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

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)

Dear Ex (誰先愛上他的, Mag Hsu & Chih-yen Hsu, 2018)

A2oCsHnTaiwan is often thought to be among the most liberal of Asian nations and is one of the few to have legislated for registration of same sex partnerships. This is, however, not to say that there is no homophobia or that it is possible for anyone and everyone to be free to live the way they choose. If Dear Ex (誰先愛上他的, Shuí Xiān Ai Shàng Tā de) is to be believed, there is still quite a long way to go in terms of total acceptance though what the film is really interested in is the emotional fall out from lingering stigma and the various relationships which end up being created because of it.

Teenager Song Chengxi (Joseph Huang) has just lost his father. Or rather, he has just lost him again. Despite what his mother told him, Chengxi already knew that his father, Zhengyuan (Spark Chen), had left the family to be with another man, but the problem now is that Chengxi’s dad has named his lover, Jay (Roy Chiu), as the sole beneficiary for his life insurance policy. Chengxi’s mother Sanlian (Hsieh Ying-xuan) is not very happy about this and is determined to get her hands on an inheritance she believes “rightfully” belongs to her and to her son and which she wants to use to send Chengxi to study abroad so he can become “respectable” and “successful”. Fed up with his nagging mother, Chengxi decamps and, bizarrely enough, moves in with Jay who has barely any opportunity to refuse, eventually brokering something like a rapprochement between the “other woman” and the “other man”.

Though Sanlian emerges as the least sympathetic of the three central characters, she is also the one who has suffered most because of her husband’s decision to opt for a sham marriage in order to become a “normal man”. Having found love with Jay 17 years previously, Zhengyuan eventually left him rather than attempt to live an authentic life as a gay man. Thinking that he needed to force himself to be “normal” he married Sanlian and had a son, but the marriage was always distant and unhappy. Sanlian at her youngest seems shy and girlish, cheerfully helping the nervous Zhengyuan locate a missing parcel, while the version we see of her now is shrewish and embittered, humiliated by her husband’s abandonment and distraught in wondering if the entirety of her married life has been a lie and her husband never loved her at all.

In this respect the intense feelings of shame and resentment are perhaps no different for anyone in a relationship with an adulterous spouse, but for Sanlian they run deeper precisely because Jay is a man which leaves her feeling even more at fault and prone to lashing out. Sanlian is fond of referring to Jay as the “mistress” to which he points out, amusingly recasting himself as a “manstress”, that really she has been the unwelcome third wheel in the relationship between the two men.

Even if her anger is largely down to personal injury, Sanlian’s resentment contains an inescapable kernel of homophobia. Zhengyuan left his lover and got married because because he was too ashamed/afraid to go on living with the man he loved, but his decision ruined the life of the woman he made his wife only to selfishly abandon in order to live his last days as his authentic self safe in the knowledge that society could hardly touch him now. Sanlian has tried her best to turn Chengxi against Jay, not wanting him to become “corrupted” and insisting that Jay is a “bad man” who “stole” his father away. Getting to know him, however, and realising that Jay had cared for his dying father all alone, Chengxi starts to wonder why it is that Jay must be such a “bad” man, especially when he realises that he didn’t even know about the life insurance policy which puts his mother’s gold-digging hypothesis right out of the window.

Arguing with his wife while trying to break the news to her of his leaving, Zhengyuan poignantly reminds her that she doesn’t have the right to define the word “family”. Yet when Jay suggests telling his mother the truth about their relationship, Zhengyuan advises him not to because it would only make her “sad”. Jay wonders why anyone would be “sad” to hear one person tell another that they love them, as does Zhengyuan though he shrugs and replies that that’s just the way it is. Later Sanlian considers trying to blackmail Jay by threatening to out him to his mother whom she assumes will be heartbroken and disgusted despite Jay’s assertion that his mother loves him very much and will probably get over it (though he has evidently not decided to test his hypothesis just yet). Partly out of guilt, and finding a sense of empathy in Jay’s deep grief over the death of a man who regarded him as a husband, Sanlian starts to come around and begins to accept his place in the life of the man she married – a man they both loved and have lost.

Told with warmth and whimsy and filled with cute graphics seemingly lifted from Chengxi’s exercise book, Dear Ex is a timely plea for tolerance and understanding believing each of those things is possible only when one learns to put aside one’s own pain to consider someone else’s, coming to realise they are often the same.


Screened at the 20th Udine Far East Film Festival.