Clever Titles, Podcasts, and (Grand)Parents: Interview with Julie Zhu (Lǎo Lao Lǎo Le, 2023)

By Michelle Huang

Lǎo Lao Lǎo Le (Julie Zhu, 2023)

MWFF Critics Lab’s Michelle Huang caught up with Lǎo Lao Lǎo Le writer-director Julie Zhu, discussing language, creative practice, community, and the various shapes of diasporic love. Based in Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland), Aotearoa New Zealand, Julie Zhu is a filmmaker and storyteller committed to championing marginalised voices and stories.

A refreshing tale of intergenerational care and responsibility, Lǎo Lao Lǎo Le interrogates complexities of diasporic identities with an abundant of heart. Infused with sentimentality, the short follows a young boy who lives with his grandmother as he faces her deteriorating health. The duo’s frustration for one another grows in bubbling tension, but they still desperately seek to understand each other while learning how to express their love. The journey to their reconciliation leaves a lingering bittersweetness that provokes the audience to rethink their own interactions with all those that came before us.

The interview took place on the lands of the Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung and Bunurong / Boon Wurrung peoples of the Kulin nations. We acknowledge the Traditional Owners as the Custodians of these lands, their long history as the original storytellers, creatives, and their cultural connection to this unique place. Sovereignty was never ceded.

Julie, your short film screening at MWFF 2025 is called Lǎo Lao Lǎo Le, I thought it was really interesting to see that film title as part of the program because it is not translated. But it does appear in the film from the boy’s dad who says it through the phone. That’s translated as “Lǎo Lao’s getting older.” Could you tell me about the choice of keeping the title in Mandarin Chinese?

I really love that you can pronounce the title, it’s rare to hear someone pronounce it correctly so I can see why people usually translate non-English titles. Often when people are trying to say the name of my film they struggle. And it’s not out of bad intentions, but when it’s not a language that you know it’s easy to butcher it a little. I’m usually really bad at thinking of titles for my works. But this is one of the few projects where I thought I’d come up with a clever title that was a bit of a play-on-words. “Lǎo Lao” is the name that my family used for my mum’s mum, even though I know lots of Chinese people use “Pó po.” And my maternal grandmother had Alzheimer's in her final years so having that be a play-on-words with “lǎo” also meaning ‘old’ made the title make sense on multiple levels. I think of the phrase as a euphemism for how adults might explain to a child what’s going on without saying “she has Alzheimer's” or “she has dementia,” but a nice way of saying, “she’s just getting a bit old.” Or it could be read as not being transparent enough about what’s happening. I didn’t want it to be translated as a title in English because to me “Grandma’s getting older” doesn't have the same multilayered meaning or depth in English. And I like not having to pivot to white expectations or comfortability by needing to be easily pronounced or understood all the time.

I also call my maternal grandma “Lǎo Lao!” I think it must depend on the region [of China] or what it is originally in the dialect. I also noticed that the film isn’t just in Mandarin Chinese and English. There was also a dialect that Lǎo Lao communicated in.

That was Shanghainese.

Ah right. When creating multilingual art, how do you ensure that language enriches what you want to say and not dilute it? How does it add dimension to your work?

I think on one level it normalises multilingual families and contexts. I grew up speaking English to my parents and they would speak Mandarin back to me. I also grew up with Shanghainese around me from my dad’s side. I feel like it’s a common upbringing and cultural context for immigrant families. The intention for the film was to have it be bilingual originally with Mandarin and English. Then, the actor that we found for the grandma, Mary [Wu]’s first language is Shanghainese, and she learnt Mandarin later on. When I met her, she would speak Mandarin to me, but during rehearsals we discovered that Shanghainese came more naturally to her. When she was performing in Mandarin, there was an element of her acting that wasn't as believable, like there was another layer she had to work through. Whereas when she spoke Shanghainese, her performance was more natural so we decided to incorporate that into the character. When the character was less lucid, she would revert back to Shanghainese. When the character was more lucid, she would speak Mandarin to the protagonist. There was an intentionality in the switching between those dialects and states of mind, even though I know most audiences that don't understand the language won't really get that nuance.

I don’t know Shanghainese but do think that nuance comes through in the performance and the overall mood of the story. I read that you said that the idea of the film came from years ago when you saw an interaction between your younger brother and your grandmother, “how the young take care of the old and how the old take care of the young, but also how care and responsibility and love can look different in different families.” Can you speak a little more about the shapes that love can take especially for children of immigrants or diasporic communities? It seems like children, or the grandparent-child and parent-child relationship are very prominent and recurring in a lot of your works.

