The question of whether someone would prefer a homosexual son to a deep-in-thought daughter is thrown lightly around the internet; Baby Jackfruit Baby Guava (2026) explores the weight of this question on conservative Asian families. Directed by Quan Nong Nhat, the film reflects on his family’s response to Quan’s homosexuality and his sister Mai’s experience with motherhood and schizophrenia. A digestible handmade film that touches on complex storylines, Baby Jackfruit Baby Guava speaks to a niche but existing audience that falls short to offer them epiphany or influence with its story.

Set in rural Vietnam, Lao Cai, the film runs in a chronological, journal-like format, often featuring hand-writing visuals and windows into Quan’s own journals. The director acts as the film’s narrator, introducing his main characters as “three Lao Cai babies”: himself, Mai and Mai’s son Guava. To their mother, Cuc, both Quan and Mai are cursed with dispositions she can’t seem to cure. Quan leaves his village to find acceptance in Hanoi whilst Mai remains in Lao Cai where tensions already prominent in the family grow alongside her symptoms of schizophrenia. The conception and birth of Guava sparks the journey of return and reconciliation for Quan, detailing new and turbulent chapters for the entire family.

Over the course of a couple years, the director documents the heartbreak of seeing a loved one spiral into sickness as well as witnessing the current and potential effect of it on others. Scenes of Quan’s mother praying for the cure of Mai’s “disease” prompt questions of whether she did the same for Quan’s queerness. Guava's transition from infancy to adolescence poses a threat to the idea Mai had for her son, adding further anxiety to the family dynamic. In ways, both are adolescent in their own sort, a nod to the title.

Although the animated segments and creative visuals boast the film’s quality to more than just a “Draw My Life,” it staggers on flourishing in a cinema due to its vlog-like camera handling. The whirlwind of emotions and back-and-forth between stories that deserve more screen time make it difficult to invest in any of them, let alone do so within its one-hour-and-45-minute runtime. Quan’s use of a hand-held camera mirrors his family’s path of how unplanned moments make for beautiful and/or frightening outcomes; however, his attempts to “cinemise” his environment with questionable landings. The hyper-personal relationship between the documentary and its director prompts the suspicion of whether Quan’s narration should be one that is unreliable or one-sided.

There was a struggle in forming a coherent opinion on this film, mainly due to its relatability that is emphasised by its inconclusive ending. Whilst criticising it feels like a jab at someone’s lived experience, praising the capture of such a flawed situation feels more like a backhanded compliment of the present. Maybe it’s because it’s so relatable, so raw, that finding something different is difficult. If there is a struggle to find an epiphany in one’s own story, that struggle intensifies when presented with a similar, albeit impersonal, story. So, in saying this, there is a comfort in watching Baby Jackfruit Baby Guava on a smaller screen in one’s personal space; it transforms the viewing experience into an exchange of intimacy with the director. And who doesn’t like intimacy, occasionally.

Baby Jackfruit Baby Guava is a part of the 2026 Sydney Film Festival, running from 3-14 June. Tickets are on sale now at sff.org.au