All language subtitles for Into.The.Dark.Treehouse.2019.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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He first landed
on Mars in early 2045.

He only carried with
him a few things from home

as people told him
he wouldn’t need much there.

For here everything was
new and completely different.

A whole new life.

Among his stuff there were
one camera and one small recorder

as he planned to make
film during his free time here

(actually, on Mars that
meant most of the time).

A documentary about
life on Mars for example.

One day he did a recording test
of the sounds around where he lived.

And this was the result:

For a fleeting moment it
reminded him of the sound of wind

rifting through a roof
somewhere on Earth.

(Speaking in the Ruc language)
Back then, I was born here.

On that day my father went hunting in the forest, my
pregnant mother was at home with my three sisters.

After she gave birth to me,
she put me on this rock.

She didn’t place me on the ground,
she was afraid the ants would eat me.

My father came back and
asked for mother’s whereabouts.

My sisters told him
that mother had given birth.

He asked "Boy or Girl?".
They answered, "Girl".

My mother asked my sisters
to take the dried tree barks to wrap me up.

We lied here for 3 nights,
then went over there for 10 days.

After 10 days, we moved out there.

My sisters and my father slept over there.
My mother and I slept here.

And the fence was all around to protect us
from tigers entering to capture the children.

My mother stayed here for one
month, then moved up over there.

Staying there for one more month.

Then my mother and my father
went to find food in the forest.

Only I and my sisters stayed at home.
We just sit on the rock over there...

...until I learnt to crawl

Crawling around the cave.

Nowhere else to go.

All the time we just sat inside this cave.

When I was 2 years old, my family
left for another cave to find food.

(Speaking in H'mong)
Try this one mom, it tastes really good!

Try this.

I’ll have the chicken neck then.

Hello, I hear you son.

I’m writing a script,
there is this detail…

...Long ago when...

Dad, can you hear me clearly?

I’m listening.

Back then, when we were
building the house...

Do you remember?

- Building our family's house?
- Yes.

During that time, were we living
in grandfather’s house?

Ah, no!

Our old house was
a wooden house.

While building the new house,
we built it gradually.

Before staying at grandfather’s house,
building was already in progress.

There were times when we
were staying at grandfather's house.

Once the house was finished
we moved back home.

How long did it take
to build the house?

That period was very difficult.

The house took 5 months to build.

Because there were not enough workers.

Where are you now dad?

I'm at home.

Hello?

"After many hours
searching in the deep forests

yesterday afternoon the police
from Tây Trà district, Quảng Ngãi province

have brought the father and the son, both
the Kor ethnicity, back to the village."

"It was very difficult for the militia force and
the villagers to approach the father and his son."

"Because every time they saw
the people, they run away."

"When being approached, the father and the son were
still wearing the loincloths made of tree barks."

"The son is still healthy,

but the father needed to be
carried to the village by the local force."

"Knowing the event and with the
command from the party committee,

the volunteers, the local
militia force, and the police

went to catch them
to bring them back here."

Don’t run over there
or the ghost will catch you.

Come here.

Come.

Come to mama.

Baby!

What is it?

Time to go home.

Let me carry you,
I’ll give you some sweets.

Hurry or I’ll catch you.

How old are you this year?

(Speaking in the Kor language)

He said he came
down here over 4 years.

His age is 48 or 49.
He can’t remember clearly.

How many years did you
live with your father in the forest?

Over 40 years. 41.42.

"According to the villagers,

over 40 years ago when the country was
still in the war, his house was bombed."

"Many of his family members died."

"Under this terrible shock, he carried
his infant son and run away."

"Few days ago when some villagers were farming
in the forest, they saw the father and the son."

"So they informed the
local authority of the news."

"Due to their isolated life, they only can
babble some words in the Kor language."

"How could they survive in such a severe environment
of the deep forests for more than 40 years?"

"That's the question many people asked."

Back then, in the forest most of the time
he just ate, then slept.

Can you point your finger
to your old home?

Growing up, I lived in a cave. I don’t know
since when we started to live in caves.

Apparently from our ancestors' time,
we were already living in caves.

When hiding from the Americans,
we creeped into any caves near and far.

