Category: Festivals

Unborn Soul (渡, Zhou Zhou, 2024)

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When a woman receives the news that her unborn child has a 70% chance of being born with a disability she finds herself confronted by a series of uncomfortable social attitudes and prejudices while trying to decide what is best both for herself and her child in Zhou Zhou’s empathetic drama, Unborn Soul (渡, dù). Touching on issues such as the demands of caring for someone with a profound disability and patriarchal notions of needing to continue the family line, the film sees its heroine more or less isolated in her refusal to be pressured into an abortion she isn’t convinced is the right decision. 

Though now relaxed, the legacy of the One Child Policy may in part be influencing the way people think about raising children and the ageing society with Qing’s father-in-law insisting on a “perfect child” to inherit their family name. Qing has been the sole carer for her 60-year-old uncle who has cerebral palsy and an intellectual disability since her grandmother died and it seems to be in the back of her mind to wonder who might be around to care for her child when she is no longer able to if they were indeed to be born with a disability that prevented them from living an independent life. Because of her closeness with her uncle, she has also has a more empathetic view of living with a disability than those around her and believes it is wrong to think that the baby is better off not being born having heard from him that he is glad to be alive.

Her husband however leans towards an abortion admitting that he is not really prepared to care for a disabled child for the rest of his life while his father outright objects to the idea of having someone with a disability in their family. Laying bare the patriarchal attitudes that surround her, Qing is essentially silenced by her husband and father-in-law who at one point says he’s sick of women like her who “can’t communicate” and won’t do what they’re told. Her husband is also in a sense trapped by this patriarchal system in that his father heavily pressures him to force his wife to have an abortion until she finally files for divorce. He has a clause put into the agreement that if Qing insists on going ahead with the pregnancy the child will have no connection to his family regardless of whether or not it is born with a disability. 

While all of this is going on, the baby seems to narrate its thoughts on the present drama while lamenting the suffering he feels himself to be causing to his mother. The question arises of whether or not the baby would wish to be born which is not a question anyone could answer and in any case perhaps he would end up feeling it would have been better to not to have been even if he were born able-bodied and with no intellectual disabilities. In an attempt to reassure herself, Qing visits a home for disabled adults and encounters a man with cerebral palsy who has got a job as a masseur and is living a fulfilling and independent life but is also confronted by the fact that many of these people have been abandoned by families who feared the stigma of disability. 

The implications of the film’s ending maybe slightly uncomfortable even if they reflect Qing’s nature as a true mother who thought only of her child even while the film is otherwise critical of an overly efficient medical system which tries to usher Qing towards an abortion without really considering that her choice to give birth to the child might be valid which also displays a lack of respect for the lives of disabled people. Shot in a classic 4:3 the film flits between theatricality and detachment while shifting into a strangely dreamlike aesthetic with its commentary from the unborn baby who certainly seems quite a sophisticated thinker for one so young. In any case, the decision is in a sense taken out of Qing’s hands leaving her with little choice other than to accept the hand that fate has dealt her while otherwise isolated from a cold and rational society.

Unborn Soul screened as part of this year’s Osaka Asian Film Festival.

Original trailer (English subtitles)

Inch Forward (走れない人の走り方, Su Yu-Chun, 2023)

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Why does everything always go wrong just when it was about to go right? Everything has fallen into place for director Kiriko’s upcoming indie film but suddenly she finds herself experiencing a series of crises that are perhaps a bit of a wakeup call teaching her a few things about herself as well as the process of filmmaking. The latest film to tackle the perils of the independent movie scene, Inch Forward (走れない人の走り方, Hashirenai hito no Hashiri-kata) never shies away from the difficulties involved but does suggest they can be overcome with humility and a willingness to get creative.

Part of the problem is Kiriko’s difficulty in making decisions and lack of clarity over her role as a director. Her producer, Takimoto, tries to keep her grounded by pointing out places where the script will be difficult to film and dealing with the actors, but also tells her that she should have a better idea of the message she intends her film to carry and be prepared to answer questions about the script from her cast members. But Kiriko says she doesn’t really intend the film to have a message and thinks creating a character is an actor’s job not a director’s. Whenever Takimoto asks her to reconsider something, Kiriko childishly answers that she’ll think about it probably without really intending to.