In immigrant storytelling in general, the parent-child, or intergenerational dynamics are a recurring – almost trope – for diasporic stories. It’s something we’re constantly reflecting on and analysing because we come from such different upbringings, perspectives, and values sometimes. It’s a constant negotiation that I think I'll be perpetually exploring, if not in storytelling, in life. It’s a forever irreconcilable relationship. We’ll never fully be able to see where the other comes from, but we can try. Then there’s the nuances of how we code switch in different contexts: at home with family and out in the world with our friends and peers. These are the themes I’m always revisiting and I’m also interested in elevating stories from both sides of that dynamic and having more nuance in the representation of older generations, so it’s not always just seen from the immigrant kid’s perspective.

In the Western context, we’ve grown up being shown a certain version of what love looks like. Things like saying “I love you” verbally. I think that’s not the only kind of love there is. Sometimes if we compare how love looks in our families it can look like a lack or a hardness — but it's just a different perspective on love that’s not any lesser. A lot of my other work tries to elevate small moments of what love might be: not always explicit but still very present.

Yes, the film was inspired by a moment of my younger brother cooking for my grandma. I was struck by how young he was and the responsibility to be taking care of her when usually that dynamic is flipped. That contrast was really interesting to me. In the story, the resentment and internalised racism the protagonist feels is all tied up with his responsibility to his family. That’s something we’re not often honest about. How taking care of family can be a burden, no matter how much you might love them. It’s the mixing of both of those resentments that manifests as angry outbursts for the protagonist who hasn’t consciously processed what is happening.

When you were first starting out, doing student films, or even first projects, was there already the sensibility of these themes? Have you always gravitated towards these dynamics? Was there a moment or turning point where you knew that these were stories you wanted to tell?

One of my first short films at uni was also a parent-child relationship, a son feeling embarrassed about his father’s eagerness to fit in. So I guess I have always been drawn to observing and portraying these dynamics.

When my friend Saraid [de Silva] and I made our podcast-doco-series (Conversations With My Immigrant Parents, RNZ) that was when it felt more conscious since we were actively reaching out to different people and immigrant communities, and trying to seek out intergenerational stories. From then it felt more intentional and explicit.

In your practice or films, do you see the act of creation as something you do for others, that seeks to change, that serves a community, or simply an artistic expression?

I always want my art to be serving the community in some way. I know that art can also just exist for creativity, for entertainment. But the art that I’m interested in is something that has an impact on community, that builds community, or something that shows different communities with nuance. Something that creates empathy and resonance for different people.

Perhaps the broader title for your practice is ‘storyteller.’ You have done work in documentaries, docu-series, podcasts, narrative shorts, and even photography. How do you decide what form a story should take? Have there been instances where an idea had started out in a particular form and shifted after some time with it?

So often it’s dictated just by what resources are available. When Saraid and I did the podcast, it was because there was a podcast fund specifically requesting stories around different communities. Sometimes it’s what funding is available. It’s also thinking about how the audience consumes it. Lots of my other work is often free-to-air, and in a way it’s more accessible than going the film festival route which can be a much smaller audience. I also love the immediacy of online content where you can read the comments and know how deeply your work might be connecting with audiences. How long people stay with your content is also dictated by the form. Those three-minute videos [e.g. to promote the podcast] would never get the same depth of feeling because all the really rich dialogue is in the podcast (hour-long episodes). But it’s interesting how far things reach. I know those shorter videos would reach more people online but then a smaller group of people would’ve gotten a much deeper experience through listening to the full podcast episode. It’s hard to reach everyone with all the depth.

What does it mean for you to be part of MWFF especially as a Person of Colour?

I feel like I’m always thinking about being a person of colour in all my life and work. But being a woman is not always at the forefront of my thinking. I guess I perceive that how I experience the world is more impacted by my ethnicity than my gender. But it’s cool to attend a festival that is championing women and gender diverse creatives and to have space to reflect on how rare it still is to see us leading in these spaces. And it was nice to see such a vast range of specifically Chinese stories in the MWFF programme this year!

Lǎo Lao Lǎo Le is screening as part of MWFF 2025’s FRESHLY SQUEEZED SHORTS 2 on Sunday 23rd March 4pm, ACMI + SHORTS @ FED SQUARE on Sunday 23rd March 8pm, Main Screen Fed Square.