But with the habitable caves...

with many people
living in them...

we had to find caves far from them,
otherwise there wasn't enough meat to eat.

Each person covered
a mountain and a forest.

In May and June, when
there are many honey bees

I along with the children, or my
aunts and uncles, visit our cave

for one or two nights.

Then go back to the village.

The cave I stayed in was covered
up all around like a beautiful roof.

A place for the fire.

Inside there are rocks for lying down.

A cave is like a normal house.

He said in the forest
they built their house on a tree.

There were four pillars
piercing through the tree.

Several columns were erected.

Then the roof was made.

It was their tree house.

How high was the tree?

From the ground up, if measured
in meters, it is about 6 or 7m.

Plus the roof makes it 8, 9m.

(Speaking in the Ruc language)
The soup’s too salty.

Yes, too salty.

Now where to get
water after meal then?

It's too spicy.

Will it rain tonight?

So tomorrow there will
be water to drink.

That day my father hunted a monkey.

My father grilled it.

My sisters and I took the sticks to scratch
the monkey's hair for it to burn completely.

My father chopped it
into pieces and then cooked it.

The whole family was eating.

A group of soldiers came.

I and my sisters all ran away
and hid behind the rocks.

My father called, "Come out to eat,
then go to the village with them."

I didn't want to.

They gave candies
for us to stop crying.

But we didn't dare to take them.

They asked my parents to call
us out to make the acquaintance.

But us sisters still didn't dare.

My parents gave us the candies.

We tried them
and found them very sweet.

We asked our parents,
"What are these thing, so tasty?"

Then the soldiers said, "Come, we still
have a lot of candies for you."

Since then, we knew
how candies tasted like.

I regretted the monkey meat.
We had to throw it away.

I cried all the way
walking to the village.

The Ruc people were learning
how to cultivate rice paddies.

From a far distance behind them it was
the barracks of Border Defence Force.

A soldier told him,

"Teaching the Ruc people how to grow rice is
helping them to evolve 1000 years faster."

So displacing them from their caves

and then relocating them into
the identical yellow-brick houses

was also helping them to
evolve 1000 years faster?

What was your food in the cave?

Eat “giúc”.

Eat “mài” yams...

Eat the “cà bạc” tree.

Eat the “ruồi” tree.

Eat crabs.

Eat frogs down the streams.

Eat birds.

Monkeys and boars.

Make traps for animals.

Wild pennywort tastes
real nice with garlic!

I’ll bring home
a bunch of these.

What kind of vegetable got them
all hospitalized when vising the cave?

- Who?
- Mrs. Tới!

Must be the wrong thing she ate,
not the wild veggies!

So is it from pesticides then?

But who in the world
sprays that in the forest?

That day she picked up some veggies, and
cooked them with pork for the whole family.

The whole family
got hospitalized.

But we eat these wild
plants all the time!

- Maybe they got poisoned by the pork?
- The pork was contaminated.

When I die

please make me a tomb house

where my body can rot

and my soul can have a shelter

like the souls of Jrai people
in their tomb houses.

But as a part of the
majority of Kinh people,

will I be admitted to a tomb
house of the Montagnards?

In the realm of the dead

will it still matter

the languages and
the colors of skins?

Years ago he asked
a Jrai elder about death.

“What would we do
if somebody dies?"

"We would cut down
trees to make coffins."

"In our village a coffin could
contain 3, 4, 5, 6 or even 10 people."

"If there are not enough coffins, then the
bodies would be put inside only one coffin,

one body after another
like meat stuffed into a pot."

"Then we bury them."

"We worship once
at the end of every month."

"Besides, we go to visit
and feed them every day

on mornings, noons, or afternoons
that would depend on our available time."

"This could last for 2, 3 or even 10 years.
That totally depends on us."

When we no longer feel sorrowful and miss
the dead, then we can quit visiting them.”

(Speaking in Jrai) Just the day before, left you
to your work, but work you did not.

Why did you have to end your life, just out of
jail, yet you drank the poison and passed away

and broke your
parents’ heart with grief.

For the Montagnards life
was a continuous train of images

like in a film roll.

It was said that

an aggrieved mother
at the death of her son

when she saw his images projected
on the screen, she broke into tears.

As she thought
he was still alive.

She asked her son back to her.