But her irresponsible behaviour causes problems for others, particularly when she messes up the company car during a bit of unauthorised location hunting, or fails to shut the front door properly allowing her pregnant roommate’s pet cat to escape and thereby sending her into an early labour. It’s only after these series of crises that Kiriko begins to understand that she needs to make amends and be more considerate in future if she wants to continue receiving help and support from those around her. After all, you can’t make a film all on your own.

Ironically enough she describes her film as like a road movie but on foot about people going to the same place over and over again. Even one of her crew members asks her why it is indie filmmakers like to end at the sea hinting at her screenplay being slightly cliché even as she tries to think her way out of the problem. At a particularly low point, she has a vision of the film being taken away from her as her (all male) crew members and Takimoto remark on how useless she is and vow to take over their section from her. She also has an obsession with her horoscope which is usually a little negative further deepening her lack of confidence and general sense of despair. 

“Don’t worry, just believe in yourself and move forward’” one of her horoscope ads advises and it might indeed by good advice for an indie filmmaker. Learning to be a little more considerate of those around her, she begins to benefit from their help and advice rather than rejecting it in her own insecurity. Despite all of the constraints her friend tells her that she should make something authentic, what she actually wants to do rather than cynically doing what seems the most advantageous, but what’s really important is a sense of balance. As Takimoto told her, she needs to learn to prioritise rather than expect to get everything she wants and be realistic about what’s achievable while still aiming for the film she wants to make. 

Then again in the cinema scenes which bookend the film Su implies that the audience weren’t particularly impressed or perhaps confused by her road movie that doesn’t go anywhere. One audience member was so deeply asleep they had to be woken by an usher. Nevertheless, to overcome her problems Kiriko has to take the lead in more ways than one asserting control over her project but also prepared to work with others, listen to their suggestions, and make firm decisions as they inch forward towards their goal. Warm and quirky, Su’s lighthearted dramedy never shies away from the difficulties of indie filmmaking but finally resolves that it is possible to overcome them with a little mutual respect and solidarity between those on the other side of the screen.

Inch Forward screened as part of this year’s Osaka Asian Film Festival.

Original trailer (no subtitles)

The Fallen Bridge (断.桥, Li Yu, 2022)

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Li Yu’s mystery thriller The Fallen Bridge (断.桥. duàn.qiáo) finds itself at a series of contradictions in the modern China and its film industry. The film was an unexpected box office success, though largely because it falls into a new category of boy band film in starring TFBoys’ Karry Wang locking in an audience of ardent fans much as Jackson Yee’s presence in Better Days had though it also plays into ongoing anti-corruption theme in recent cinema while simultaneously adopting a mildly positive stance towards whistleblowers if specifically within the field of construction.

It is of course an unescapable fact that hypercapitalistic working practices and ingrained corruption have led to numerous public safety failures with bridge collapses unfortunately a fairly common occurrence. This one is particularly problematic as a skeleton is discovered encased in the concrete during the cleanup effort. From the way it’s posed, it appears the man may have been buried alive. A preserved piece of paper found in a bag accompanying the skeleton states his intention to take his concerns to the head of the construction project that the structure is unsafe and should be entirely rebuilt. Of course, that would be incredibly expensive, embarrassing, and disadvantageous to others who have used the bridge as a way of forging connections with important people.

The bridge’s collapse is therefore also symbolic in pointing to the fracturing instability of these relationships along with that between college friends Zhu Fengzheng (Fan Wei), the project manager, and Wen Liang (Mo Chunlin), the would-be-whistleblower. Fengzheng has also been raising Liang’s daughter Xiaoyu (Ma Sichun) who was 12 at the time her father disappeared after seemingly being disowned by her mother who was under the impression he had runaway with his mistress. Now in her 20s and an architecture student, Xiaoyu becomes determined to learn the truth even as she begins to suspect Fengzheng who has otherwise become a second father to her and does at least seem to care for her as a daughter while his own son is apparently living in Australia. Teaming up with a fugitive, Meng Chao (Karry Wang), on the run for killing the man who raped his sister, she begins plotting her revenge while a police investigation into the bridge collapse and an additional suspicious death otherwise seems to flounder.

Though it may not mean to (as it seems unlikely to please the censors) the film gives tacit approval to vigilante violence in subtly suggesting that “official” justice is rendered impossible because of the complex networks of corruption that exist within the soceity. Meng Chao says the man who raped his sister was a judge which is why he had to kill him, while Xiaoyu seems to desire individual vengeance believing the police aren’t investigating properly but refusing to go to them with key evidence because she wants to kill her father’s killer herself. While carrying out their investigation, the pair end up adopting the wily daughter of another casualty of the villain’s greed and form an unlikely family unit marking them all out as good people who have been betrayed by the system which is itself corrupted by the nation’s headlong slide into irresponsible capitalism. 

