FUNAN. Set in a very specific time [REVIEW]

Funan by Denis Do fits into the same lineage of films as Persepolis, Waltz with Bashir, and The Swallows of Kabul. What these works share are similar foundational principles, built on a powerful artistic paradox. Their creators reach for historical events (or draw clear inspiration from them), but instead of reinforcing their authenticity through live-action filmmaking, they relocate these stories into the realm of animation. This medium is built on deliberate simplification—of shapes, colors, gestures, emotions, and expressions—on metaphor rather than literal representation, and on artistic imagination rather than fact-based reconstruction.

In each of these films, this stylistic shift manifests differently, with varying degrees of intensity and in different proportions. This method alone would warrant a separate essay. But in this installment of Artificial Worlds, let’s focus on Funan itself.

Funan tells a story of despair, opportunism, and desperate attempts at survival. The director, Denis Do, takes us to Cambodia in 1975. The revolution and civil war have already taken place. Power has been seized by the Khmer Rouge — an extremist movement blending systemic communism with ideological nationalism, enforcing its rule with brutal violence and allowing no dissent, not even from civilians. It is precisely on the fate of these civilians that Do focuses.

The event that sets the film’s story in motion is a separation — likely one of the most painful kinds: the separation of parents from their child. It happens during the forced evacuation of civilians from a destroyed city. Just before crossing a river, young Sovanh strays from his parents, Chou and Khuon. His grandmother rushes after him through the crowd. His parents follow, but they are stopped by armed Khmer soldiers. From this moment, the narrative splits in two.

Most of the film follows the married couple, who are sent to a labor camp. Chou and Khuon are forced into grueling, backbreaking work in the rice fields. What is hardest to endure is not the physical exhaustion, but the unbearable uncertainty of whether their son is still alive. Sovanh’s story forms the second narrative thread. He is taken, along with other children, to a Khmer training facility where he is indoctrinated and prepared to become a future recruit.

The film’s dramatic weight resonates on multiple levels and across several existential registers. A recurring theme is a mother’s grief over separation. Chou also increasingly resents her husband for his passivity and indecision. In her view, Khuon didn’t do everything he could to get their son back. Funan also portrays opportunism and desperate survival strategies. Some women, in exchange for food or the guards’ protection, sell their bodies. The filmmakers never state this directly, but the suggestion is powerful and unambiguous.

The Khmer guards themselves are not ideologically unwavering either. Often, their intimidating postures are merely a façade. They sometimes turn a blind eye to rule-breaking, secretly offering protection and aid. They too are frightened individuals — many initially swept up in revolutionary fervor but now remaining in their uniforms not out of ideological conviction but out of fear for their own lives.

Do’s protagonists are not monumental figures but psychologically convincing, deeply human characters. Physically exhausted, depressed, terrified of their circumstances, uncertain of tomorrow, and distrustful of themselves. And although Funan is set in a very specific time and place, its message is strikingly universal. It speaks of physical and mental suffering, of moral and ethical dilemmas understood in every corner of the world. Denis Do understands that a humanitarian voice and human suffering need no context and are not open to interpretation.