There’s something unusual about setting a romance in a durian orchard. That sweet-pungent fruit with its thorny exterior fits well with what this film delivers: a story that’s tender at heart but full of sharp edges. “The Paradise of Thorns,” directed by Naruebet Kuno, is a Thai drama that dares to dig deep into matters of love, law, and land — and does it without melodrama or fuss.
At the center are Thongkam and Sek, played with quiet intensity by Jeff Satur and Toey Pongsakorn. The two have lived together for years, tending to a durian orchard in the misty hills of Mae Hong Son. Their lives are not extravagant, but they are full of rituals, routine, and a silent understanding that comes from years of shared labor and affection. Kuno gives us time to sit with them in that silence. He lets us breathe in their world. It’s unhurried, lived-in, and refreshingly grounded.
And then, like a snapped branch, everything shifts. Sek dies in a motorcycle accident, and suddenly the foundation on which Thongkam has built his life begins to crumble. Despite years together, the law doesn’t recognize their partnership. Sek’s family enters the picture — a mother who never approved, and an adopted sister, Mo, who appears sweet but slowly reveals her thorns. What follows isn’t just a custody battle over a farm. It’s a struggle for dignity, memory, and legitimacy.
Jeff Satur’s performance carries the emotional weight of the film. He plays Thongkam with restraint, rarely breaking into grand displays of grief or anger. Instead, his sorrow settles like fog over the orchard — ever-present, quiet, and deeply felt. The pain is in the way he waters the plants alone. It’s in the silence that fills the house Sek once laughed in. It’s in his refusal to let go, even when every system tells him he has no right to hold on.
The supporting cast gives the film its thorny texture. Saeng, Sek’s mother, is neither a villain nor a saint. She’s bitter, yes, but also broken in her own way. Mo, Sek’s sister, is a complex character too — at times helpful, at times manipulative. There are no easy reads in this story, which is part of what keeps it interesting.
Visually, the film is stunning. The orchard is almost a character itself — lush, green, alive with the buzz of insects and the weight of history. The cinematography doesn’t try to romanticize it, but it does honor it. There’s a sense that every tree, every path, carries memory. The camera lingers, not to dazzle, but to remind you: this land means something. It holds love, labor, and legacy.
But not everything hits the mark. The film sometimes meanders. There are stretches where the pacing stalls, especially in the second act. Some sequences, while beautifully shot, feel indulgent — more aesthetic than essential. And Mo’s character, while intriguing, is frustratingly underdeveloped. You can sense there’s more to her, but the script doesn't quite explore it. Her motives shift too quickly, leaving you more puzzled than intrigued.
Still, those are minor complaints in a film that has a lot going for it. “The Paradise of Thorns” doesn’t try to force its message. It doesn’t shout about injustice — it whispers it, letting you feel the quiet unfairness of bureaucracy, the ache of being invisible to the law. It’s a film rooted in emotion but never drowned in it. It offers no big speeches, no dramatic courtroom showdowns. Just the everyday tragedy of being denied a place in someone’s story — even when you were there the whole time.
What stands out most is the film’s refusal to play by the usual drama tropes. It doesn’t villainize anyone outright, nor does it hand easy victories to its protagonist. There’s no sudden legal miracle or heartwarming reconciliation. The resolution is quiet, imperfect, and real. It feels earned.
In the end, “The Paradise of Thorns” is about love, yes — but it’s also about land, legacy, and the painful spaces between recognition and rejection. It’s not flashy. It’s not fast. But it stays with you. Like the smell of durian, it lingers — stubborn, complex, and impossible to ignore.
Final Score- [8/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
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Publisher at Midgard Times