A Film a Week - Daughter's Daughter

 previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

This year, the Lightbox section of Toronto International Film Festival is hosting the world premiere of the sophomore feature film directed by Xi Huang, “Daughter’s Daughter”. The director’s debut “Missing Johnny” (2017) had a healthy and fruitful festival tour, but mainly on the Asian continent and at festivals specialized in Asian cinema. The new effort is more likely to travel further and longer, while the name of the legendary Taiwanese New Wave filmmaker Hou Hsiao-Hsien as the executive producer on ending credits suggests that Xi might be the new, internationally recognized voice of the Taiwanese cinema.

The protagonist of the film is Jin Ai-xia (the one and only Sylvia Chang), a woman who spent a part of her life in New York and the other part in Taipei. From the two “episodes”, she has two daughters, Emma (Karena Lam) who lives in New York and Zuer (Eugenie Liu) who lives in Taipei. The two had never met, until one night in the winter of 2018, when they both came to visit her mom who ended up in a hospital with a leg injury. The reason for them to meet was to share responsibilities regarding the care of their grandmother (Allanah Ong) who suffered a stroke on top of showing early signs of dementia.

Six years later, Zuer and her girlfriend Zhou Jia-ji (Tracy Chou) are in New York for the attempt of in-vitro fertilization that could grant them a child. Unfortunately, they both die in a traffic accident, so Ai-xia becomes a legal guardian of the embryo, with a “choice” of four options. She could keep it frozen, donate it to another couple, find a surrogate mother or terminate it. The thing is, Ai-xia was never a good mother to either of her daughters and she has never been a mother material. She now has to decide about the fate of her late daughter’s daughter (hence the title), while also having some explanations to provide to her surviving, older daughter.

It is certain that the stakes are high for Xi who tries to tell an emotionally charged story in a compelling and heart-felt way. In order to keep the grip over the viewer’s attention, he splits it into two different time frames that he seamlessly goes between for the 126 minutes of the runtime, revealing the protagonist’s backstory slowly and carefully. The viewers learn as much about her, the pressure she is under and the emotions that influence her decision as they need to know, so the effect of those perfectly timed revelations is maximized. On top of being a writer who is in complete control of the story, he is also a master director who not just pays close attention to the details of the background, but also knows how to frame his actresses and actors, usually in longer, continuous takes, to make them shine.

Speaking of which, Sylvia Chang has her masterclass here, but the others, such as the Allanah Ong, the established Karena Lam and the promising Eugenie Liu, are brave enough to let themselves get into the interplay and a bit of a sparing with her. With an array of interesting supporting performances, for instance the one of Winston Chao who is very relaxed in the role of Ai-xia’s former lover and life-long New York friend Johnny, it is safe to say that “Daughter’s Daughter” is a very well acted piece of cinema.

Things look well on the craft level as well. The crisp-digital cinematography by Yao Hung-i captures the details laid out in Hwarng Wern-ying’s production design, such as the vibe of the New York Chinatown, the editing by Liao Ching-sung helps the complicated story come out clear and easy to follow, while the sparsely used gentle synth music is always in sync with the emotions portrayed.

“Daughter’s Daughter” is definitely a deftly made film that lives up to the ambition to make the deep emotions feel real on the screen. But the definitive added value here is Sylvia Chang who imbues her very complicated character with life in every scene.

A Film a Week - When the Dawn Comes / Liming daolai di na yitian

 previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

There are heroes almost everybody knows a lot about, and there are heroes that are simply not that famous. Sometimes, the difference is rooted in the types of acts those heroes perform, grand gestures can bring fame and glory, but the real heroes tend to simply do their work according to their ideals without giving up, risking failures all along their path and potentially ending up almost anonymous. One of those discreet heroes is the activist Chi Chia Wei, the main subject of Zhang Hongjie’s one-hour documentary “When the Dawn Comes” that was just screened at Taiwan Film Festival Edinburgh.

When we first meet Mr Chi in a barber shop, having his hair cut and complaining about getting old (and his hair getting gray), it is hard to assume that the man is one of the heroes of Taiwan, or at least some particular communities there. Back in the 80s, he was the AIDS patients’ rights activist, contributing for the removal of the stigma that the population had to carry. After that, he was one of the loudest gay activists, defending the cause of legalizing same-sex marriages. His fight was long, but successful, resulting in the act of May 17^th, 2019 that made Taiwan the first Asian country to recognize same-sex marriages equal to the traditional ones.

Zhang’s documentary walks along two different timelines that move at different paces. The outer one, covering the extensive period of time, features Chi re-telling the anecdotes he collected during his years of fight for a more just system, newspaper articles that confirm his theses and stories and the testimonies of his friends, colleagues and comrades. In the central one, we follow Chi on his battles in the year 2017 that was crucial for the gay marriages activism in Taiwan. During that year, Chi visited a number of (maybe even all) Pride events in different cities in the country, always finding a strategically high spot to wave the rainbow-coloured flag from there, but also took part in debates and preparations for the referendums.

