Taciturn senior high school student Mingfong and his father, Hao-hsiang, live beside a busy railway line in Kaohsiung. Mingfong’s mother died a while ago, and the two eke out a humble living. The father is a low-rent removalist, but he gains solace from the fact that Mingfong is a good swimmer, and may have the ability to channel his own frustrated swimming ambitions by taking gold in the pool. To do so, Mingfong must beat 2 minutes and 20 seconds.
After a sympathetic opening scene, Hao-hsiang turns out to be quite oppressive, and the film quickly turns tedious, indicating that it has no clue what its market is. An inspirational saga about competitive swimming would have much more dynamic sports footage and a detailed rivalry between the hero and his nemesis (here, a swimming ace called the Frog King, who barely appears). A satisfying drama would have concentrated on character development and light and shade, not neurotic and repetitive lectures on winning medals. And a family film about the redemptive powers of a handicapped child (more on him in a moment) would have had a lot less weeping, screaming and cursing.
Deeply conservative, the screenplay jumps straight into manipulating Mingfong’s sense of guilt at his inertia, and then at the fate of both parents, while juxtaposing the “bad girls” that would tempt Mingfong from his path to sporting glory (they’re “bad” because they wear skimpy clothing and dance suggestively) against chaste “good girl” swimmer Hsiao-ping, who likes him. But the good girl turns out to be off to the US with her parents after finishing high school, anyway, so what good is she?
Like Mingfong’s father and his coach — a sympathetic character, but not without oppressive moments of his own — Hsiao-ping cannot understand why Mingfong is so sullen and unresponsive, and in a particularly grating sequence, this would-be girlfriend berates him for not being more open about his feelings. Poor Mingfong: The girl of his watery dreams is a tease waiting to join the ballbreaker queue.
Her pending departure doesn’t stop poor Mingfong from falling in like with her, yet even the childish expression of his desire at the climactic swim meet is so ineptly directed that it isn’t clear whether a roar of approval from the crowd is directed at the couple or at the next heat’s competitors.
The film’s pivotal moment appears out of nowhere. A child without lower legs (Chen Liang-da, 陳亮達) dives into a pool and races up and down without a care in the world. This is a real person playing himself, and he’s the most interesting thing in the movie; certainly, he belongs in a different movie.
Upon seeing this child, Mingfong wakes from his teen angst stupor and is inspired to be the best he can be. A Rocky-style training montage, botched by oblivious direction and editing, puts Mingfong back on the road to success, which not even a jealous bully and a nasty leg wound can derail. But the glory is anticlimactic: The all-important race comes across as a heat — until the race is won. Whoops, that was the final?
More’s the pity. Hsueh Yu-ting (薛宇庭), as Mingfong, has appeal, but his portrayal is trapped between sulking and unappealing outbursts. Lacking wit, warmth and smarts, he is never given a chance to win over the audience. Other actors try hard enough, but it’s hard to escape the feeling that they knew this film — heavily supported by local government — is as low-rent as Mingfong’s father.
The highly regarded Gerald Shih (史擷詠) wrote the film’s score. In 02’20’’, however, the music is lamentable. Seemingly aware that director Hsueh Shao-hsuan (薛少軒) cannot sustain mood or interest in the characters, the soundtrack punctuates scene after scene with overpowering filler. When the director “guaranteed” at a press conference that the audience would cry, presumably he wasn’t referring to his composer’s hits to the solar plexus.
The Nuremberg trials have inspired filmmakers before, from Stanley Kramer’s 1961 drama to the 2000 television miniseries with Alec Baldwin and Brian Cox. But for the latest take, Nuremberg, writer-director James Vanderbilt focuses on a lesser-known figure: The US Army psychiatrist Douglas Kelley, who after the war was assigned to supervise and evaluate captured Nazi leaders to ensure they were fit for trial (and also keep them alive). But his is a name that had been largely forgotten: He wasn’t even a character in the miniseries. Kelley, portrayed in the film by Rami Malek, was an ambitious sort who saw in
Last week gave us the droll little comedy of People’s Republic of China’s (PRC) consul general in Osaka posting a threat on X in response to Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi saying to the Diet that a Chinese attack on Taiwan may be an “existential threat” to Japan. That would allow Japanese Self Defence Forces to respond militarily. The PRC representative then said that if a “filthy neck sticks itself in uninvited, we will cut it off without a moment’s hesitation. Are you prepared for that?” This was widely, and probably deliberately, construed as a threat to behead Takaichi, though it
Among the Nazis who were prosecuted during the Nuremberg trials in 1945 and 1946 was Hitler’s second-in-command, Hermann Goring. Less widely known, though, is the involvement of the US psychiatrist Douglas Kelley, who spent more than 80 hours interviewing and assessing Goring and 21 other Nazi officials prior to the trials. As described in Jack El-Hai’s 2013 book The Nazi and the Psychiatrist, Kelley was charmed by Goring but also haunted by his own conclusion that the Nazis’ atrocities were not specific to that time and place or to those people: they could in fact happen anywhere. He was ultimately
Nov. 17 to Nov. 23 When Kanori Ino surveyed Taipei’s Indigenous settlements in 1896, he found a culture that was fading. Although there was still a “clear line of distinction” between the Ketagalan people and the neighboring Han settlers that had been arriving over the previous 200 years, the former had largely adopted the customs and language of the latter. “Fortunately, some elders still remember their past customs and language. But if we do not hurry and record them now, future researchers will have nothing left but to weep amid the ruins of Indigenous settlements,” he wrote in the Journal of