SAMUI SONG. A Genre-Bending Whirlwind [REVIEW]

Want to watch another artistically sophisticated film from faraway Asia? Samui Song is for you. Want a brutal, disturbing crime drama centered around broken people? Samui Song is for you. Want an insane, no-holds-barred thrill ride in the vein of “midnight madness”? Samui Song is for you. The film by Pen-Ek Ratanaruang (Invisible Waves, Last Life in the Universe) is all that—and more. It’s rare to see a film in regular distribution on our market that’s so unapologetically wild, and yet so meticulously crafted. This Thai production is best described with the word “open”—open in terms of genre, open toward itself, its viewers, and all kinds of eccentricities.

The plot of Samui Song revolves around two characters—actress Vi (Laila Boonyasak) and a rather shady guy named Guy (David Asavanond). Their chance encounter (or maybe not so chance?) sets off a true series of unfortunate events, whose twists and turns we follow throughout the film. Vi’s husband—Jerome, a Frenchman—and his close friend, the leader of a local religious cult, also play crucial roles in this tangled story, as Vi seeks to escape from them at any cost. But don’t get too attached to the setup or the characters—the storyline and the roles people play in it will shift drastically several times. The creators aren’t aiming to build a neatly constructed plot but rather to mislead the viewer, juggle motifs, and create a general sense of chaos from which the film’s meaning can only gradually be teased out.

Samui Song doesn’t offer a clear narrative—instead, Ratanaruang invites us to observe and experience a strange dream, a nightmare that is unsettling and constantly shifting at breakneck speed. The entire narrative oscillates between a variety of genre tropes: from slow Asian art cinema celebrated at festivals, through Lynchian complexities in the world-building, to gangster-style impressions straight out of a Coen Brothers or Quentin Tarantino film. In Ratanaruang’s film, you’ll find both spiritual ecstasies and metaphysical puzzles, as well as scenes of grotesque, brutal violence. At times, this kaleidoscope of styles and moods feels like several different films stitched together into one screenplay. The main characters provide a semblance of consistency, remaining mostly coherent throughout—but even they, drawn into the director’s identity-swapping games that shift with genre and narrative ambiguity, quickly become unreliable guides through the world of the film. From the very start, the filmmakers do everything they can to undermine our attempts to place what we’re seeing within a familiar framework—they discard conventions, invalidate points of view (the very first scene already suggests that our perspective is entirely accidental), and tangle the story in a way that escapes every referenced genre’s structure.

Any attempt to “solve” this puzzle seems doomed from the start. “The kaleidoscope of styles and moods feels at times like several different films accidentally fused into one script.” Because Samui Song should be experienced like a dream—an oneiric delirium collectively dreamed by the characters and the director. If we surrender to the illogical, chaotic flow of events, we’re rewarded with a first-class cinematic trip, full of staging gems, winks, and ironic takes on stereotypical views of cinema (especially Asian cinema). In this constant breaking of convention and brilliant, chaotic blending of motifs, Ratanaruang also seems to be saying something about social masks, the escapist nature of dreams and storytelling, and perhaps, in a veiled way, about Thai realities.

Or maybe he just wants us to think he’s saying something, misleading us once again—suggesting meanings that emerge from surreal vertigo, while the only real point of Samui Song is the absolute freedom to shift from one narrative version to another. That’s the kind of intellectual whiplash this film delivers. If you don’t like being led by the nose, best not to engage. But if bizarre twists are your thing—run to the cinema immediately. It’s hard to evaluate a film like Samui Song. Ratanaruang’s mastery of staging and direction is unquestionable, but whether he used it to create something truly compelling is up to individual interpretation.

I had a fantastic time with Samui Song—I found pure cinematic pleasure in the formal twists, the false leads, and the beautifully mismatched elements. But I can easily understand why a viewer with a slightly different sensibility or expectation might find the film an indigestible mess—promising a gripping crime plot only to spiral into self-indulgent games played by filmmakers with themselves. As cliché as it sounds, the quality of Samui Song truly depends on the viewer—it’s such an open-ended film that only the right mindset will allow it to shine. And when it does, it delivers something really worthwhile. That said, it’s not the kind of film that will go down in history—its constant narrative flipping and refusal to adopt a stable aesthetic identity lack the deeper energy or vision that would elevate Samui Song to the ranks of masterpieces like Lost Highway or Oldboy.

But one can’t blame a clever, solid film for not being a masterpiece. It’s enough that it intrigues and offers no easy answers, sparking thought both during and after the viewing.