DIAMOND ISLAND (Davy Chou)
Just like Patti Cake$ and Wulu, in Chou's debut feature familiar narrative tropes - in this case that of the travails of restless, aimless youth - are transformed into transporting art by a unique sense of style. And in Diamond Island, this style is quite intoxicating, its near-psychedelic neon colors and the moody, drifting atmosphere making for an intensely mesmerizing experience.
The titular island is an actual construction site of luxury apartments and other properties off the coast of Phnom Penh, Cambodia, meant to attract investment from rich folk and bring the country fully into cutting edge modernity. However, as in other places where this sort of gaudy architecture is being constructed, wealth gaps are readily apparent. The workers tasked to build these properties are paid low wages and toil in often dangerous conditions, all to construct places they couldn't hope to afford to live.
The film follows one of these workers, Bora (Sobon Nuon), as he leaves his mother in the countryside to work on a building on Diamond Island, where he is introduced to an urban world of wealth and leisure far removed from what he has been used to up until now. Some dramatic points occur: finding his long lost brother Solei (Cheanick Nov), who'd left the family years before; feeling his first stirrings of love with lovely local girl Aza (Madeza Chhem). But this film is much more about feeling and mood than plot, and it derives its sense of naturalism with beautifully rendered details of how young people move, talk, and gaze at one another.
Chou's previous feature was Golden Slumbers, which concerned Cambodian film history destroyed by the Khmer Rouge. In Diamond Island, history is destroyed in a different way, not through genocide, but through capitalistic erasure of nature and culture. Chou, however, counteracts this with his vivid rendering of the beauty inherent of his character's essential goodness, and a vibrant spirit that refuses to be extinguished. Most of Cambodia's cinematic past may be gone forever, but Chou's lovely film lights a path toward a more artfully promising future.