Watching Living in Fear was a deeply unsettling experience, one I didn’t expect to have while sitting in an airport lounge on a 20-hour layover in Beijing. The irony of being in such a vibrant, transient space surrounded by travelers, a buffet, and the hum of airport activity, while immersed in a film of such intensity, didn’t escape me. With bao buns and tea in hand, I became absorbed in Tai’s world of hardship, moral complexity, and the weight of the past.

Released at the tail end of Vietnam’s Đổi Mới era in 2005, this film’s exploration of post-war trauma and survival felt just as raw and relevant as if it had been made yesterday. Set in 1975, Living in Fear delves into the aftermath of the Vietnam War and its long-lasting scars. The central character, Tai, is a former soldier struggling to support his two families in a world still haunted by the remnants of war. His job clearing landmines is both his lifeline and his curse, dangerous, exhausting, and fraught with risk. Watching Tai’s grim existence unfold, I was constantly on edge, feeling the tension of his every decision, knowing that each step he took could be his last.

The film’s subject matter is as haunting as it is uncomfortable. The rawness with which it presents the post-war environment and its dangers was gripping. It wasn’t the kind of film you could just watch passively, it demanded your full attention. The intensity of the film, combined with the somewhat surreal atmosphere of watching it in an airport where sites like Google and Netflix were blocked, made me pause more than once. I remember taking a breath, unsure if anyone around me noticed the disturbing content unfolding on my screen.

What struck me most about Living in Fear was how it reflects the ongoing tension between Vietnam’s past and its present. Tai’s journey is not just about the physical danger of clearing landmines, but also about living in the shadow of a traumatic history that refuses to fade. It made me reflect on the unspoken histories within my own family, especially my mother’s experiences with the war, which she has never fully shared. Watching the film, I couldn’t help but think of the untold stories that linger, unresolved, both in Vietnam and within my own personal history.

While I wouldn’t say I “loved” the film in the traditional sense, it certainly left a mark on me. Living in Fear serves as a powerful reminder of the weight of history and the quiet trauma that can follow generations after a war. Vietnam’s journey, like the personal journeys of many, is defined by the unresolved tensions of its past. This film captures that, and in doing so, forces you to reckon with the ghosts of history that will always walk alongside you.