Hanoi-born, Czech-raised filmmaker Dužan Duong makes his feature debut with Summer School, 2001 [+leggi anche:
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intervista: Dužan Duong
scheda film], about the Vietnamese diaspora in Central Europe, which has premiered as a Special Screening at the Karlovy Vary IFF. Cineuropa talked to him about the film’s mosaic-like storytelling and genre-shifting structure, the casting process involving non-professional actors from the Vietnamese community, and the broader ambition to redefine diasporic storytelling within European cinema.

Cineuropa: Could you tell us a bit about the genesis of the film?
Dužan Duong: We began developing Summer School, 2001 about eight years ago. Initially, I was writing it on my own, but after a year or two, I brought in Lukáš Kokeš to collaborate on the script. That partnership became foundational to the project. From the beginning, we wanted to build the story around multiple perspectives – the father, the younger son and the older son. Lukáš actually recommended I watch Rashomon, which helped clarify how we could handle shifting viewpoints.

The film freely veers between different genres. Was that part of the concept from the start?
Each character’s segment was designed to have its own tone. The father’s story flirts with a mafia narrative, the younger son’s segment is more playful and childlike, while the eldest son’s chapter delves into internal struggle and cultural dislocation. It’s a mosaic: three styles and emotional textures coexisting within one framework.

That kind of structural and episodic ambition must have been challenging. Did it fall into place easily?
Not exactly. We experimented a lot in the editing room, tried different versions and played with the structure – some of the cuts were even quite far from the original script. But after a year of editing, we ended up going back to what we had written. That kind of confirmed to us that the original structure worked. We had spent about five or six years on the script, mostly just writing and shaping everything on paper, trying to tie all the threads together, so when the edit brought us back to that same foundation, it felt like a good sign.

You worked with non-professional actors. How did you approach the casting?
We created our own casting agency. The mainstream agencies couldn’t provide the specificity we needed: Vietnamese actors who hadn’t already been filtered through the advertising industry. We scouted in markets, nail salons and online forums. It was essential to find people who embodied the roles naturally.

You’ve described the film as partially autofiction. How much is drawn from your own life?
A lot. But it’s also drawn from shared experiences within the Vietnamese diaspora. For instance, the storyline of Kien, the older son who grew up without his parents, is common in many immigrant families. We wanted to reflect that collective reality. Every scene has roots in real life: the market, the teacher, the summer school… And we hope viewers from the community see themselves represented, maybe for the first time.

The mother appears in each segment but never has her own. Was that a conscious choice?
Yes, that was intentional. One of the main themes here is masculinity, as all of the male characters are struggling in different ways. The father sees himself as the provider, the head of the family, but he’s dealing with financial failure. Kien, the eldest son, has questions around his identity, and he grew up without a male role model. They’re all trying to figure out what being a man even means. Even though she doesn’t have her own segment, she does have a real impact.

Why did you decide to keep the film bilingual?
It was important to speak to both audiences. Many Vietnamese people in the Czech Republic rarely go to the cinema. We wanted to change that, to show them a film about their lives, in their own language.

You have called it the first Czech "Viet-film" – what does that term mean to you?
For me, a “Viet-film” is an immigrant-centred story, but not one set in Vietnam. It’s rooted in Europe. It’s about the experience of living between cultures, and about assimilation, identity and that constant tension between two worlds. It reflects the reality of growing up as Vietnamese outside of Vietnam, trying to find your place while holding on to where you come from.

You're already working on your next feature project, Lost Boys. Can you tell us more about it?
It’s going to be an animated feature, stylistically inspired by Japanese anime. The story is set around 2027 and centres on a fourth-generation Vietnamese girl growing up in Europe. The core theme is the impact of technology on today’s youth, especially the way smartphones and AI are shaping their emotional development and sense of identity. I wanted to address something very contemporary, and animation felt like the right format. If I want to speak to kids who live online, I have to speak their language. We’re collaborating with animators from Myanmar.