Even so, revealing the villain so early weakens the suspense while their own motivations are left unexplored, assumed to be merely greed if perhaps also a wish to remain connected to influential people and be thought of as important at the cost of the lives of the general public (along with those of often exploited labourers) endangered by shoddy construction practices. It isn’t entirely clear how they intended to deal with the fallout of their machinations to cover up their past misdeeds, especially as the sub-standard work on the bridge has already been exposed though obviously could be blamed on others no longer around to defend themselves, but perhaps it all amounts to crazed self-preservation pitched against the righteousness of Xiaoyu and Meng Chao who are after all wronged parties in China’s deeply entrenched judicial inequality. Nevertheless, we get the inevitable title card (left untranslated in the overseas release) explaining that justice was served and a censor-pleasing ending that still in its way suggests the police are incapable of solving these crimes and that the petty corruptions of small-town life are otherwise impossible to prosecute. 

The Fallen Bridge streamed as part of the 18th Season of Asian Pop-Up Cinema.

Original trailer (English subtitles)

A Boy and a Girl (少男少女, Hsu Li-Da, 2023)

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A young man on the cusp of adolescence longs to escape his miserable circumstances but gradually finds himself succumbing to the corruption all around him in Hsu Li-Da’s bleak coming of age drama, A Boy and a Girl (少男少女, shàonánshàonǚ). Though the title may sound like a cheerful rom-com, Hsu’s film is closer to anti-romance as the ill-defined relationship between the two provokes unforeseen changes and eventually dangerous situations. 

In any case, all the Boy’s trouble’s start when his phone gets broken in the middle of a deal to sell in game points signalling an abrupt end to his escapist dreams. He’s desperate to get another one, but his mother can’t afford it and has problems of her own in that the hostess bar she runs is in financial trouble and she’s had to enter a sexual relationship with a local thug just to keep it running. The Boy catches them at it, and looks on voyeuristically laying bare his oedipal desires coupled with a moralistic objection to the act and resentment towards the gangster.

For these reasons he becomes determined to escape his moribund small town along with the hostess bar where his mother works by fighting back against adult duplicity. After meeting the Girl and gaining access to her phone, he discovers that she had been involved in a sexual relationship with their PE teacher which had resulted in a pregnancy. The pair of them attempt to blackmail the teacher with screen caps of his incriminating messages to her, but the plan backfires. The teacher doesn’t feel under threat and gets two of his underlings to beat the Boy up rather than pay. The Boy is morally outraged by the teacher’s behaviour and thinks someone ought to do something, but doesn’t know what to do so lands on blackmail as a form of punishment though as it turns out the Girl was less interested in vengeance or money than whether the teacher really loved her. Like the Boy, the Girl is mostly alone. She claims not to know who her mother is, while her father is suffering with an illness.

As expected they plot their escape together, but events soon overtake them. With the blackmail scheme ruined, the girl settles on sex work and the Boy becomes a kind of pimp if a conflicted one frustrated by the Girl’s whimsical businesses sense which sees her tell a potential client to forget about the money because he’s not quite as hideous as all the others. Meanwhile, she starts giving the boy a drug called Little Devil which causes those who take it to laugh manically and commit acts of extreme violence. Left without a moral arbiter the boy has nowhere to turn. Not only can he not talk to his mother’s boyfriend, but eventually encounters a corrupt cop whose immediate reaction is to tout for a bribe or, as he would have it, protection money. 

In this very messed up environment, all relationships have become transactional. Gradually the Boy begins to behave like those around him and takes on the codes of the masculinity with which he is presented, posturing and squaring up to his mother’s boyfriend in contest over ownership of her. His mother wants escape too, but is afraid and constrained by the persistent misogyny of the present society even if, ironically, her work her also leans into it in running a karaoke bar where the some of the hostesses are encouraged to undress. The more they try to escape, the tighter the noose seems to grow refusing to let any of them leave and denying them even the hope of better life.

