“Hair, Paper, Water… will be all that lasts as a memory of a culture.”

Caves have a lot of memories. Compared to the millions of years of their existence, our lifespans are negligible. Water drips from slowly forming stalactites, each drop leaving behind something that lasts forever. But memories don’t last forever, and people don’t last forever. In their impressionistic documentary Hair, Paper, Water…, Vietnamese director Truong Minh Quý (who had his breakthrough at last year’s Cannes festival with Viet and Nam) and his Belgian co-director Nicolas Graux follow a woman and her grandson in the coastal province of Quảng Bình in Vietnam as they navigate through their day-to-day life. They are members of the Rục people, a small tribe that only a decade ago was still counted among the least-known tribes in the world. They speak the critically endangered Rục language (understandable, when there are only a few hundred Rục left). When a language is dying, so is a culture, and so are memories. This is a tragic process that affects dozens of these micro-communities across the world, and it is therefore all the more important that films like Hair, Paper, Water… preserve that memory. Though destined to find only niche audiences, the film’s gorgeous 16mm photography might lure a wider group of people to discover this slice of life that may not exist for much longer.

Cao Thị Hậu was born in the caves of the western part of the province, near the border with Laos. This must have been shortly before the Rục tribe was discovered in 1959, a discovery that led them to be persuaded to move into villages in a nearby valley. A mother and grandmother of many, Thị Hậu takes care of her grandson, whose parents either left to never return (in the case of his father) or work far away (in the case of his mother), highlighting the issues that plague such rural, remote communities; it is one of the core reasons for their culture to die out. One vital part of any culture is language, and Thị Hậu tries to teach the boy hers, word by word. The words are repeated on screen as she speaks and he repeats. One has to wonder how effective this is, but she has to try something. Writing down a language is just as great a risk anyway; writing on a piece of animal skin for instance risks it getting eaten by animals, and dried tree bark or a piece of stone may not stand the test of time all too well. She doesn’t just imbue the boy with their language, but also with knowledge about the world that surrounds him, such as the usage of medicinal plants or fruits to protect from leeches or COVID. One can scoff at that, in particular the COVID claim, but it is better that such knowledge be preserved than lost on the off-chance that it does work; the medicinal benefits of certain plants are a well-documented fact, after all.

Hair, Paper, Water… is loosely structured and akin to a series of snapshots of Thị Hậu’s daily life. This is enhanced by the use of an old Bolex 16mm camera, which the directors found by chance, and which gives the film the impression of a series of home videos. The grainy texture perfectly fits with the lush green surroundings of the jungle and the oft-pouring rain that gives the film a calming rhythm. There are some waypoints in the film, often punctuated by another word or set of words spoken and repeated: flood season, the acacia harvest, market visits. Highlights are the more personal stories, such as Thị Hậu remembering how she sold her hair several times to generate some income, or talking about a dream in which her mother told her to go back to the cave. As Hair, Paper, Water… gently floats from moment to moment (water plays a big role in the lives of the Rục and the film), a certain sadness hangs over the film; everything we watch may, and probably will, vanish. Given that this is a film of moments and memory, it doesn’t work its way to some sort of hopeful crescendo, which leaves the viewer with the feeling that in the not-too-distant future all traces of the Rục will be gone. One can hope that his grandmother’s teachings stay with the young boy, but given the fate of his parents, this seems an idle hope. As such, Hair, Paper, Water… will be all that lasts as a memory of a culture, and for that we have to thank Truong and Graux.