Lookatvietnam – They shot footage of one of Viet Nam’s most famous victories, Dien Bien Phu. Now the film crew tell Thanh Trung and Ngoc Tuan the story from behind the scenes.

Defining moment: A soldier waves the Vietnamese flag on the top of a captured De Castries’ bunker, putting an end to the nine-year long resistance war against the French colonialists.

“There were four people in our team, mobilised from different establishments. I was a photo correspondent from the Political Affairs Department. In my crew there was the principal cameraman Nguyen Tien Loi, who had been a self-employed photographer, but joined the revolution to become the official photographer of the 308 brigade. There was Quy Luc, an officer at the Yen Bai Province People’s Committee, and an assistant like myself. Nguyen Sinh, a Thai youth, was responsible for transporting the equipment and taking care of the logistics. All of us went through a quick intensive training course before we went to the front,” he says.

“We all knew we were going to record an important moment in history for our country. As soon as we joined the crew, we received the order to get ready to join the campaign.”

The campaign in question ended up being one of the biggest victories in the country’s history, and one that ended the French occupation in Viet Nam.

Of course, none of the crew knew that at the time, says Loi, principal cameraman at Dien Bien Phu, who later became Deputy Director of the Viet Nam Feature Film Company. “We had no idea what was going to happen, let alone that we were going to Dien Bien Phu.”

Finding the right tools for the job was a challenge though, says Loi. “The best camera we could find in Ha Noi in those days was the Swiss-made Paya Bolex 16mm. We knew the model was only used for home use in the West though, and what we really needed was a professional 35mm lense.”

But to the newly-founded film crew, during war-time even a 16mm lense camera could make history.

The whole crew had only about 900m of celluloid film, which Loi says they had to smuggle from French-occupied areas like Ha Noi, Hai Phong and Sai Gon.

The crew lived with the soldiers for nearly a month, but they dared not hit the record button because all the purchased film had to be saved for the upcoming campaign. Then it was time to march north.

The crew accompanied the soldiers through the mountains and jungle, past lines of troops and volunteers supplying ammunition and stores. “There was this unstoppable festive atmosphere,” says Loi. “Unfortunately, we didn’t record much footage at that time.”

The crew helped entertain the soldiers when they had time to rest, says Loi. “We used to sit and tell the soldiers about the latest feature films we’d seen. Cinematic art was very new to the people then, so the soldiers and volunteers sat around in grand circles to listen to us.”

In June 1953, the film crew departed from Viet Bac, passing Au Lau Wharf in Yen Bai, and climbed through 30km of mountain passes. Then, they joined the 308 Brigade to walk to Tuan Giao in Lai Chau Province – they had finally entered Dien Bien Phu Valley.

People’s Artist Ngoc Quynh remembers the moment: “I climbed up Phu Hong Meo Mountain in the west to get a view of the area. Looking down to the sea of clouds floating over Dien Bien Valley, it was so breathtaking. All the stations, artillery butts and tanks were concealed by the mist. It was at this moment that we decided to record the very first metres of celluloid.”

The camera worked well, the frames looked great, which excited the whole crew. The following days, they had to dig trenches in the mountain, bathe in the rain and share balls of rice with the soldiers. “Like any soldier, we prayed to each other that none of us would die in the fighting,” Quynh said.

Blood and smoke

At 5pm on March 13, 1954, Vietnamese troops opened fire on Him Lam Hill. It was the first of 56-days of fierce fighting.

Loi says he was pumped with adrenalin. “We filmed our troops advancing to capture the enemy’s posts, and enemy planes dropping bombs on the battlefield. We lived the hardship and brutality of war, and followed the frontline soldiers into battle.”

Sometimes the crew came as close as 100m to the enemy, Loi says. “We hid in newly-captured posts and pointed our cameras out to the battlefield to film in the smoke.”

Assistant cameraman Ngoc Quynh nods. “When we were filming from the post, Quy Luc and I had to take turns crawling out to clear away the broken tree branches that were in front of the lense. It was the only way to spare our limited amount of film.

“I could feel the camera shaking amid the chaotic sounds of the bombing and exploding ammunition. The thin line between life and death was so slim, a cameraman could easily become a target.”

Quynh and Quy Luc helped show Tien Loi where to film: “We would say to Loi, look, there’s a tank, let’s get closer to the smoke. Look over there, a plane is dropping parachutes. Over here, our troops are advancing,” says Ngoc Quynh.

This was particularly dangerous on the frontline, Ngoc Quynh says. “Areas of land were changing hands so quickly. One night a peak might belong to us, the next day the enemy would take it. There were many hidden dangers for us.”

One particularly hairy moment came when the crew headed back to one of their posts after filming on a hill. “Suddenly, we heard artillery fire aimed at us,” Quynh says. “We rushed to a shelter, which was as small as a table. There were many times we lost consciousness. When we woke up, there was dirt in our mouths, eyes and noses.

“As soon as we woke up, we rushed back to work. We made shelters with earth, branches and leaves. We didn’t have enough water and had to fetch from very far away, because the nearby Nam Rom River was filled with bodies. We were covered from head to toe with red dust, but our equipment was shining and spotless.

During low days, we went back to the rear to edit our film and buy new rolls. Holding our confidentiality travel pass, we hitchhiked with logistics vehicles. We crossed the empty fields, crawled under the barbed wire fences. We went back and forth twice and gathered 1,000m of celluloid. In all we had 2,000m for the whole campaign,” says Ngoc Quynh.

Landmines

The second film crew was made up of Nguyen Thu, director Nguyen Hong Nghi, cameramen Nguyen Phu Can, Nhu Ai and Nguyen Dang Bay. It was their job to enter the field once the battle was drawing to a close. They worked mostly on routes leading to Dien Bien Phu and filmed the work of soldiers, volunteers transporting cookings, rice, drugs and ammunition to the front.

During a trip to film a POW exchange in a Thai hamlet, the crew had to walk through a grassy field. It was eerily quiet. Suddenly, a blast shot out, Nguyen Thu had stepped on a landmine.

The crew had to take Thu to a French doctor, who was treating wounded enemy soldiers nearby. There was no anaesthetic available, so the doctor had to clean the wound with surgical alcohol and saw off his foot.

Nguyen Thu didn’t utter a word.

Time to heal

When Ha Noi was finally liberated, Nguyen Thu had to be hospitalised three more times until his foot fully healed. He received visits from the prominent Soviet documentary film-maker Roman Karmen. Touched by Thu’s loss, Karmen encouraged him to pursue further film studies in the then Soviet Union.

In 1959, Nguyen Thu returned to Dien Bien with his crew to make the documentary Return to Dien Bien.

It had been only four years since Dien Bien was liberated, but the town was changing fast. Many soldiers who fought in the battle had stayed on to rebuild the town in peace.

Nguyen Thu’s film was a great success, bursting with intense emotion, love of life and joy to see the land, which he had shed blood for, now growing in peace.

The documentary won the Lumumba Grand Prix at the Asian and African Film Festival in Jakarta, Indonesia, in 1964.

Nguyen Thu died in 2002 from illness.

Today, more than half a century has passed and Victory in Dien Bien Phu is broadcast every year in May to commemorate the milestone in Viet Nam’s modern history.

(Source: Viet Nam News)