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.”
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.