Rom (2020)

Ròm is the kind of street-level drama that grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go, plunging you into a sweltering Ho Chi Minh City apartment block where hope is measured in lottery numbers and every debt has teeth. Director Trần Thanh Huy shoots with a propulsive, almost thriller-like urgency, turning cramped hallways and rooftop vistas into a living, breathing pressure cooker while a young lead performance makes Ròm’s hunger, grit, and quiet longing feel painfully real. It’s not a gentle watch—violence and intensity come hard and fast, and the film doesn’t romanticize poverty or desperation—but that honesty is exactly what gives it its punch. If you can handle a raw, kinetic ride that balances action with real human stakes, Ròm rewards you with a story that feels both fiercely local and universally heartbreaking.

Rom is clearly trying to be a gritty, street-level tragedy about poverty, desperation, and the cruel little economies that trap people—anchored by a kid who’s just trying to survive and find his family. It delivers that with relentless intensity, but the film can feel more like being battered by misery and chaos than guided through a clean, emotionally satisfying story, and some viewers will find the pacing and shouting, scrappy energy exhausting rather than immersive. The violence is not decorative; it’s harsh and frequent, and the overall tone is bleak enough that “uplifting” isn’t really on the menu. If you can handle a raw, rough-edged drama with severe intensity and only small flashes of hope, it’s powerful in moments; if you’re looking for comfort, clarity, or a gentler coming-of-age arc, this will likely be a hard pass.