Ahh... but as Du Welz has apparently moved on, so shall I. Vinyan's time frame is six months after the six figure death toll tsunami that devastated Indonesia and neighboring countries in 2004. The imagery starts devastatingly enough as we get a long take of air bubbles under dark waters. It's an image we instinctively and ordinarily associate with sodas or champagne, but as distorted screams and red light (and possibly strands of hair) slowly mix into the frame, we feel helplessly bumped out of our comforting frame of reference. From here, we're quickly introduced to Jeanne (Emmanuelle Béart) and Paul (Rufus Sewell), a European couple whose son has either drowned or been kidnapped during the tsunami hysteria that coalesced while they were vacationing in Phuket.
While watching some raw video footage, Jeanne thinks she sees their son and is spun off into an obsessive familial finding mission with odds of success that are right up there with cliches about needles and grains of sand. Vinyan takes the not-without-my-daughter (son, in this instance) storyline and extends the stubbornness far out into the far-est desolate islands off the Burmese coast. Playing off the ghost-river imagery of Aguirre, the Wrath of God and Apocalypse Now, Du Welz not only paints a world without borders, but a region completely off the edge of existence.
The further up the coast the searchers go, the dimmer the reflection of the modern life becomes. The islands appear to be inhabited by boys, and boys only. Boys of the pre-teen variety. Boys around the age of Jeanne and Paul's son. All of these boys appear to be healthy, vibrant, and content and it's inexplicable why they would be, but Du Welz makes it work by slowly unraveling the feeling that whether Paul and Jeanne are in some dreamy third world beyond that fourth wall or not, they're already too far gone to ever come back.
Ultimately, Vinyan is a horror film crafted around the dynamics of a marriage in the face of losing a child. The film begins with distorted screams, but over its end credits there is the sound of laughing children. A careful listen reveals, what sounds like, the laughter of Jeanne alongside them. Taking in this audio right after taking in the evocative image that closes out Vinyan, you're left with an odd mix of maternal relief and creeping kiddie doom. Whether that's what Du Welz was aiming for or not, I don't know, but it's an impression I'd rather leave with than one of more backwoods gang raping.