However, the fact that Mr Chi is a colourful and accessible character that has some important and interesting things to say does not automatically make the documentary about him a good one. “When the Dawn Comes” makes some sense in the Taiwanese context and could possibly serve as a waypoint how the things can be done in the certain types of social activism, but outside those circles, it could hardly find any audience.

The reason for that is Zhang’s pretty much textbook approach in which the structure is probably the most interesting thing albeit it was tried and tested times and times before. On top of that, we have some raw-looking footage from Chi’s recent actions, “talking head” interviews and a bit of archival photo-material and newspaper scans, with occasional textual cards trying to explain the complex context in a simplified manner. The production values are modest and, one could say, barely serviceable, which is the case with Zhang’s own cinematography and Liu Wenyao’s editing that teases the viewers with the idea that the longer the blackout between the scenes is, the more important the next one would be, as well as Thomas Fouguenne’s stereotypically “gentle” piano score. Sometimes the plainness of style puts the topic under the spotlight, but this time it is hardly the case.

A Film a Week - Wrath of Desire

 previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

According to some sources, Zero Chou is the only openly lesbian filmmaker in Taiwan, so it does not come as a surprise that she often tackles the LGBTQ+-related topics. For her second feature film “Spider Lilies” (2007), she was awarded with the Teddy Award at Berlinale. After nearly a decade of work predominantly on television and on documentaries, she is back with her newest feature “Wrath of Desire”, which premiered in the more radical Rebels With a Cause competition at Tallinn Black Nights. As it is suggested in a short graphic before the opening credits, it is the first instalment of the intended six-film series about LGBTQ+ romances set in the different East-Asian cities.

After a prologue set on a beach in an imaginary world, presumably in the afterlife, we meet Phoenix Du (Peace Yang) as she is being attacked by an unknown assailant whom she fights off and stabs with a knife in something that probably exceeds the boundaries of self-defence. The prosecutor Jade Liu (Weng Chia-wei) comes to the scene and feels the instant attraction towards the suspect and offers to help her with a ride. After another attack and a piece of background information about Phoenix that motivates it, the two of them end up in Jade’s flat and spend a night of passion together. The two women come from different backgrounds, Phoenix is a free-spirited, openly gay artist, while Jade is a bit of a Catholic fundamentalist, so their relationship is not exactly possible, no matter how Phoenix wants it.

The other obstacle is Phoenix’ legal status: she is convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to prison for 3 and a half years. Once in there, she shows her toughness and the firmness of her morale by protecting the weaker prisoners from the bullies, but the thing that keeps her sane are letters she writes to Jade. On the other hand, Jade gets involved with another person from one of her next cases, a young and fragile gay man Meng-ye (Hsu Yu-ting), accused of inflicting injuries to his cousin who abused him. Once Phoenix gets out, the three of them, each of them wounded and damaged in a different way, start living together, but the black and white flash-forward sequences set in the police interrogation room signal that something terrible would interrupt the idyll.

As a hybrid between the art house and the genre cinema, “Wrath of Desire” is quite an effective piece of cinematic work, as Chou gently examines the relations between sex and gender and the different mechanisms of societal pressure towards those who do not fit the standard moulds and roles. In the mystery department, Chou is quite efficient in revealing the crucial information in small doses and at just right moments in time, so the motivations for each of the characters’ actions are rock solid. The melodramatic aspect of the emotions always in the high register can get tiresome, but the elements of surprise theoretically help the viewer stay involved with the story and the characters.

The only thing that is a bit excessive is Phoenix’ prison stint which theoretically serves to develop her character traits in more detail (which was not necessary), but is actually overlong and tells a completely different and unrelated story about the bullying culture within the prison lesbian community. Without it, or with it trimmed down only to the necessary elements, the runtime would not be the demanding two hours, but considerably leaner and the central romantic triangle and the mystery would feel more focused.

Visually, “Wrath of Desire” is quite a handsome movie. Playing with the focus and leaving the edges of the frame blurred sometimes, especially in tenser quasi-action scenes, Chou’s life partner Hoho Liu takes the most she can from her hand-held camerawork, while the editing of the two of them could be more resolute. The technical aspects of production- and costume design, especially in the more surreal sequences inspired by the Japanese Butoh dance, are top notch, while the percussion-heavy score by Amy Wu builds up the tension throughout the film.

Regarding acting, Zero Chou did everything she could to make her stars shine. Her screenplay is rock-solid in the character development aspect, and the trio of actors seize their opportunities. Peace Yang is both tough and emotional, with a pinch of tragedy, as Phoenix, Hsu Yu-ting is fragile, but impulsive as Meng-ye, while Weng Chia-wei balances Jade’s reserve and internalised turmoil quite well.