Already cynical, the Girl is resigned to her fate and in fact no longer really resisting it save for interactions with the Boy. Told that her father is much sicker than they thought and needs an expensive operation, the Girl suggests that she doesn’t intend to pay while the Boy tries his best to get cash to pay off the ganger, free his mother, and keep the bar only to be confronted with his naivety. The picture Hsu paints of contemporary Taiwan is bleak and unforgiving, refusing either of the pair the prospect of a happier future and guaranteeing only misery for all in a land of cheats and gangsters in which a good heart is weakness few can afford.

A Boy and a Girl screened as part of the 18th Season of Asian Pop-Up Cinema.

Original trailer (English subtitles)

Falling in Love Like in Movies (Jatuh Cinta Seperti Di Film-Film, Yandy Laurens, 2023)

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The screenwriter hero of meta rom-com Falling in Love Like in Movies (Jatuh Cinta Seperti Di Film-Film) seems intent to prove that romance can be just as fiery for the middle aged as it can for the average teenager even as his own love interest cautions him that grown-up love is much more considered. It’s mostly about long conversations and frank discussions about what you both do and don’t want rather the clumsiness and artificial barriers that disrupt the relationship between young lovers. She, and the film’s producer, wonder if an audience would find that very interesting, but there is of course something incredibly captivating about witty dialogue and a slow burn romance although that might not actually be quite how it turns out for the lovelorn screenwriter.

Or at least, Bagus (Ringgo Agus Rahman) wants to fall in love like the movies rather than like in real life. His chief idea is that he’s going to write a screenplay for a romance and then his old high school friend Hana (Nirina Zubir) will go to see it and understand it’s all about her so they’ll end up together the end. What it makes it all even more awkward, is that Hana is very recently widowed and Bagus’ clumsy pursuit of her is incredibly insensitive especially as he frames it as a kind of salvation, that he’s helping her to “move on” and escape the inertia of her grief.

Through his experiences, he may come to learn that he’s become stuck in his own head applying movie logic to real life and expecting people to behave the way they would in one of his screenplays in which he of course controls everything. Yet in another way the film is also a departure for him as it’s his first based on his own original idea as opposed to being an adaptation of a existing material. He later says that he’s writing it to try and understand something, yet it’s not until others read it that he begins to see himself reflected and dislike what he sees. His lead actor asks if he made himself this annoying on purpose, while the actress complains the movie Bagus is “cruel” and insensitive in his dismissal of Hana’s feelings little knowing that movie Bargus and writer Bargus are basically the same. 

What he’s left with is the gap between the fantasy of cinema and a more rational reality, the illusion of a romance like in the movies and the less glamorous process of getting to know someone gradually and putting love together piece by piece. On a baseline level, he’s emotionally immature and a little self-interested, unable to see that writing a screenplay as a roundabout confession of love is not romantic but cowardly and what’s really romantic is being present and honest about his feelings even if it’s all quite awkward and maybe a little bit inappropriate considering his love interest only lost her husband a few months previously and in any case has every right to reject future romance if that’s her choice.

Hana is in many way’s the film’s moral arbiter, though often framed within Bargus’ gaze as a tragic victim of her grief only to adopt the moral high ground in the final “reality” of the film. Laurens often wrongfoots us in his meta commentary, shifting from 2.35 black and white to letterboxed colour and structuring the film around title cards liked to screenwriting theory which ultimately pay off in Bargus’ ironic epiphany that actually he was the protagonist all along only he’d forgotten to give himself a character arc in his ongoing fixation on Hana’s supposed need to change. His screenplay is literally all about him, but he’s too close to it to see that his behaviour is not really acceptable off the page and if it’s romantic successes he’s after, he’ll have to recalibrate his idea of what romance is while pitching it to his producer boss and convincing him that it’s worth taking the risk on the smart sophistication of a witty rom-com about the gap between the magic of the movies and the difficult realities of love and loss in which going to the supermarket might be the most romantic thing you’ll ever do.

Falling in Love Like in Movies screens April 24th as part of this year’s San Diego Asian Film Festival Spring Showcase.

Original trailer (no subtitles)

The Young Hoodlum (壞男孩, Yu Jhi-Han, 2023)

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Seemingly abandoned by their society, the four young men at the centre of Yu Jhi-han’s The Young Hoodlum (壞男孩, huài nánhái) survive on petty crime and brotherhood yet their bond is soon disrupted by the presence of a privileged young woman. Contrasting the circumstances of these boys who find themselves without parental support and the girl who resents her parents for micromanaging her life the film makes a point of criticising the inequalities of the contemporary society if succumbing to a potentially unintended misogyny.

