Watching Children of the Mist was an experience that hit me hard in a way few films do. The story follows Di, a 12-year-old Hmong girl living in the mist-covered mountains of northern Vietnam. She’s full of life, her laugh echoing through the village, and her mischievous energy makes her instantly lovable. But as much as Di embodies the spirit of youthful joy, the world around her is anything but playful.
The Hmong tradition of “bride kidnapping”, a custom where a girl is forcibly taken by a boy as part of the marriage process, looms heavily over Di’s life. At first, Di innocently mimics the tradition with her friends during New Year celebrations, but things take a dark turn when a flirtation leads to her own kidnapping. Watching this unfold was absolutely gut-wrenching. The way Di is yanked away from her family, kicking and screaming, left me paralysed. It’s the kind of scene that makes you question the role of documentary filmmakers. How do you stay neutral when such violence is happening right before your eyes and you are being directly asked to intervene?
In Children of the Mist, Ha Le Diem’s decision to include this raw, unflinching moment, paired with her own emotional reaction, left a lasting mark. She’s not just a detached observer, she’s as much a part of the story as Di is. This involvement from the filmmakers complicates the viewer’s experience. The film doesn’t offer a comfortable or clear distance between the camera and the violence, which makes the viewer confront the brutality in a way that feels impossible to look away from.
While the documentary’s content may feel extreme or confronting to many Western viewers, it is important to approach Children of the Mist with cultural sensitivity and humility. We must remember that we are witnessing a world shaped by entirely different historical, social, and cultural frameworks. This film is not asking us to judge, but to observe, to try and understand. As outsiders, our role is not to impose conclusions, but to witness with empathy and openness. Setting this context as viewers is vital, not to excuse what is difficult to watch, but to resist the urge to universalise our own norms. This documentary becomes a tool for learning, not a lens for condemnation.
Initially, the documentary wasn’t meant to focus on Di’s personal struggle, but rather, it was intended to be a story about the children of Hmong villages. The shift in direction as the filmmakers captured Di’s ordeal was both a personal decision and a reaction to the situation unfolding in front of them. This shift adds another layer of complexity to the documentary, as the film moves beyond simply documenting the Hmong customs to deeply examine the power dynamics and the traumatic impact on young girls like Di.
Di’s fight to resist these oppressive traditions and carve her own path is what truly stays with me. Despite being born into a world where young girls are married off and expected to work tirelessly while the men sit drinking, Di shows incredible resolve in shaping her future. She’s not defined by the restrictive roles society wants her to play. Even when everything seems stacked against her, her determination to live a life of her own choosing is inspiring. Her story isn’t just a fight against a centuries-old system, it’s a fight for her right to dream and to be more than just a wife or a laborer.
The film is deeply personal and intimate, and I found myself feeling moved, heartbroken, and, at times, speechless. There’s a tension throughout Children of the Mist, it’s a story that unfolds slowly, and it’s one you have to experience for yourself to fully understand. I don’t want to say too much because this is a documentary that you have to see to believe. In fact, when you first start watching, it takes a moment to get into it, and you don’t really know what to expect as the story develops. The cinematography is stunning, with the mist-covered landscapes and intimate close-ups giving the film an ethereal quality that mirrors Di’s journey. The way the camera captures both the natural beauty of the environment and the emotional weight of the situation adds a haunting visual layer to the narrative. The documentary feels like a journey, one that I can’t easily sum up in just a few words. But once it’s over, you won’t forget it.
Children of the Mist is a film that challenges you, that makes you uncomfortable, and that leaves you with more questions than answers. It’s a reminder that the fight for autonomy, for control over your own future, is universal, no matter where you come from. And it’s the kind of documentary that stays with you long after the credits roll.