When Community Becomes the Path to Healing

Read Time:5 Minute, 2 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Little Bird
–

Genre: Drama, Period Piece, Short Film
Year Released: 2024
Runtime: 17m
Director(s): Oanh-Nhi Nguyen
Writer(s): Oanh-Nhi Nguyen, Ysabeaux Ng
Cast: Chantal Thuy, Jolie Eden, Paul Yen, Perry Yung, Misha Gonz-Cirkl, Ngoc Le, Dale E. Turner, Mia-Carina Mollicone, Jamie Tran, Justin Morck, Loan Trinh, Danielle Phan
Where to Watch: shown at the 21st Annual HollyShorts Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: LITTLE BIRD might only span 17 minutes, but it examines a story with the weight of a feature. Director Oanh-Nhi Nguyen takes audiences back to 80s Los Angeles, crafting a layered, empathetic portrait of displacement, survival, and the courage to stand against injustice. While many films explore the aftermath of the Vietnam War, few focus on what happened after refugees landed on American soil — the nuanced realities that existed between the headlines. Nguyen’s story narrows in on one woman, Linh Tran (Chantal Thuy), whose job forces her to confront those very truths.

Linh’s work as an eviction agent requires an emotional distance, but that façade begins to erode when she’s tasked with evicting a group of Vietnamese refugees. The professional mask she wears — an armor of detachment — is challenged when she encounters a young girl whose longing for Vietnam mirrors her own. These scenes never drift; instead, Nguyen lets moments breathe, trusting the audience to feel the tension without manipulation. The silence between words speaks as loudly as any dialogue.

Part of the film’s strength comes from its ability to bridge the personal and the political. Nguyen’s family history, though never directly portrayed, shapes the authenticity of the narrative. In her statement, she reflects on the war’s quiet but persistent presence in her home — a generational echo that informed her perspective on survival, community, and resilience. That personal connection elevates the film beyond mere recreation, grounding it in lived experience.

The production design by Bala Govind Kumar deserves special mention. The details — from modest living spaces to period-accurate clothing — immerse viewers in the world without drawing attention to themselves. The world feels organic, never staged.

Thuy delivers a restrained yet deeply affecting performance. Thuy allows vulnerability to peek through the stoicism. Linh is a woman defined by quiet conflict — someone who has learned to survive by keeping others at arm’s length but is slowly, perhaps reluctantly, realizing that isolation comes at a cost. Opposite her, Jolie Eden brings a natural presence to the role of Thuy, the young refugee girl. Eden’s performance is subtle, with an innocence that makes her scenes linger in your mind.

Where LITTLE BIRD excels is in its clarity. Nguyen explores the moral crossroads between duty and conscience, survival and solidarity. The film challenges assumptions about refugee resettlement, confronting the misconception that those who fled war zones were met with open arms and adequate resources.

One could argue that the film’s brevity leaves certain character moments — particularly the inner lives of the refugees — less explored than they could be. Yet, within its limited runtime, LITTLE BIRD prioritizes emotion over narrative breadth. The central relationship between Linh and Thuy is enough to carry the message, allowing the audience to project the broader community’s struggles onto this single, intimate connection.

In the crowded world of short films, LITTLE BIRD stands out because it understands that 17 minutes is enough to spark reflection — if those minutes are used with purpose. Nguyen uses her time wisely, avoiding exposition-heavy dialogue and trusting in visual storytelling. This confidence, coupled with the film’s grounded performances and authentic production, makes it resonate long after the viewing experience is over.

LITTLE BIRD is about more than a single eviction order. It’s about the cost of survival when it demands silence in the face of injustice. It’s about recognizing yourself in someone else’s struggle and deciding that their fight is yours too. For Linh, the decision she faces is both deeply personal and universally human — a reminder that the bonds we form can be as necessary to our survival as the roofs over our heads.

Nguyen’s short leaves you with the sense that the story doesn’t end when the credits roll. It’s a window into a history that still resonates today, and a challenge to consider how we might respond when our principles are put to the test. For a film under twenty minutes, that’s no small accomplishment.

This is the kind of work that makes Oanh-Nhi Nguyen a filmmaker to watch — not because she tells stories of the past, but because she tells them with an urgency that makes them feel like they’re happening right now.

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[photo courtesy of AMERICAN FILM INSTITUTE (AFI), RIVERSIDE ENTERTAINMENT]

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