Johnny Nguyen (The Protector) stars as an elite double agent tasked with taking down his own country s freedom fighters. But when he meets a beautiful rebel (pop star Thanh Van Ngo), he rethinks his loyalty to the oppressive French regime and fights back against his sadistic captain (Dustin Nguyen, 21 Jump Street).

Cynthia is a young Chinese woman in love with Itami, a Japanese man about to be sent home for military service. A devastated Cynthia moves back to Shanghai only to witness the death of her elder brother during an attack by the Japanese extreme right. She changes her name and joins a secret resistance group code named Purple Butterfly the same group that years later will plot to assassinate Itami

"Watching it is like seeing a poem for the eyes." That's how Chicago Sun-Times critic Roger Ebert described this exquisite, Oscar-nominated, French-Vietnamese film from 1993, which begins in the 1950s and ends more than a decade later during the early years of the Vietnam war. The story is set almost entirely in a Saigon house where a 10-year-old orphan girl named Mui arrives to work as a servant. As she grows into a beautiful young woman, Mui is quietly and carefully observant of everything around her, from the scent of green papaya (hence the title) to the relationship between her employers. The film takes its visual cues from Mui's observations--it's a placid, soothing film that lingers over the physical and emotional details of its setting and story.

What's really astonishing about this beautiful film is that director Anh Tran Hung shot it entirely on a soundstage in Paris, but the sights and sounds are so completely convincing that you'd swear the setting is an actual home in Saigon. This remarkable craftsmanship remains invisible to the viewer, and the seductive progression of the story unfolds with exacting visual precision. It's a film about Mui's growth and development, but also about her benevolent effect on the world around her. As such, it's a movie to savor like no other, life affirming and glorious in the memorable depth of its captivating simplicity. --Jeff Shannon

In the heart of Ho Chi Minh City, a young cyclo (pedicab driver) transports anonymous passengers through the teeming streets, trying to eke out a meager living for his two sisters and elderly grandfather. When his bicycle is stolen by a local gang, he descends into the gruesome underbelly of this corrupt and violent city. Seduced by easy money, the Cyclo is swept deeper into the crime ring lead by the quietly charismatic Poet (Tony Leung of CHUNGKING EXPRESS and BULLET IN THE HEAD).

Unbeknown to the Cyclo, his older sister (the exquisite star of THE SCENT OF GREEN PAPAYA) has also been mesmerized by the brooding Poet and turns to prostitution to please him. Director Tran Anh Hung, whose brilliant debut THE SCENT OF GREEN PAPAYA established him as a master visualist, fuses the neorealist style of THE BICYCLE THIEF with the kinetic energy of TAXI DRIVER in this gritty tale of innocence lost in the urban jungle of Vietnam.

"Watching it is like seeing a poem for the eyes." That's how Chicago Sun-Times critic Roger Ebert described this exquisite, Oscar-nominated, French-Vietnamese film from 1993, which begins in the 1950s and ends more than a decade later during the early years of the Vietnam war. The story is set almost entirely in a Saigon house where a 10-year-old orphan girl named Mui arrives to work as a servant. As she grows into a beautiful young woman, Mui is quietly and carefully observant of everything around her, from the scent of green papaya (hence the title) to the relationship between her employers. The film takes its visual cues from Mui's observations--it's a placid, soothing film that lingers over the physical and emotional details of its setting and story.

What's really astonishing about this beautiful film is that director Anh Tran Hung shot it entirely on a soundstage in Paris, but the sights and sounds are so completely convincing that you'd swear the setting is an actual home in Saigon. This remarkable craftsmanship remains invisible to the viewer, and the seductive progression of the story unfolds with exacting visual precision. It's a film about Mui's growth and development, but also about her benevolent effect on the world around her. As such, it's a movie to savor like no other, life affirming and glorious in the memorable depth of its captivating simplicity. --Jeff Shannon

The lush, super-chic ambience of Tran Anh Hung's third feature, The Vertical Ray of the Sun, presents a beckoning, irresistible vision of Vietnam. The film opens with a sexy brother and sister waking up to the sound of Lou Reed's laconic voice on the stereo. They stretch, practice tai chi, meander toward a late breakfast, and playfully flirt with each other. This morning ritual--slightly disturbing but mostly alluring--recurs as a quietly resistant motif to the disappointment that awaits each character introduced. Shot on location in an impossibly hued Hanoi (lime green and chartreuse abound), the film trails after three beautiful sisters during the month that separates the anniversaries of the deaths of their mother and father. Attempting to protect the ideal memory of their parents' recently assailed love, the sisters recount kindnesses and joke with each other just as the serene charm of the café they run is to be overturned by an unexpected pregnancy and marital infidelities. Tran's lustrous style of collage is unique, pulling the viewer's attention away from imminent conflict and revelation to completely tactile and isolated moments. As with the titular subject of Velvet Underground's "Pale Blue Eyes," the sensual tension lingers on. --Fionn Meade

Although its publicity touts Three Seasons, a triple winner at the 1999 Sundance Film Festival, as "the only American film made entirely in Vietnam,, there is little that is American about this movie. Its sensibility seems far more Vietnamese than American, from its lyrical Oriental imagery and its concern with the plight of Vietnamese citizens since the war to its reverence for the country's ancient culture. Similarly, Harvey Keitel is listed as the star, but his is really the most minor of the film's major roles.

Three Seasons tells three tangentially linked stories. First is the tale of Kien An (Ngoc Hiep Nguyen), a lovely young woman who works picking lotus blossoms at a sanitarium. She becomes a scribe for its mysterious proprietor, Teacher Dao (Manh Cuong Tran), a leper who hides himself away in shame but whose soul is full of beautiful poetry. Then there is Hai (Don Duong), a gentle "cyclo" (bicycle ricksha) driver who falls in love with Lan (Zoe Bui), an alluring, feisty prostitute he sees coming and going from the big tourist hotels. Last, there is James Hager (Keitel), an ex-Marine who fought in the war and has returned to find the daughter he fathered many years before. There is also a charming plot about Woody (Huu Duoc Nguyen), a little street urchin who sells contraband out of a suitcase. The narrative involving Keitel's character is the least developed in the film, and seems to be almost an afterthought, but in any event, truly magnificent visuals and a delicate lyricism make Three Seasons a haunting, bittersweet film portrait of life in contemporary Vietnam. --Laura Mirsky