With no family to rely on, the boys are largely dependent on a local gangster, Xiao-hei, for whom they’ve become runners withdrawing cash with stolen cards then putting it in a locker for another of his men to pick up. Having left home after his father, who has issues with alcohol, almost set the house on fire, Cheng-han is also caring for his younger sister who comes to view each of the other boys as additional brothers with the five of them forming a close, quasi-familial unit. 

But that unit is disrupted by the arrival of Pin-Ran, an aspiring influencer from a background of extreme wealth who appears to be living in a luxury hotel while hiding out from her parents who, she says, arranged everything in her life so far including a place at a foreign college. Cheng-han is captivated by her and struck the kindness she showed his sister but also uncomfortable in her upperclass world while she, by contrast, is just really a tourist in his having fun experiencing poverty and the transgressive acts the boys must perform just to survive. She gets a thrill out of conning a young woman out a small amount of money at a bus station and convinces the guys to help her exploit one of her fans in a badger scam but she could of course walk away at any point and return to her privileged life which is not an option open to any of the boys. 

Even so, when her parents finally cut her off she decides on drastic action to get back at them and help the boys out of a jam after a questionable decision that puts them on Xiao-hei’s hit list. From the first, she creates discord within the group with it’s old leader, Shi, resentful both of the way she seems to have taken charge and of the way Pin-ran chose to distribute the loot taking the bulk herself and then splitting their cut between the four of them. Shi feels he’s not getting his proper due either from Xiao-hei or Pin-ran and is quickly getting fed up with the futility of his situation. He feels he needs the money to support the other guys and Cheng-han’s sister, while another of the boys has an additional motive in needing to pay for medical treatment for his grandmother all of which makes them desperate and reckless. 

The opening voiceover reveals that one of Cheng-han’s friends was killed in the summer with Yu drip feeding information trying to explain how the brotherhood of the boys imploded to the extent that one of them died, but ultimately returns to the themes of rich and poor as we can see Pin-ran getting advice from a fancy lawyer while each of the boys some of whom are still below the age of majority are questioned alone with no legal representative present. Shi had asked Cheng-han if he was more afraid of being dead or being poor, explaining his desperation in his intense fear of poverty insisting that he would rather not live at all than continue to suffer. The irony is that the boys find themselves in this position because of parental neglect or abandonment while Pin-ran has rejected her parents for being overly attentive and railroading her into a life she may not want. Her position within the gang necessarily disrupts its dynamic with Cheng-han trying to keep the peace while Shi in particular is pushed to extremes by increasing desperation. Yu’s bleak friendship drama in the end suggests that the innocent will end up paying for the poor decisions of those around them and that ultimately the borders of class and gender cannot be overcome for rich girls like Pin-ran can always count on parental support while boys like Cheng-han will have to fend for themselves.

 The Young Hoodlum screened as part of the 18th Season of Asian Pop-Up Cinema.

Original trailer (English subtitles)

Cat Kiss (고양이 키스, Hwang Soo-bin, 2022)

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A widowed single father’s life is suddenly thrown into disarray when his son’s decision to take in a local stray cat forces him to confront the trauma of his wife’s death in Hwang Soo-bin’s light-hearted drama, Cat Kiss (고양이 키스, Goyangi Kiss). Less a study in the inertia of grief than an empathetic tale of how caring for others can reopen a heart that was closed, the film leans in hard to its cat-themed metaphors of finding comfort and support in expected places. 

In any case, since his illustrator wife passed away Young-hee’s (Oh Dong-min) been unable to venture into her drawing room without having a panic attack. That might be why his son, Jae-in (Shin sua), decides to hide a kitten in there that he claims followed him home from a school trip. Unfortunately, Young-hee is allergic to cats and immediately wants to get rid of it but is convinced not to by Ro-un (Ryu Abel), an energetic and cheerful woman who runs a local repair shop and comes to fix their leaky roof.

Fixing the roof is partly what she carries on doing, bonding with the family and trying to help them move on with their lives through turning the drawing room into a cat room in a kind of compromise with Young-hee’s allergies only it’s as much the emotional connection that he’s allergic to as the feline itself. The same might be said of his odd relationship with his neighbours, a family of three who live across the way that includes a little girl Jae-in sometimes plays with. Finding Young-hee collapsed after a panic attack, the neighbours tell him he can always come knock on their door if he has a problem but he isn’t really ready for that kind of connection yet. 

