I’m a second-generation Chinese Vietnamese American, the first in my family born in the U.S. I’ve got deep refugee roots: my great-grandparents escaped China during the revolution, and half a century later, my grandparents and parents fled Vietnam for similar reasons. To say I’m still working out some trauma from displacement across three generations is an understatement.

My family’s from Central Vietnam so bánh xèo has a very special place in my heart and probably also in my arteries. We didn’t have it that often because my grandma would say, “ăn đồ chiên nóng quá sẽ bệnh, chết.” I’m not sure I got that sentence right but basically, if you eat too much fried food, you’ll get sick, maybe even die. Lol.

Phở gà is a staple in our home. We usually get a whole chicken and make a big pot of soup. After making a meal or two of it that day we freeze the leftover broth, like 8-10 mason jars to make other kinds of soup in the days, weeks to come. Making it is a way for me to show love and care, especially on cold days, when someone is feeling under the weather, or when we all crave that special Vietnamese meal. That first batch when you use freshly made noodles and top the soup with all the herbs, bean sprouts, and fried shallots is my absolute favorite. It’s plain and simple comfort food. I think this makes me a basic b*&^%. There is a wide range of delicious Vietnamese food but I just come back to this meal so often because I love it so much.

I’ll have to admit that I was a clueless 21 year old and was more interested in just staying out late and dancing my face off. My go-to drink at that time was a free drink. Haha! These days I’m interested in single spirits like a glass of wine, sake, soju, or mezcal.

It really depends on my mood but most often these days, I just want some delicious, classic, and well made Vietnamese food. My go to is Golden Delight in the SGV. They don’t have bánh xèo but they serve a mean bowl of phở.

My grandmother held strong superstitions, and though I’ve always been terrified of spiders, ‘til this day when I see one, her words still echo in my mind, “relax, spiders bring good luck with their eight legs.” In our culture, the number eight holds auspicious significance. (But I still can’t help but scream a bit when I see one.)

Embarking on motherhood, when I was pregnant with my daughter, all I could think about were the graphic and traumatizing Vietnam War movies she might watch one day. I knew I had to do something to counter that narrative. Just a few months into my pregnancy, memories from my childhood began to resurface, and the music I grew up with started playing in my head.

Raised by my uncles and aunts in the 80s, that synthesized music became an anchor to so many memories. New Wave is a love letter not just to my daughter, but to future generations and to the lost child I was in the 80s. I had to dust off those cobwebbed memories and share them with her.

My daughter is my guiding light. From the moment I knew she was going to enter my life, she transformed me, giving my life new meaning. When she was growing inside me, she drove my purpose and inspired my direction, helping me be more emotionally present. Now that she’s out in the world, she continues to guide me. I know there are things I can control and things I can’t, but I’ll do everything in my power to help her keep that light so she can illuminate the way.

When people think of their dream collaborators, they often look beyond themselves, hoping to work with those out of reach. But for me, my dream collaborator is right in front of me. I’m already working with her—my producer Rachel Sine. She’s so much more than a colleague; she’s a friend, confidant, problem solver, and soothsayer (lol, she’s so optimistic I want to believe everything she says about the future). She’s an amazing human.

Additionally, 90% of my team are women, with the vast majority being Vietnamese and AAPI women. I’m very proud of that! It’s 100% intentional. I didn’t know if I’d find these teammates, but somehow I asked, and the universe brought so many amazing humans into my life who breathed inspiration and love into this story! I have so many teammates that I admire and look up to and hope that our collaboration on New Wave is just the beginning of many collaborations in the future.

I’ll use the synopsis written by Jose Rodriguez, programmer at Tribeca. You’ll hear many versions from me in the near future.

It’s a late evening in 2019. Elizabeth Ai, a Vietnamese American filmmaker, exuberantly hangs out with friends outside of a nightclub. As Elizabeth enters with her cohort, her soft-spoken narration reveals her current purpose: “I just had a baby six months ago - and there I was, at a club…chasing a story.” This is the onset of Elizabeth’s feisty exploration into her Vietnamese music culture - specifically, her examination of “new wave” - the popular 80’s musical phenomenon that featured Vietnamese artists/singers with big hairstyles, defiant attitudes and joyful, infectious vibes. Elizabeth was swept up by the vivacious “New Wave” throughout her childhood, while being raised by her aunt Myra amidst a strained relationship with her mother. Now as a new mother, Elizabeth links up with “new wave” stalwarts like singer Lynda Trang Đài and Ian “DJ BPM” Nguyen to further reflect on the nostalgia & kitsch of “new wave” - from the boisterous apex of this phenomenon to its struggles when idiosyncratic artists sought inclusion in the wider American pop culture scene.

Ai’s commanding exploration of cultural identity and community resilience makes for an intimate, emotionally-attuned watch. Bolstered by a treasure trove of archival footage of irreverent musical performances (with big hairstyles galore), New Wave is ultimately a love letter to a determined community striving for acceptance.

––Jose Rodriguez

Just when you think you’re done is often when you’re just getting started. I initially set out to make this film to preserve a piece of history about my community. I was fascinated by the music I grew up with and how it became so influential in the diaspora, with countless volumes of synthesized music aka New Wave aka Eurodisco.

I wanted to create a counternarrative to the violent war stories, one that focused on joy, celebration, teenage rebellion, and music. But as I delved deeper into making the film, my daughter grew up alongside it and began asking difficult questions about my relationship with my mom, about war, and its impact on us. These were questions I hadn’t planned to explore, but slowly, what I was avoiding became exactly what needed further examination.

Emotionally, I wasn’t sure what was required, but as I dug deeper,
a well of pent-up emotions surfaced. I hadn’t realized I’d been grieving loss my whole life. I’d convinced myself that everything was okay because I had more opportunities than the first generation, and I kept pushing that narrative. Survival meant never looking back.

I’m grateful for the film, my daughter, my producer, and advisors urged me to reflect and dive deeper. It took decades of silence to pretend I could forget. But it was in the six years of processing this narrative that I finally began understanding the impacts of what I’d gone through as a child witnessing my family’s grief from war, loss, and displacement. I’m incredibly grateful for my community who helped me tell this story.