Idle Worship: ‘Grandma’s Broken Leg’ by Huynh Công Nhớ
By Cassandra Sim

The concept of faith healing has been the subject of many true crime and
supernatural films, but Huynh Công Nhớ’s experimental documentary cares less
about the spectacle of the church, and instead spotlights the average
devotee. The film’s titular character, Grandma, is entranced by the
teachings of an online priest, whose sermons she watches on a laptop at
home. For a generation who is unfamiliar with technology, the internet, and
how to be critically skeptical about what they read and watch online,
virtual environments can be a dangerous place.
Huynh manages to be a fly on the wall, invisible despite being in such close
quarters with his subjects. Even in a scene where the young grandson is
stark naked, no one seems to pay the camera any mind. The intimacy of his
shots lends this film a haunting, visceral quality, like watching a found
footage horror film unfold. A documentarian silently observing those around
him swept up in a sinister cult-like fervour, Huynh seems to imply that he’s
in a horror story of his own. He’s alone in the dark watching out for
monsters, the only one awake while those around him are in a deep sleep.
Rebelling against the priest’s charismatic, sing-song style of storytelling,
Huynh actively avoids preaching to his audience. Daringly embracing the
lo-fi, handheld camcorder aesthetic of vintage home movies, and overlooking
traditional documentary interviews and expert opinions, he merely presents
the evidence—a collage of photographs and video footage that reads like a
casual social media post, and leaves us to make our own meaning of the
fragmented and disorienting scenes. The only times we get clear and stable
footage are snippets of the priest’s dramatic sermons, aligning the audience
directly with the psychology of his followers—their own lives are volatile,
uncertain, and insular, while the church offers them a larger perspective, a
clear bright light to look towards. This viewing experience is reminiscent
of late nights spent falling down an internet rabbit hole, jumping from
window to window, tab to tab, on a browser as we piece various sources of
information together on our own little devices. For digital natives, the
film reiterates a tried and true message—do your research, and don’t believe
everything you’re told.
There is a refreshing sense of humour and wit to the film, delivering some
memorable one-two punches; a churchgoer sharing how his illness was
miraculously healed, which then immediately cuts to a photograph of his
casket. Even with the modest source material, Huynh manages to weave in an
acute sense of comedic timing and dramatic irony. The purity of its
storytelling reminds us we don’t need expensive professional equipment and a
large crew to tell a compelling story.
As filming technologies become more accessible to those of us without
multi-billion Marvel budgets, the oft-glamorised institution of cinema seems
to be giving way to more democratic forms of storytelling—films that
resemble the kind of stories we tell each other every day, through video
calls, or a Snapchat, or a WhatsApp chain message—and Grandma’s Broken Leg
is a haunting testament to the true power of those stories.