Young-hee’s grief-stricken inertia is plain from his expressionless face and generally melancholy aura. Even Jae-in remarks that he’s always sad a little moody. Ro-un’s mission is to make the family smile again though she has an uphill battle but equally, Young-hee does not try to deflect her attentions which some might see as overbearing given that she’s more or less forced him to erase the last traces of his late wife from their home, but as if responding to a cat kiss slowly allows her into their lives and hearts as a more positive influence amid their melancholy.

She meanwhile is carrying a heavy burden of her own which goes a little beyond the loss of her cat which closely resembles that rescued by Jae-in. They are all in a sense stray cats looking for someone to take care of them and restore some of what they’ve lost. Even the family across the way which Young-hee had so envied has its sources of tension stemming from the unfulfilled desires of the parents with salaryman dad dreaming of becoming a dancer and the mother looking for more things to do outside the home now her daughter’s a little older. The daughter meanwhile has a hangup of her own in regards to traditional femininity, resentful that people have said Jae-in is prettier than she is despite being boy, and criticising her being “strong”. 

Another strong woman, Ro-un tells her not to be afraid of her physicality though her choice of words somehow backfires. A kind of runaway herself, she too is trapped in a state of inertia by a traumatic past she hasn’t fully dealt with while remaining upbeat and relentlessly cheerful as a kind of coping mechanism for the blows life has dealt her. Focussing on the cat provides them with a roundabout way of communicating and an opportunity for developing a shared intimacy that gently guides them back into the world. 

Despite the melancholia of the situation, Hwang keeps the tone light and adds a little quirky, down to earth humour including small instances of animation echoing Young-hee’s late wife’s occupation as an illustrator. Somewhere between offbeat romcom and grieving drama, the film is a kind of testament to the healing power of cats along with their tendency to find good people to take care of them just as those who become cat butlers slowly begin to open their hearts while generally making the world a slightly less unfriendly place.

Cat Kiss screened as part of the 18th Season of Asian Pop-Up Cinema.

International trailer (English subtitles)

A Song Sung Blue (小白船, Geng Zihan, 2023)

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Late into Geng Zihan ’s coming-of-age drama A Song Sung Blue (小白船, xiǎo bái chuán), the heroine’s father (Liang Long) who perhaps knows a little more about her than we might have assumed, tells her that love and resentment are often the same thing. At least, they are both unforgettable. Resentments are something Xian (Zhou Meijun) has in spades, though she has little way of expressing them outside of her sullenness and silence while perhaps learning some unhelpful lessons in her seemingly unreturned attraction to the daughter of her father’s receptionist. 

Firstly, Xian is resentful towards her mother who has abandoned her to go on a humanitarian mission to Africa for an entire year explaining that the hospital have promised her a long awaited promotion after which she won’t have to do the nightshifts and so can spend more with her daughter, the irony being that by that time Xian will be in her late teens and perhaps less keen to spend time with her mum. Secondly, Xian is resentful towards her estranged father whom she only sees at family gatherings and has little connection with. She also seems resentful towards the other children in the choir and has no real friends. When the choir runs out of female uniforms she’s told to wear one of the boys and stand at the back hoping no one will notice. Meanwhile, she’s a little surprised after venturing backstage and catching sight of her choir mistress embracing another woman. 

Yet in other ways Mingmei (Huang Ziqi), the daughter of her father’s receptionist with whom he is also in a relationship, is simply her inverse. Flighty and confident, Mingmei appears much older than her years and is training to be an air stewardess but inwardly seems hurt and vulnerable. She lives a fairly chaotic life in which she’s learned at an early age how to weaponise her sexuality and largely relies on sugar daddies for her financial upkeep while hating herself for doing so. It’s after learning that the man in question maybe about to leave his wife and marry Mingmei that Xian abruptly kisses her but is immediately rebuffed, Mingmei running a thumb across Xian’s lips as if more concerned about what she may have passed to Xian than outraged or offended.

Then again, Mingmei seems to have been aware of Xian’s attraction while no doubt tipped off by the fact that she was playing around with a stethoscope and presumably noticed her heart beating unusually fast. At times she seems insensitive, wilfully so or otherwise, or perhaps simply doesn’t know how not to manipulate the attraction that she inspires in others cruelly taking Xian along on one of her sugar daddy dates or asking her to help her dress. But then Xian also learns some problematic lessons, adopting some of Mingmei’s behaviour patterns in attempting to manipulate the attraction shown for her by a boy in the choir she is otherwise uninterested in by virtually forcing herself on him and then asking for a loan to get the money for Mingmei to open a store so she won’t have to rely on potentially violent sugar daddies and would therefore be more available to Xian who has also developed a white night desire to save her from her self-destructive instincts.