Everything visible for the
Montagnards was called ‘Rup’,

the body.

The invisible was ‘Soan’,

the spirit.

Rup and Soan

Life and Death

Day and Night

Positive and Negative

A tomb house was like
the negative house for the living.

A spirit had no size.

A tiny space in a tomb house

was where the dead continue
living through different images.

In Vietnamese, his mother tongue,

'Negative' also meant
'the realm of the death'.

'Positive' was
'the world of the living'.

A person who came
from the negative realm

was a resurrected soul.

Negative Images

Images of Death

Positive Images

Images of Life

Dad,

I’m calling you from Ha
Giang, the far north of Vietnam,

1600 km away from home.

I’m out here searching for
characters for my upcoming film.

View of the streets and buildings are
more or less the same as our hometown.

Except for H’Mong’s houses
hanging over the high mountain slopes.

Those houses are all made of mud
taken from the mountains themselves.

The floors are also solid earth.

The people living inside,
like the deceased,

are all protected by earth.

The bare feet walking
on the earthen floor

will know the
rain from the dampness

and the summer from
the warmth in the ground.

On the bus someone was listening
to “Nostalgia” sung by Thái Thanh.

Do you listen to her songs?

When I’m at home
all you put on play is Abba.

Thái Thanh is a much-renowned
singer in the South Vietnam

before the war ends in 1975.

'Nostalgia' means to
return home with pain.

Have you known that the new government
banned Thái Thanh from singing after 1975?

Having arrived in America in 1985,

at her very first performance
after more than 10 years of silence

she sang this song.

In the original version,
the song ends with

"home"

"home"

But here she bursted into singing:

"far away from home"

She broke into tears
at the end of the song.

Has she perhaps realized
at that very moment

she was a homeless
in that foreign land?

His childhood house was
just off the main road.

It was a slim three-story house with
the typical urban architecture of Vietnam.

He and his brothers all
slept on the 3rd floor.

The trucks that ran through
the nights would make the floor

and the glass windows vibrate.

Along with these were the honkings
that would pierce the ears like needles.

They were disturbances
to a child’s dreams.

But at this moment

on Mars...

he missed the traffic noises.

They became rhythms
reminiscent of lost dreams.

His nights on Mars passed in silence.

So silent that he felt heavy.

At 3 or 4 pm...

the sunlight from the west would be shining
down from the window at the top of the stairs.

Every time he looked up, he saw countless
specks of dust floating in the light.

The small particles of dust
were like stars on a galaxy.

This galaxy of memory dust

would vanish with just a light wind.

One day the young Montagnards decided
to cross the border into Cambodia.

They crossed the forest with just
small backpacks and a handful of clothes,

but the most crucial things

were always guarded by their hands:

their passports.

Trapped in the arid forests

they were waiting for the day
they could arrive a third country.

That new land might
lie somewhere over the sea.

Somewhere over the rainbow.

The boats of the past and present
have all sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

Wandering souls adrifted
in the endless ocean.

None would build tomb houses
for these Montagnards.

None would come to
pray and give them food every day.

They were far away from
the houses of the dead of their ancestors.

Would there be an
invisible island amidst ocean

where the souls
could come to rest?

Those people, anonymous in life,

and unknown in death.

O mother! Fled through the forest,
leaving us behind, o mother!

Remember us still, mother!
Our little brother working in the yard, o mother!

Up our house’s terrace, o mother! with
your utensils and pots and pans, o mother!

Down tending your paddy field, o mother! feed
the shrimps and fishes in your stead, mother!

Mother! Have your time with us brought no joy,
now things unsaid and kind words unspoken, mother!

Yet so far from us
you have gone, o mother!

He found the archival footage
of "the Village Resettlement Program"

recorded by American
soldiers in 1967

in Quang Ngai, also
homeland of "the jungle man".

The soldiers came here not only
with guns but also with cameras.

The filmmaker soldiers

were recording people moving
from their home to the resettled houses

on the pretext of their own safety.

Those abandoned houses
had to be burnt

to prevent the Communists
from using them.

But was it not that
good excuses were always used

to make people homeless?

And 50 years later

he also came to
this place with a camera.

"For what?"

He wondered.

To take away
other people’s stories?

