RÒM

I. OPENNING:

A boy, a dream, and a city that never stops moving. Will his luck finally turn around, or is he destined to keep running?

Set in the gritty underbelly of Saigon, Ròm follows the life of a teenage lottery runner trying to survive on the streets. As he navigates a world of desperation, hope, and betrayal, every number he picks holds the promise of escape—or the risk of downfall.

What makes Ròm particularly gripping is its raw, immersive cinematography. The narrow alleyways, neon-lit signs, and chaotic energy of the city pulse like a living entity, trapping its characters in an endless cycle of struggle. The film’s handheld camera work and kinetic editing mirror Ròm’s restless pursuit of a better life, making each chase sequence feel as urgent as the stakes he faces. But beneath the action, Ròm is a story about fate and survival, about those who bet everything for a chance at something more.

Ròm is an ambitious attempt at portraying the struggles of street lottery runners in Vietnam, but its execution leaves much to be desired. While the film successfully captures the raw energy and desperation of its characters, its frantic pacing and disjointed storytelling make it difficult to fully engage with the narrative. So, is life a game of luck or a rigged system? Let’s dive into this high-stakes journey and find out.

II, PROS

As the first Vietnamese film to win big at the Busan International Film Festival, Ròm promised a raw and unfiltered glimpse into the harsh reality of underground lottery gambling. It was supposed to expose a world often ignored, a world where survival is dictated by luck, deception, and desperation. Yet, the version released in Vietnam feels disappointingly restrained, as if the authorities were unwilling to let audiences fully confront the grim truth that still lingers in society.

At its core, Ròm thrives on its concept—a brutally honest depiction of urban poverty hidden behind the dazzling lights of the media’s curated image of Vietnam. It doesn’t romanticize the struggles of street kids; instead, it throws viewers into their relentless, suffocating fight for survival. The film explores the moral dilemmas that arise when money becomes more important than human connections, making every character a pawn in a cruel, unforgiving game.

The people in Ròm’s apartment building didn’t fall into the abyss of gambling and loan sharking simply because of laziness or a reckless love for betting. They are the weakest, most vulnerable links in a vast and ruthless system—a chain stretching from the small-time bookies (like Ròm) to the child bookies, the parent bookies, and finally, the loan sharks. But who stands above the loan sharks? That question lingers in silence, an absence that speaks volumes.

At the heart of the film is not just the vicious cycle of debt and desperation but also the unforgiving force of urban displacement. Shot in the Thanh Đa apartment complex, a structure slated for demolition due to its aging, tilting foundation, Ròm uses this setting to expose a brutal truth: when land is cleared, it’s not just buildings that disappear—it’s lives, families, entire futures. For the poorest, resettlement isn’t a fresh start; it’s an erasure.

Director Trần Thanh Huy understands this intimately. His own extended family lived in an old house in Thị Nghè (Bình Thạnh District, Ho Chi Minh City) before it was cleared. That personal history seeps into Ròm, making it not just a story but a lived experience. The film’s protagonist, abandoned after his home was taken, has no choice but to scrape by as a bookie, navigating the cruel underbelly of the city with nothing but his wits and desperate will to survive.

Few Vietnamese films dare to tackle the subject of land clearance, a reality that remains sensitive in both cinema and society. Yet, Ròm doesn’t just touch on it—it makes it the very foundation of its tragedy. The film lays bare the contradictions of contemporary Vietnam, where progress and profit leave countless people stranded in an endless cycle of loss.

One of the film’s greatest strengths is its setting. The cramped, deteriorating alleyways of Saigon are captured with stunning authenticity, immersing viewers in a chaotic world where danger lurks at every corner. Combine with the cinematography — unconventional camera angles, tilted frames, and shaky handheld shots inject a sense of urgency and instability, mirroring the anxiety and desperation of the characters. Director Trần Thanh Huy took a bold, unconventional approach, and visually, Ròm stands out as one of the most distinctive Vietnamese films to date.

III. CONS:

One of the film's biggest weaknesses is its relentless speed. Characters are introduced too quickly and superficially, leaving little room for the audience to form any real emotional connection with them. Even the protagonist, Ròm, and his rival Phúc, who are supposed to be in direct competition, lack depth in their conflict. Their rivalry is reduced to repeated chases and tricks, with no real exploration of their motivations or struggles beyond fleeting moments of deception and pursuit.

The character played by rapper Wowy is another example of wasted potential. Initially introduced as a seemingly important figure, he lacks any meaningful backstory or motivation. His presence in the film feels more like an excuse to introduce additional moments of tension rather than a fully developed character. By the film's climax, his role is to merely manipulate Ròm into burning down the tenement building, only to take advantage of the blackout for senseless destruction. His actions lack narrative weight, making him more of a plot device than a character with purpose.

The film’s structure feels less like a cohesive story and more like a collection of loosely connected scenes stitched together. Instead of a clear, driving plot, Ròm oscillates between endless chases and aggressive shouting matches, all seemingly meant to depict a corrupt and decaying society. However, without a solid narrative foundation, these elements fail to resonate beyond surface-level chaos.

It's unclear what the central focus of the film truly is. Is it about Ròm's search for his mother? Or is it just an endless loop of chases meant to illustrate the brutality of life on the margins? By the time the film reaches its conclusion, there is little emotional weight left to carry. The audience is left with no sense of closure or catharsis, making the entire journey feel hollow.

Perhaps the most disappointing aspect of Ròm is its inability to evoke lasting emotions. A great film should leave viewers feeling something—whether it's empathy, admiration, or even sorrow—but Ròm fails to do so. Instead, it feels like a compilation of short, disconnected videos, similar to a YouTube playlist rather than a cinematic experience. Without strong character development or a well-defined narrative, the film struggles to make a lasting impression.

Furthermore, when the movie ended, the viewer felt a bit disappointed. It seemed as though the film progressed from beginning to end without a true climax. The supposed high points—whether the gangsters attacking the boarding house or the chase between Rom and Phuc—did not feel impactful enough. A movie's climax should always serve as a highlight; if not intensely dramatic, it should be deeply emotional, reveal a crucial truth, or depict a character facing and overcoming significant danger. Rom felt like a series of events that simply unfolded and passed.

IV. ENDING:

Ròm had all the ingredients of a groundbreaking film—an important theme, a bold visual style, and an unfiltered look at a brutal reality. However, its fragmented storytelling and rushed pacing prevent it from reaching its full potential. More disappointingly, the heavily censored Vietnamese version feels like a diluted version of what Ròm could have been.

Instead of delivering a gut-wrenching, immersive experience, it leaves the audience detached, as if they’ve just skimmed the surface of something much deeper.

For a film that won Busan’s top prize, Ròm should have been unforgettable. Instead, it fades quickly—an unfortunate reminder of how artistic vision can be compromised when it is forced to play it safe.