The only bright spot in Xian’s melancholy existence which is generally coloured in blue, her desire for Mingmei is palpable even gazing at the many photos of her taken by her father including one in striking red. Yet there’s an another sense of distance in her longing given that Mingmei is a member of the Chinese-Korean community. Xian is at once struck by this additional layer of exocitity and bewildered by her inability to understand it knowing no Korean nor much of Mingmei’s culture. The film takes its Chinese title from the song Xian sings at the choir recital, the traditional folksong Little White Boat which actually originated in Korea. Xian is disappointed not to spot Mingmei in the audience little knowing that she had been there but left early. Later in the film, Mingmei sings the song herself but in Korean perhaps a way of letting Xian know she came after all, or else simply intended in the way song is often sung as one of parting. In any case, Xian is indeed like the little boat dotting the horizon drifting along barely noticed and with no means of controlling her direction. Geng frames her with a quiet empathy and a gentle sense of recognition for those whose gaze is rarely returned.

A Song Sung Blue screened as part of this year’s Queer East.

Trailer (English subtitles)

Old Fox (老狐狸 , Hsiao Ya-chuan, 2023)

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It’s all about “inequality”, according to the titular Old Fox (老狐狸, lǎohúli). Or at least knowing how to leverage it. Inequality is something that’s coming to bother the young hero of Hsiao Ya-chuan’s coming-of-age drama in which a small boy finds himself torn between two father figures, one a wily old slumlandlord with a heart of stone and the other his melancholy and disappointed but kindhearted father who simply endures the many blows that life has dealt him. 

Set in Taipei in 1989 shortly before an apocalyptic stock market crash in the post-martial law economy crushes the hopes of millions of ordinary people convinced to invest their savings, the film wastes no time in showing us the various inequalities in play in small alleyway of traditional stores all owned by Boss Xie (Akio Chen) whom many seem to regard as a kind of saviour even if he cares not at all about them. Jie’s (Bai Run-yin) father Tai-lai (Liu Kuan-ting) works in a local restaurant and rents a room above a beef noodle cafe for which he pays in cash every week to Miss Lin (Eugenie Liu), a pretty young woman working for Boss Xie and enjoying an unusual amount of power for someone of her age and gender for a society still somewhat conservative. 

Tai-lai has been patiently saving money so that he can afford to buy a house and open a hair salon which was the dream of his late wife, but obvlious to the world around him he hasn’t noticed that prices are continuing to rise placing his dream of homeownership further out of his reach. Meanwhile, Jie is bullied at school and called a “snitch” without understanding why or even what the word means. This sense powerlessness and inferiority maybe be why he’s drawn to Boss Xie, a man who does after all exude power if also a sense of menace and melancholy. Xie in turn sees in Jie a potential protégé, both a mirror of his younger self and an echo of the son he lost who rebelled against everything he represents.

Nicknamed Old Fox, Xie stands for everything that’s wrong with the contemporary society which is about to implode in the financial crash. Wounded by his childhood poverty in which he, like Jie, also pleaded with a local landlord to sell his mother a property, Xie has adopted a ruthlessly selfish disregard for the lives of others teaching Jie his mantra of “none of my damn business” while the boy develops a worrying admiration for the aura a man like Xie projects and actively enjoys the sensation that others fear him. While hanging out with Xie he comes to look down on men like his father whom Xie calls “losers” who care only for others and disregard themselves. Xie teaches him to leverage the inequalities of power and turn his enemies’ weakness back against them to increase his own strength placing him further at odds with Tai-lai’s innate goodness and down-to-earth humanity. 

Yet we can also see that Tai-lai has had a life of disappointment. A woman who comes into the restaurant (Mugi Kadowaki) now married to a thuggish local big wig is a former childhood sweetheart from whom he was separated by time and circumstance while it also seems that Miss Lin has taken a liking to him though he appears not to have noticed. At home he plays the saxophone and takes in tailoring while resigned to saving a little longer before he’ll finally be able to buy a house and achieve his dreams. Tai-lai is one of the few who does not play the stock market and is therefore free of the danger it represents while Jie soon becomes sick of his his father’s frugality in their regular practice of turning the boiler off after having a bath and keeping their taps on a slow drip so they don’t trip the water metre and longs to become a man like Boss Xie unafraid to exploit any advantage in complete disregard for the lives of others. 

