STOMACH BUG

Synopsis

Manny, a single father grappling with intense loneliness after his daughter leaves for university. Struggles with empty nest syndrome that begins to manifest with grotesque physical symptoms – as his stomach inexplicably starts to swell.

Statement of the director

The feeling of utter invisibility is a painfully familiar sentiment to the East and Southeast Asian community in the UK. For so long, many generations believed that if we kept our heads down, worked hard, and remained invisible, we might eventually be accepted. But the rise of Asian hate during the pandemic shattered that myth. It revealed that invisibility does not equal safety. It often only makes us more vulnerable …

For me, this epitomises not only the Asian experience in Western countries, but also the broader immigrant story. The unspoken rules are simple: keep quiet, don’t take up too much space, and perhaps you will be tolerated. But in our time of need, this instinct to disappear, to minimise ourselves, can do more harm than good. We risk erasing not only our presence but also our humanity.

STOMACH BUG was born out of that tension. It’s a hard kick in the teeth, a visceral, character-driven assault on the senses. Today, our attention demands something loud to cut through all the noise. I wanted to make something that refuses to be ignored. A film that grabs you by the scruff of the neck and forces you to look, holding you there in a place of agonising discomfort. For me, that was the only way to confront the invisibility that has been imposed on so many of us.

At its core, the film tells the story of Manny, a single father struggling with the emptiness left behind when his daughter leaves home. His grief manifests physically: his body swells and mutates, a grotesque externalisation of his inner loneliness. While the imagery is extreme, the emotional truth at its centre is painfully ordinary: the fear of being left behind, of losing the role that once gave your life meaning.

This was inspired by my mum. Until a few years ago, she lived with my older brother, his wife, and their three children. Their house was always filled with noise, chaos, and life. But when they finally moved out and found their own space, my mum was hit hard with a wave of loneliness and lack of purpose.

What was once a lively, bustling home became painfully quiet, empty nest. My mum has been many things in her life, a daughter, a friend, an employee, but none may have felt as central as being a mother or grandmother. Those roles don’t disappear, of course, but they shift. They are no longer at the forefront of daily life. And in that shift, she felt a sense of erasure.

Manny is navigating that same kind of shift. His daughter’s absence leaves him not just alone, but undefined. In portraying his journey, I wanted to capture both the deeply personal side of this experience – the quiet grief of an empty nest – and its broader resonance with communities who have long been told to shrink themselves to survive.

This film takes this painfully familiar sentiment and gives it some teeth, letting it sink into the skin of the viewer through an anxiety-inducing and stomach churning body horror.

Selected at

OFF – Odense International Film Festival