“Wrath of Desire” is more than a decent watch that quickly alternates the worlds it touches, blending the fantasy, the reality, the emotions and the desire into a coherent whole. As the first part of the intended serial, it is an intriguing opening that raises the expectations.

A Film a Week - Ohong Village

previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

In his debut feature "Ohong Village", the director "Luke" Lim Lung Yin aims to give a voice to the voiceless by portraying a milieu of a remote fishing village in the times where the nature and the economy are about to ruin its prospects. From a description like this, it sounds a bit like a bog standard "social issues" type of festival cinema, but it is more unusual and meditative than that. Nevertheless, the film should have a healthy festival exposure after the premiere at Jeonju and official selection at Taipei. However, we obtained it through our Submit Your Film initiative.

The film opens with two friends, Sheng (Lin Yu Hsu) and Kun (Chen Hsin Tai) on a motor-powered raft, approaching the beach where the abandoned Buddha statue is surrounded by trash. Sheng poses as a successful man, coming back from Taipei for his sister's wedding, dressed smartly and talking the big talk. The only one who does not buy it is his father Ming (the only professional actor in the cast, King Jie Wen), a man who has certainly seen some hardships in life. And he is right: Sheng is currently out of work and his life in Taipei was never idyllic.

Sheng's family was once considered rich and prosperous in the village with a huge land and water base for oyster farming. Those days are long gone now, the whole village is sinking, the salt fields providing jobs to many were the first to go and the oyster business is shrinking. Ming's idea of fighting to survive consists of constant visits to the medium supposedly connected to the General deity, while Kun has an idea for tourism-oriented business which is not bad and wants Sheng on board. The time of festivities approaches, unexpected things are about to happen and the villagers will expose themselves, for better or for worse.

In his film, Lim combines a number of influences, from Neorealism and the different schools of New Wave (mostly French, Japanese and Czechoslovak), to poetic realism of Andrei Tarkovsky. The European feeling a viewer can get watching "Ohong Village" is not by far strange and accidental, since Lim studiead at the famed FAMU in Prague. In his film he is interested in surroundings as it is in story and that shows as the film goes one, especially in scenes of festivities and rituals filmed in long takes.

The cast of non-professionals for most of the roles serves the purpose as the first-timing actors blend in perfectly to the social landscape and keep their composure since their job is more to "be" than to "act". However, for a person that carries the most of the emotional weight, Ming, Lin needs a proper actor and he finds one in King, also known as Hsi Hsiang, seen in numerous Taiwanese films and TV shows from mid-70s to mid-90s and in the last ten years. He is more than capable to carry the weight of a man who has possibly lived his life in vain.

On the technical side, "Ohong Village" is not just a competent film, it is pretty artful. Analogue camerawork by the young Russian DoP Alexander Elagin is pure poetry especially because it is rare nowadays to find something filmed on 16mm tape in all of its natural warmth and richness. Another thing to pay attention to is sound design that combines the natural sounds of a certain place that is no stranger to some extreme weather and the music score made of traditional folk tunes, a splash of modern pop and slow, droning electronic noises written by Paul Scar.

"Ohong Village" might not be everybody's cup of tea and it is a hard, demanding watch. But as a proof of craft and determination to fulfil the artistic vision, it most certainly works just fine.

A Film a Week - Who Killed Cock Robin / Mu ji zhe

previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

After his screen debut, a horror-thriller “The Tag-Along”, the Taiwanese director Cheng Wei-Hao is back with an elaborate mystery crime-thriller “Who Killed Cock Robin?” Though the international world-wide title given after an old English nursery rhyme feels inspired, the original Mandarin title “Mu ji zhe” directly translated as “The Eyewitness” would give a better clue to the viewers what the film is actually about – an accident from the past surfaced by its reportedly only witness who has to solve the puzzle from other unreliable testimonies.

The protagonist Wang, played by sleazy-charming Kaiser Chuang, is a journalist not too dissimilar from Lou Bloom, the protagonist of Dan Gilroy’s “Nightcrawler”, using a police radio scanner to get to the scenes of crimes and accidents. After he finds a senator and a celebrity model involved in a car crash, his life and career turns upside-down. First he gets involved in an accident on his own, crashing his newly-bought used BMW and later he gets pawn-sacrificed in an office power-game involving the senator, the paper owner Chiu (TV and screen veteran Christopher Ming-Shu Lee), the editor Chung-Wen (Tang Chih-Wei) and his attractive colleague Maggie (the beautiful Hsu Wei-Ning) with whom Wang is about to start an affair.