A brief coda set in the present in the day suggests that the older Jie may have found a happy medium, at least disguising a genuine concern for the safety and happiness of others as being solely about profit, while Xie’s sadness and doubts about the path his life has taken are never far from the surface as the society teeters on the brink of financial disaster. Capturing a palpable sense of late ’80s Taipei the film has a nostalgic atmosphere but also an equally prescient quality in the things that are only half-visible to the younger Jie in the melancholy disappointments of the adults who surround him still struggling to reroot themselves in a new society while overburdened by the failures of the old.

Old Fox screens April 22nd as part of this year’s San Diego Asian Film Festival Spring Showcase.

Original trailer (English subtitles)

OUT (Hiroshi Shinagawa, 2023)

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Delinquent dramas have been having a bit of a moment over the last few years and like many Hiroshi Shinagawa’s manga adaptation OUT is a comic retro throwback to the genre’s ‘80s heyday. Some of the action may seem a little a outdated, but macho posturing will never really go out of style and there is genuine heart in the newfound brotherhood between local punk Kaname (Koshi Mizukami) and the recently released Tatsuya (Yuki Kura) who is torn between trying to go straight and rejoining the ultra manly society of the biker gangs.

Then again it quickly becomes clear that part of the problem is too many people have already given up on Tatsuya and are eagerly relishing the prospect of his failure. Having spent a few months in juvenile detention for fighting, he’s no desire to go back but is also resentful about the lack of control he now has over his life if grateful to have been taken in by an uncle and aunt who run a Korean barbecue restaurant in Chiba. Their faith in him makes him want to live up to it, but equally he can’t bring himself not to respond to challenges of masculinity rather comically insisting that he square off with new rival Kaname through a game of sumo so he won’t break the terms of his parole by hitting someone. As might be expected, the two men become friends through fighting but Kaname turns out to be the deputy leader of a local biker gang bringing Tatsuya once more into contact with random and pointless violence. 

This is the double meaning of “out”, not only that Tatsuya is “out” of juvie and and outsider to the gangs in Chiba but also and outlaw by nature who can’t be tamed by the demands of the civil society. Yet what he’s confronted by is a new sense of masculinity that’s not founded solely on dominance through violence, status or macho posturing but love and brotherhood. A young woman he takes a liking to, Chihiro (Yuki Yoda), wastes no time telling him she thinks he’s pathetic in his ongoing obsession with his male pride while trying to make him realise that there are people who care for him and would be upset if he went and got himself killed which makes his whole way of life completely irresponsible.

But at the same time, the rival gang that’s after his new friends has shifted into violence and murder, making money through trafficking drugs and blackmailing women into sex work after incapacitating them and threatening them with sex tapes. Obviously, even his newfound code of manliness means he must stand up to this new kind of injustice even if it sends him back to prison. What he learns from Chihiro is that kindness is more attractive than coolness while his uncle gives him a similar lesson, econouraing him to channel his rebellious energy in a more positive direction just as he now dedicates his whole life to protecting his wife and the restaurant. 

Shinagawa approaches the material with a sense of humour undercutting the ridiculousness of the male posturing with gently mocking affection. He maintains some of the key elements of the genre such as the surreal manga-style hairdos while embracing its essential outlandishness. The fight scenes themselves are also surprisingly violent if also a little ironic as he cuts between gang leader Atchan (Kotaro Daigo) jumping on a guy’s face to Tatsuya’s aunt remarking that he seems like a nice kid. Some degree of CGI has evidently been employed to aid the visceral of the violence as we think we see faces coming in for a pummelling along with impressive drop kicks, though the mass brawls are in themselves well choreographed and dynamic while remaining within the realms of what a petty street punk could do reasonably do. Shinagawa also leans into the manga origins with frequent use of line drawings in scene transitions and character introductions. In essence Tatsuya is attempting to reclaim his self-esteem, finally embracing the of repeated phrase “Im stupid, but I’m not trash” to claim the right to live a less chaotic life while recommitting himself to knuckling down in the barbecue restaurant in defiance of those who thought him to be worthless, finally out of his self-imposed prison and into a happier future.

 OUT screened as part of the 18th Season of Asian Pop-Up Cinema.

Original trailer (English subtitles)