The Hamilton Spectator Review

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The Sins of Our Fathers

Throughout the two years I’ve spent working on this piece, many people have asked me the same question after seeing the show in its present and past incarnations. This question has been asked in varying ways but the center has always been the same, “Was this based on reality?”

Well, I write what I know. So yes, for the most part. It’s somewhat awkward to answer this question in person since I’ve just put my bare life on stage for anyone to see.

Personally, this project was about me not being able to understand the rest of my family. I was the only one born in Canada, the first born generation. We never really saw eye to eye.

There have been nights where I racked my brain on how to fit in. How to respect my elders. How to just be normal.

But I can’t be.

What my father has instilled into me, I will be affected by for the rest of my life. And if I have children, will they be affected by what has been done to me?

I don’t know. It’s definitely gotten better with age though. My father and I get along with a certain understanding that only children with strict parents can grasp. I know he cares for me and that’s all I could really ask from him.

Sylvia Vuong

Ontario Arts Review

This is going to be one of the more memorable and impacting presentations of the Festival. Written by Sylvia Vuong & exquisitely directed by Jeff Yung, there is such a strong sense of reality that simply reeks of the familiar experiences of both. Kept thinking of the intrinsic message of ‘Fiddler’ and Tevye’s having to deal with eroding of traditions. Tuan, his wife Trang, and their daughters must make the transition from the pre-Viet Cong ‘Nam, to Canada. All 5 cast members are detailed and real in their multiple roles. There are instances that so perfectly underline what every immigrant family must experience that it viscerally will affect audiences, The Canadian-born daughter, played by Jasmine Chen, is outstanding and methinks a definite contender to follow her role-mother’s (Danielle Ayow) footsteps to the Theatre Erindale programme. Do not miss this impressive submission.   

Danny Gaisin

Opening in Two Days

Poster Design: Felix Lau

I’m freaking out. The opening is in two days and I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out and I’m not even going to be on stage. I can’t imagine what amount of stress the others are going through. I actually got the chance to drop into a couple of rehearsals in the past week. I didn’t know what to expect when I walked in for the first time but what I did get was complete and total professionalism.

Our stage manager, Sarah, is completely on the ball. She’s so on the ball, she created the ball. No, she created the material and machine in which the ball was created from. She scares me. Just like Nina Lee Aquino scares me.

Our director, Jeff, who I was expecting to be in shambles over my writing since I’m the worst with writing in intentions or stage directions, was incredibly composed.

Our actors, lovely. I think the worst thing I could do at this point was change anything on them but…being me…there were some words that just popped out during the first run. I wanted to cut them. It’s hard, however, to ask an actor to change anything with their lines this late in the game. They accepted.

A few more runs down the road, I did another bad thing. I asked to cut…just a little bit more. Just a little bit, I swear! (I’m a jerk.) They still accepted.

And I think this is why I love this collective. We accept and nurture each other.

Sylvia Vuong

"The moment when the American public turned against the war"

The type of research I had to do for this play was different than I expected. I had to ask my family on their experiences during the Vietnam War. It’s hard not to cry when you hear of the hardships your family had to endure, particularly my mother.

After the war had ended and my father set out on his boat ride, my mom was left alone for a year with her three kids in Vietnam. When he first left, she hid in a shack hoping that the communist soldiers wouldn’t come find her. However, they did. From what I know, we were fairly well-off because we owned a gas station. They took that. After the communists assessed her wealth, they gave her back a percentage they thought was fair. Translation: they were dirt poor. She ran around doing any job she could to feed her children. One particular job she did a lot was painting bicycles. She didn’t know if my father was dead or alive until her sent his first letter a year later.

Sometimes I wish I could go back and help her somehow but it’s not possible. I know the fear still stays with her because when she was explaining this to me, her voice often broke.

I asked her what she thought about us (the non-commie South Vietnamese) losing the war and she doesn’t blame it on anyone. She knows that it only kept going because of the US soldiers helping us out but as soon as they left (because of the family protests back in America); the war was pretty much over for them.

I believe the family protests worsened after the picture shown here was published. It was taken on January 31, 1968 by Eddie Adams. He wandered the streets that morning looking for a story and that’s exactly what he got. The man holding a gun is South Vietnamese, Nguyen Ngoc. The man that had the gun pointed to him is part of the Viet Cong – a political organization and army that fought against the South and US during the Vietnam War. Adams snapped a picture just as Ngoc fired a bullet into this man’s head. This image became iconic, brought opprobrium down upon Ngoc, and it even won Adams a Pulitzer Prize. This photograph, in the words of Harper’s magazine, "the moment when the American public turned against the war." The American public didn’t bother to research anything; they saw the photo and passed immediate judgment. If they even looked below the surface, they would realize that the man being shot was a killer. He assassinated Ngoc’s entire family. They weren’t soldiers. They weren’t on a battlefield and yet they died anyway all because they were Ngoc’s family and he was the chief of South Vietnam’s National Police. Adams always regretted this, but it was too late.

Sylvia Vuong

How It All Started...

The Boat People - playGround 2009 Poster

Designed by: David Freedman

Okay, so for the first post...I thought it would be fitting to "blog" about what inspired me to write this story in particular. Bear with me because my memory is a little fuzzy. Back in 2008, it was the night before playGround submissions were due (playGround is a student playwriting festival at York University) and I had no idea what I was going to write. Silly me, I had known when the due date was for only about five weeks and never actually paid any attention to what I was going to write about. GO ME. So in a desperate panic, I took a nap. Don't look at me like that. I NEEDED IT. FFW to when I woke up. So I'm opening my eyes and I just lay there and BBQ myself - it's what my mom says when I lay in bed just turning myself over and over without getting up. Then, like a flash of light, I get an idea. omigosh. Final-freakin-ly. Then I think, really? Should I?

HINT (this is what I was thinking): Why don't I just write about my Dad and when he came over here from Vietnam? He came here on a boat. That's interesting, right? Yeah, it has to be. Refugees, who wouldn't find that interesting? But really... another refugee story. How is that going to be at all interesting? Never mind the amount of research I'd actually need to do for it. UGH.

BACKTRACK: I got this idea because my Mom had told me about my Dad. Yeah. I'm Asian, my family doesn't talk much about the past. However, my Mom loves telling me important things while I'm standing in the kitchen. She said, “Dad came on a boat. I didn’t talk to him for a year. I didn’t know if he was dead or alive.” She went on after that but it’s too fuzzy to remember the exact details. The important thing is there – and I had never known about it.

Back to me: WTF, how did I not know? Why don’t my parents tell me anything? I asked this once and their response, “I didn’t think it was important”. Now that just shocked me even more because really? How could you think this wouldn’t be important to me? Okay, that’s it.

So I sat down at my laptop and started to furiously write. I ended up with a 10-12 page early draft as my submission piece. You know, I didn’t that I could but more like if I was ready to. It’s really hard writing something so personal. Everything that I write, it’s almost always based on truth and embellished to the max but here, I didn’t have to. I didn’t even know if I was ready to share this with anyone else but I had to suck it up since I ended up getting accepted into the festival.

This concludes my first blog ever,

Sylvia Vuong