speculative thinking, a cornerstone of science fiction and alternate history novels, acts as a catalyst for envisioning and working towards alternative futures. It’s a tool of liberation—freeing us from the shackles of fatalism or necessity—and empowering us to shape our own destinies.

My queer identity infuses a unique perspective into my narratives. I am committed to creating speculative narratives that spotlight Southeast Asian stories, beginning with tales from Bangkok, Thailand, on the global stage.

I invite you to join me on this journey into the world of Mek◊ng Sci-fi. Together, we will explore the uncharted territories of the imagination. We stand at the precipice of a new era, where we might just shape the future of global speculative fiction.

The future is not a distant horizon—it is here, pulsating with promise and potential, more than we could have ever imagined.