There’s really nothing wrong with The Road to Mandalay (再見瓦城), except for the fact that it keeps being billed as a “beautiful and sad love story.” Superbly shot, it is a poignant and emotional ride featuring illegal Chinese-Burmese immigrants who struggle to make a living in Thailand. As far as romance goes, though, it’s either very, very subtle or their perception of it is somewhat different from the mainstream.
The problem is an utter lack of intimacy — or even meaningful conversation between the two leads, as they do spend a lot of time together but in a detached, silent matter. There’s probably just one scene of tenderness, and for the most part the behavior of Guo (Kai Ko, 柯震東), the male lead, is just downright creepy and obsessive: there’s nothing romantic about someone you barely know going into your room, grabbing all your belongings and insisting that you quit your job and go work somewhere else.
And female lead Lianqing (Patty Wu, 吳可熙) never appears to be receptive to Guo’s awkward advances. So it is a bit of a shock when she says at the end of the movie that he is her boyfriend.
Photo courtesy of atmovies.com
From the context of the movie alone, however, the two actors deliver great performances as migrants seeking a better life while harboring different dreams and hopes for the future. Wu does a superb job of playing the quiet and seemingly frail girl who harbors great resolve, and her determination to move forward pretty much drives the film. Ko provides the counterpoint to Wu’s steadfastness, convincingly delivering the role of an insecure and emotionally repressed young man who does not know what to do with his affections.
Their intertwined lives in Thailand make up the bulk of the story, and even without the romance, the story reflects the migrant experience well, touching on many issues such as the lack of work permit, prostitution, corrupt officials, mistreatment of workers and drug use.
This is Midi Z’s (趙德胤) first commercial feature and a continuation of his exploration of his roots, which is ethnic Han Chinese living in Myanmar. After shooting his last fictional piece, Ice Poison (冰毒), he took a break from fiction and shot two documentaries, Jade Miners (挖玉石的人) and City of Jade (翡翠之城), also set in Myanmar.
The increase in budget is apparent with the slick production, with Jia Zhangke’s (賈樟柯) longtime editor Matthieu Laclau providing tighter editing. Maybe it is too tight, though, as one wonders if some of the more “romantic” scenes may have been lost in the mix. It’s already known that an episode featuring Ko masturbating was cut.
In any event, despite its mainstream status, the film still leans toward the artsy and festival circuit, with long still frames, slow pacing and few dramatic ups and downs. This works with the subjects, however, adding to the tension and desperateness of their situation, where they work long, grueling hours toward an uncertain future.
The backdrop is carefully crafted to match this mood, as this version of Bangkok seems nothing like the shiny and energetic portrayals we often see in other films. It’s drab, and it’s sad. And it’s probably no accident that the most beautiful scenes appear in the factory, one in particular where Lianqing tries to untangle a sea of threads stretched out by machines.
This symbolism manifests in several scenes, such as when Guo furiously shovels wood into a furnace and Lianqing’s encounter with a giant iguana. There’s a lot of guessing to do in this film, and much thinking to do after.
It’s a slow burning affair, all right, but it does burn, fueled by a slice of life that’s rooted in harsh reality and nothing much else. Not everyone wants to see the uncomfortable truth, and not everyone will like this movie. But someone had to tell this story.
In late October of 1873 the government of Japan decided against sending a military expedition to Korea to force that nation to open trade relations. Across the government supporters of the expedition resigned immediately. The spectacle of revolt by disaffected samurai began to loom over Japanese politics. In January of 1874 disaffected samurai attacked a senior minister in Tokyo. A month later, a group of pro-Korea expedition and anti-foreign elements from Saga prefecture in Kyushu revolted, driven in part by high food prices stemming from poor harvests. Their leader, according to Edward Drea’s classic Japan’s Imperial Army, was a samurai
Located down a sideroad in old Wanhua District (萬華區), Waley Art (水谷藝術) has an established reputation for curating some of the more provocative indie art exhibitions in Taipei. And this month is no exception. Beyond the innocuous facade of a shophouse, the full three stories of the gallery space (including the basement) have been taken over by photographs, installation videos and abstract images courtesy of two creatives who hail from the opposite ends of the earth, Taiwan’s Hsu Yi-ting (許懿婷) and Germany’s Benjamin Janzen. “In 2019, I had an art residency in Europe,” Hsu says. “I met Benjamin in the lobby
April 22 to April 28 The true identity of the mastermind behind the Demon Gang (魔鬼黨) was undoubtedly on the minds of countless schoolchildren in late 1958. In the days leading up to the big reveal, more than 10,000 guesses were sent to Ta Hwa Publishing Co (大華文化社) for a chance to win prizes. The smash success of the comic series Great Battle Against the Demon Gang (大戰魔鬼黨) came as a surprise to author Yeh Hung-chia (葉宏甲), who had long given up on his dream after being jailed for 10 months in 1947 over political cartoons. Protagonist
Peter Brighton was amazed when he found the giant jackfruit. He had been watching it grow on his farm in far north Queensland, and when it came time to pick it from the tree, it was so heavy it needed two people to do the job. “I was surprised when we cut it off and felt how heavy it was,” he says. “I grabbed it and my wife cut it — couldn’t do it by myself, it took two of us.” Weighing in at 45 kilograms, it is the heaviest jackfruit that Brighton has ever grown on his tropical fruit farm, located