Transpacific Textures and Wild, Interesting Worlds
Asian/American Transits #4—NEW YORK x SALLY PHUONG TRAN
Welcome back to Asian/American Transits, my monthly-ish feature on transnational Asian creators and storytellers. Following my previous spotlight on Tokyo-based artist and vlogger Lindsay Arakawa, we jump over to the New York cinematic stylings of Vietnamese kiwi filmmaker Sally Phuong Tran. Enjoy!
1. Where did you grow up? How did this environment affect your sense of cultural identity?
I was raised in a small town in New Zealand with only around 10,000 people. It was a predominantly Pacific Islander and Maori community. There weren’t many Caucasian families and basically zero Asian families. I didn’t see another Vietnamese person outside of my family until I was eight. Because it was such an isolated place, I actually thought I was like everyone else for a long time—or maybe I thought everyone was like us.
I grew up with a lot of siblings in a traditional Vietnamese household. My dad was Buddhist so we would hear a lot of chants and things in the house, and we would always eat Vietnamese food. I don’t think I even had white people food until I was eleven. Like mac and cheese—what is this?! I feel really lucky to have had this environment growing up. Only when I was in high school did I realize how different my family was, in terms of how we spent our day, the way that we ate, and even just the language.
2. Can you describe how you came to your current creative practice? Who or what have been your biggest inspirations or influences?
It’s been a journey. As a filmmaker and director, I get a lot of joy from being able to tell stories through a visual medium. I start with a topic that I’m interested in and dig into the research; the research is one of my favorite parts of the process, which is why it takes me so long to develop an idea. But I also work as a commercial director to make money to feed this very expensive hobby of mine. I love working with rich textures, colors, patterns, and fabrics, all tactile elements that let me showcase my influences. My commercial directing work also lives within this tactile world, and it’s a great job to have. I have lots of fun determining the aesthetic direction of the project.
When I was young, I was inspired by filmmakers and video directors like Michel Gondry and Chris Cunningham who created surreal worlds with their unique approaches to visual effects. This might be because I was a New Zealander surrounded by motion graphic artists who were all white guys, and Cunningham and Gondry were what was accessible to us then. Also, those early 2000s DVD collections were the rage, so it was hard to escape them; they were like the Instagram of that time.
I feel like I’ve only recently started understanding who I am as a Vietnamese creative by getting to know emerging Vietnamese artists and old school Asian storytellers, and just absorbing from a lot of different places. Vietnam has only really started to find its own voice recently, having long been subject to colonial forces like France. I feel like a younger generation has emerged in the past years to tell more contemporary stories. I’ve been influenced by traditional filmmakers like Trần Anh Hùng (The Scent of Green Papaya), as well as more contemporary artists like the musician Suboi.
3. When did you move to New York? Has the experience of living here shaped your creative, personal, or social sensibilities?
I first visited New York in 2013 while participating in a professional development program called Script to Screen. They sent me here for three or four months to work at a company called Killer Films, which is run by independent film producer Christine Vachon, who has made probably about a hundred independent films by now. I was thrown into this really cool environment and got to see all these different projects happening at the same time.
I moved officially in 2015. I immediately fell in love with New York, just the vibrancy and the excitement and how easy it was to meet people and create and talk and do things. I was actually planning on moving to London and had shipped all my clothes and things earlier that year. But I really didn’t like the city; I didn’t connect to it or feel free and creative. New York, on the other hand, quickly drew me into its simmering grind. I was so used to standing out because of how I look or my cultural background, whether I was in New Zealand or Vietnam. In New York, I realized I could just be me. Nobody would bat an eye at how I look, walk, or talk.
I don’t really identify as Asian American, and more so as a Vietnamese kiwi. Yet even though I love New Zealand and think it’s so beautiful, people there don’t necessarily think of me as one of them. It was also very hard for me to identify fully with Vietnam because I wasn’t born there and I’m not as proficient in the language as I’d like to be. There are so many different experiences among the Viet kieu [Vietnamese diaspora]. So there are those three sides to me as a New Yorker, a New Zealander, and a Vietnamese person. These feel present for me no matter where I am.
4. You travel often to Saigon for project-based work and family reasons. Do you have any favorite places on this side of the world?
I started going back to Saigon because of my grandmother, who isn’t with us anymore. I was sixteen when I met her for the first time and felt like things clicked into place. Compared to the rest of my family, she was rather loud and outspoken. I was like, Oh shit, we’re very, very similar people. Thanks to her, I was able to nurture feelings of intimacy towards Saigon and Vietnam.
Now I try to go at least once a year. Whenever I’m in Saigon, it’s hard for me to leave. There are so many places to see and visit and food to eat. It’s a rapidly developing city. I feel like I’m rediscovering it every time I go back. In particular, I really love District Four, an area with so much history where my parents lived for a really long time, and where some of my family still lives. This district used to be notorious for its gangs and its gritty character. Nowadays it’s gentrifying, but you can still find all these wild, interesting people there. I used to shy away from telling anyone in Saigon I was from District Four, but I don’t feel ashamed of it anymore. I guess I’ve accepted that I’m ratchet.
I feel like I’ve learned so much about humanity through my experiences in Vietnam. Whenever I go back, I’m reminded of my privilege and inspired by how people can still live with a big smile on their face no matter their circumstances. You know, we’re all so miserable in New York, even with all the material riches we have. It’s good to step outside of that and recenter myself.
5. What significance do you see in finding, making, and/or nurturing community connections between Asia and America, broadly speaking?
This question is of primary importance to me in terms of what I’m creating nowadays and why I do what I do. I want to create work that can spark conversation more than anything. Maybe the passing of my grandmother has also made me try to connect more to my communities. And of course, during the pandemic, we have all reflected on who we are and what we want to be doing. The Asian diaspora experience can be confusing in terms of identity. For me, filmmaking is a form of empowerment. Films can educate, create empathy, or draw connections to other cultures. This is very much what I aim to do through my work.
Connect with Sally on Instagram @sallyphuongtran, and check out her personal website and social justice-centered film collective for the full sweep of her work. She also has some funky prints for you over at her streetwear brand Sonny Tann. 🇻🇳🇳🇿🇺🇸