With the title, Mom Thinks I’m Crazy To Marry A Japanese Guy, it’s easy to write off this film as just another over-the-top, cutesy Taiwanese sap fest with a cross-cultural romantic twist. Those elements are all present, and the scenes are way too magical, but what makes the film work is that the main storyline between the two leads is very much rooted in reality, with believable characters, interactions and dialogue that will strike a chord with anyone who has attempted either long-distance or Internet dating.
It’s a true story after all, first made public through a Facebook fan page of the same name detailing the love story between Ihan (Jian Man-shu, 簡嫚書) and Mogi (Nakano Yuta), who met by chance through Facebook. The tale was later made into a book, upon which the movie is based.
Director Yachida Akihisa makes the wise decision in limiting the over-the-top shenanigans to the minor characters. Actually, it almost appears that outside of the leading couple and their friends, everyone is crazy, from Ihan’s loud-mouthed mother who is constantly bickering with her mahjong buddies to the Japanese dude who randomly shoots a rubber band gun at Mogi in a bar before offering him love advice. They are probably supposed to provide comic relief, but these types of characters are, by now, just tired stereotypes of Taiwanese cinema.
Photo courtesy of atmovies.com
Interestingly, both concepts featured in the movie title (the idea of marrying a Japanese and the tyrant mother who opposes the decision) don’t make too much of a difference in the film. The cultural barriers part is minimized by the fact that Ihan is proficient in Mogi’s language as a Japanese major in college and a self-professed lover of all things Japanese. One could see it as a missed opportunity to explore cultural differences between Taiwan and Japan — but hey, you have to stick with the script if it’s a true story. And even though Ihan’s mother vehemently opposes their relationship, Ihan is such an optimistic and headstrong character that there’s no stopping her. As a result, the expected “conflict” is virtually nonexistent.
Instead, the conflict revolves around misunderstandings through social media posts and online chatting, which the film presents in a very nuanced and realistic way, as the two characters continue to guess the underlying meanings behind what they see on screen because they can’t see each other in person.
Much of the plot is cleverly (albeit too cutely) presented through Facebook photos, videos, comments and messaging. The director even shows Mogi pausing in the middle of typing a sentence, wondering if he should finish his thought. There’s even a scene where they’re still communicating via Facebook while sitting next to each other. Don’t lie, you’ve probably done that too.
The awkward world of online communication is made more apparent especially because Mogi is no prince charming. He’s quiet and reserved, the type of guy who requires a bit of initiative from the woman if anything is to happen. While Ihan is the more outgoing one, she’s also unsure of their budding virtual attraction and what it all means. This creates a lot of tension that carries over to when they meet in person, such as their extremely clumsy first farewell. Afterward, they are shown wondering if they should have said more. It’s these moments that the audience can relate to, and this film would have been a complete dud if it depicted some grandiose, theatrical romance.
Somehow, this formula manages to keep the audience engaged to the point of tuning out the sappiness. Not bad for a film that tells an ordinary story with few twists and turns.
The unexpected collapse of the recall campaigns is being viewed through many lenses, most of them skewed and self-absorbed. The international media unsurprisingly focuses on what they perceive as the message that Taiwanese voters were sending in the failure of the mass recall, especially to China, the US and to friendly Western nations. This made some sense prior to early last month. One of the main arguments used by recall campaigners for recalling Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) lawmakers was that they were too pro-China, and by extension not to be trusted with defending the nation. Also by extension, that argument could be
Aug. 4 to Aug. 10 When Coca-Cola finally pushed its way into Taiwan’s market in 1968, it allegedly vowed to wipe out its major domestic rival Hey Song within five years. But Hey Song, which began as a manual operation in a family cow shed in 1925, had proven its resilience, surviving numerous setbacks — including the loss of autonomy and nearly all its assets due to the Japanese colonial government’s wartime economic policy. By the 1960s, Hey Song had risen to the top of Taiwan’s beverage industry. This success was driven not only by president Chang Wen-chi’s
Last week, on the heels of the recall election that turned out so badly for Taiwan, came the news that US President Donald Trump had blocked the transit of President William Lai (賴清德) through the US on his way to Latin America. A few days later the international media reported that in June a scheduled visit by Minister of National Defense Wellington Koo (顧立雄) for high level meetings was canceled by the US after China’s President Xi Jinping (習近平) asked Trump to curb US engagement with Taiwan during a June phone call. The cancellation of Lai’s transit was a gaudy
The centuries-old fiery Chinese spirit baijiu (白酒), long associated with business dinners, is being reshaped to appeal to younger generations as its makers adapt to changing times. Mostly distilled from sorghum, the clear but pungent liquor contains as much as 60 percent alcohol. It’s the usual choice for toasts of gan bei (乾杯), the Chinese expression for bottoms up, and raucous drinking games. “If you like to drink spirits and you’ve never had baijiu, it’s kind of like eating noodles but you’ve never had spaghetti,” said Jim Boyce, a Canadian writer and wine expert who founded World Baijiu Day a decade
RSS