To intrude their private spaces

and strip them
the right for anonymity?

He always felt the tension every time
pointing the camera at them, saying:

"Shoot!"

Then he picked a title for the film to stamp
his ownership over these images and stories.

But how could he own what
inherently never belonged to him?

Who was he to speak
on the people's behalf?

The camera had rolled but he and
the cinematographer weren’t aware of that.

When seeing this during editing

he recalled a similar scene
from a Agnes Varda's film.

In that scene she too forgot
turning off the camera as walking.

She put it romantically as:

"The Dance of The Lens Cap"

Not as romantic as she was,

seeing this he only
thought about the burnt feet of film.

The negative film had died

so that the death
of film could be visible.

The movements akin to the breathless
breathes of film on its last moment.

His tree house is no longer there,
They burnt it all.

All burnt.
Only the coal left.

My father went hunting and
my mother stayed at home.

I followed my mother to
find crabs in the small streams...

then we went to cut down the big trees
and brought them home to eat.

It’s not like the children today
that go to school two times a day.

There are no schools in the forest.

I came down to the village at age 11,
then went to school at age 13.

I couldn’t read the alphabet. Didn't
understand anything my teacher taught.

At age 14 I could babble and
pronounce words like O, A.

My teachers gave me books, held
my hands to teach me how to write.

My teachers gave me clothes to wear.

I got along with friends.
And slowly I wasn't afraid anymore.

In the past, at this rock here is where
us four sisters would play everyday.

Everyday once eating is done, we would get
together to climb up the rock and slide down.

Climb up and slide down.

Sit here and holler at
each other to go out and play...

“Come here and play! When dad comes
home, there’ll be monkey meat to eat!"

We quarreled then
fell and the little ones cried.

Keep going up
and down like this.

The other cave had no rocks
like this one to play with anymore.

We were playing like this
and all yelled, "It's so good!"

My big sister would say,
"You’re older, don’t make her cry.

"Sisters play together in harmony.
Do not scuffle with each other."

You have grey hair now.

My hair used to be really
long then, down to my feet.

My mother-in-law’s hair
was also long just like yours.

We all had really long hair back then.

My sister and brother
have long hair but not me.

I and another sister
have curly hair.

It is itchy!

Sweaty...

...louses.

Dad,

I’m calling you from Mars

54,6 million kilometers
away from home.

The emptiness found
in nature here,

its endless unfolding
of red deserts

interspersed by
intermittent memories.

Those memories that stopped
before the beginning of the photographs.

How old was I then?

Maybe 4 or 5 years old.

There were the photographs of me standing next
to a pond in a pagoda during Lunar New Year.

I asked myself about

what had happened
before a 4-year old me?

Not a single photograph
for that period.

I can't recall a single
thing during that period.

Yet strangely

she could recall all happenings
when she was just 2 years old,

even prior to that.

Even the stone slab where
her mother gave birth to her.

Multiple times I asked her if she were talking
about her own, not someone else’s stories.

Perhaps a misunderstanding
due to linguistic differences?

Her Ruc’s language
is spoken only, not written.

Only around 500 people use it.

The Ruc people was
found out in early 1950s.

A vulnerable community.

Their language is on the verge
of disappearing at any moment.

(Speaking Vietnamese)

Speak Ruc please.

She confirmed that it was herself
she was talking about.

Perhaps the difference is
not about their or our language,

but the way of preserving memories
between us and them Ruc people.

Our memories depend
too much on images:

Photography.

As for them,

their memories are
stories filled with imagination.

That day, my parents went far away to find
food, so they couldn’t come home.

At home there were only us four sisters.

All four sisters ate "mài" yams
and then went to sleep.

My third sister asked
"Do our parents come home?"

My oldest sister told us not to worry about
that, we should just go to sleep.

Then we all lied on
the dirt ground, trying to sleep.

We hadn’t slept long
when we heard a ghost moving around us.

We weren’t sure if it was a ghost
or not but it was very frightening.

We all cried and
hugged each other tightly.

Then my oldest sister told
all of us to stop crying.

She reminded us that our parents said if we
were home alone and heard anything unusual,

we should burn the
firewood to light up the place.