Filled with data from his mechanic friend (Cheng Chih-Wei) that his car was tampered with in the past, he starts and investigation using his contacts in the traffic department and the police, and finds out that the same car was involved in a car crash nine years before for which he served as the only witness. Since it was his first story for the newspaper and his own photos got mysteriously misplaced, he tries to get to the bottom of things and figure out if someone from his surroundings responsible for him getting fired also had something to do with the accident that left one person dead on spot and the other severely injured.

As it plays out, the injured woman Hsu Ai-Ting (Ko Chia-Yen, re-teaming with Cheng after “The Tag-Along”) who might hold the key to the mystery grabbed the first opportunity to escape from the hospital and has been off-grid ever since. Wang’s investigation would get her in the harms way again, but who is responsible for the whole mess? Was it Chung-Wen who misplaced the photos not to get involved? Was it the mechanic who apparently took the blame for the crash before committing suicide? What does the whole thing have to do with Chiu who is never too far from the investigation? And what is the angle of the police officer Wei (Mason Lee, the son of the two-times Oscar-winning director Ang) who is the only one immune to Wang’s charms, apart from living near the place Hsu made her distress phone call from?

The different perspective mystery puzzles are nothing new to the cinema, starting with Kurosawa’s legendary “Rashomon”. However, “Who Killed Cock Robin?” takes its clues more from Antonioni’s “Blow Up” and a variety of Brian de Palma’s films, from his debut “Murder a la Mod” to his early 80’s thrillers. The story is completely plot-driven, clearly seen in the fact that the protagonist gets his clues in a bit too neat fashion, usually using nothing more than his sweet-talking charm, but the use of the character tropes from the noir genre, like the corrupt businessman, the jaded editor, the still-green reporter, the damsel in distress and the plotting femme fatale is effective enough to make it work. Also, a lot of sharp twists make a little sense, but they still serve the purpose for both the shock effect near the end and morality play about human corruption.

Powered by strong acting performances by all of the cast members (though Mason Lee steals the show in the second half) and sharp production design underlining the busy feel of the metropolis captured through the lens of Chen Chi-Wen’s camera combining the hand-held mode with drone shots, “Who Killed Cock Robin?” is handsome and fun to watch. On the other hand, one should not expect any life-changing or genre-defining experience.

A Film a Week - Didi's Dream / "Chi chi" de ai

Reading the IMDb description of Kevin Tsai’s directorial debut, a person can jump into conclusion that Didi’s Dream is yet another riff on the romcom genre riddled with tropes of a woman of a certain age, her not so perfect life and relationship, family ties and the sudden nature of success and illness. Honestly, it a bit clichéd and all the ingredients are well known, used and reused, but there is something fresh about this particular story and the freshness of it is obvious right from the start.

The start is, however, a titular dream in which the titular character is Xu Chunmei, the owner of an intergalactic noodles diner in a space-opera version of the future where even soups have ability to adjust themselves automatically according to the taste of the costumer. Pretty cool, right? But in her Earthly life, Shangguan Didi (Dee Hsu) ia a wannabe actress who keeps auditioning (those scenes are as hilarious as they feel constructed and over the top) only to get the extra roles and the non-speaking parts in moronic commercials. Her boyfriend Kouzi (Jin Shijia) is as supportive and as modest as they come, but Didi wants more from life. Her driving force seems to be a fierce rivalry with her sister Lilgling (Chiling Lin of Red Cliff moveis fame), a successful star-actress and nationally beloved celebrity.

The things change in one lucky and one unlucky break that happen simultaneously. As she gets her terminal brain tumor diagnosis with only one more year to live, she also gets a series of silly parts for television that slowly but steadily propel her to fame, first as a viral video comedy sensation and then as a bona fide celebrity that gets to play in a period piece drama (or it may be a wuxia thing, we are never sure) alongside her sister. Will Didi have enough time to prove herself to herself and to the others?

It is a familiar story told in an interesting and inspired way. Tsai’s sense for staging and directing particular scenes (especially those dreamy ones) is strong, albeit his overwhelming use of loud score, while the script he penned together with Mingyi Liao feels inspired due to a number of well-placed comedic moments. Originally a screenwriter with a couple of credits to his name in the 90’s, Tsai made his name recently as a TV host on the show called Kangxi lai le and a judge on another one, U Can You BB. That shows in his knowledge of the mechanics of popular, even a bit trashy television and he, apparently, draws a lot of references from there and even does the cameo-casting from the pool of his regular guests. Some of that, however, gets lost in translation for the viewers (such as myself) who are not the avid watchers of Taiwanese and Chinese television.

Even his principal actress Dee Hsu comes from that milieu and Didi is her big screen debut. For her work here, she could be considered a major discovery, since her comedic timing is perfect and her general spunkyness serves the role quite well. She definitely lifts Didi’s Dream a couple of levels above the standard-issue, stereotypical romantic comedy, while maintaining it both romantic and humorous notwithstanding the film’s occasional milking for emotions via cheap sentimentality.