Even the snakes or the tigers who saw and
sniffed the fire wouldn’t even dare to enter.

My oldest sister took all of the
firewood and burned them up brightly.

Then us three sisters slept well while
she waited for our parents to return.

The house is different
from the cave.

Sitting in the cave,
the air is different.

It is cold and freezing.

At the house, it is airier.

In the cave, it is pitch dark
with no electric lights.

Mosquitoes everywhere.

No blankets.

But you and everyone
sometimes visit the caves. Why?

I remember.
I miss the place where I lived.

If I can still walk, then
I try to visit it again.

When I can’t go anymore,
then so be it.

There are old people who visited their caves,
once they returned the village, they died.

Because of forestsickness.

Jade Rabbit

There was a 6 or 7-meter-tall tree.

On the tree, there was a small
house where he and his father lived.

A fire burned
everything to the ground.

This is the pomelo tree that
he and his father planted.

His father died in 2017, 4 years after
he had been brought out of the forest.

"Ghosts, don't call us, don't come close to us, don't love us
anymore. From now on, we will not bring you food and water anymore.

If you want to eat meat, please ask the God of the Moon. From now
on, it has ended, as the m'nang leaves separate from the tree."

- the prayers at the Leaving Tomb ceremony.

Are you fine at home?

Have you had any medicine yet?

Are you ill?

Feeling better?

Anyone sleeping with the baby?

Or sings him any lullaby?

His dad came back?

Why not drink your
medicine yesterday?

Hello!

I remember in the past that
you used to catch crickets to eat, right?

Yes, that is correct.

I went onto the farm land
to catch the crickets.

I would tie 10, 15 of them
onto a blade of grass and bring them home.

How did you cook them?

I washed them first,

then put them in a pan
to give them a little golden color.

After that I put peanuts
into the crickets’ belly.

Then I fried them
again with pig fat.

Only pig fat because there was
no cooking oil in the past.

I fried until the crickets
were swollen up.

It was very delicious.

I remember I used to
hide inside the wardrobe

to eat an ice cream or an apple.

The rays of light went inside
through the small holes on the door.

I heard my parents calling me,

Through the holes I saw them
walking by trying to find me.

But I didn’t reply.

After a while I silently sneaked out

and appeared in front of my parents.

They had no idea
where I had been.

They didn't know that

I had been in my cave.

Without photographed images

what would become my memories?

All the males, females and children

one day decided to
leave their caves.

They were curious about
what lay beyond the jungle.

With bare feet
they crossed the jungle.

The freezing nights and jungle rains
didn’t slow them down.

Large beasts were hunted
to relieve their hungers,

and leftover meats were
preserved for long days to come.

Finally,

the males, females and children took
their first steps outside the jungle.

The vast plains met their eyes,

and the horizon lay at
the end of earth.

Sea.

One person after another

and finally all turned around,
looked at where they had left.

They saw the distant lofty mountain
ranges shrouded in clouds.

They knew those mountains
had been their home.

Some cried

but they would never return.

The plains were to
be their new home.

But their hands, still warm
with the memories from their cave home,

made the roofs with
shape like the mountain top,

so they could still return to
their childhood home in their daydreams.

Coming back from the cave, last night
while sleeping here, I couldn’t sleep well.

It wasn’t until four in the
morning that I was able to sleep.

Slept at 4 A.M.

I slept better in the cave.

More comfortably.

Here it is noisy. I couldn't sleep.

I keep thinking

in the past there were
a lot of food in the cave.

Such as "giuc',
monkey meat, so on.

Now when I return,
I do not have those anymore.

I feel uncomfortable and discontent.

I keep remembering.

"Cave" in our native Ruc
language is "Kop".

It means "Living in the cave".

He decided not to
complete the film.

He put the camera
back in the storeroom.

Here on Mars nobody
wanted to watch film anymore.

It was a new life here.

Cinema had become
the joy of the past.

A 54.6 million-kilometer past
back in the home on Earth.

"Home"

"Far away from home."

"Just after a few weeks in space, we
had tremendous difficulties recollecting...

the smell of the grasses, the damp rains in the summer,
the snow dust, the faces of our family and friends...

...All of them only reappeared in our
dreams." Pyotr Klimuk, the USSR cosmonaut.