Billed as the very first Taiwanese zombie movie, Zombie 108 (棄城Z-108) has generated lots of buzz among horror aficionados both at home and abroad. Nearly 900 people reportedly answered director Joe Chien’s (錢人豪) call to invest in the flick, whose budget clocked in at around NT$10 million. Later, two important players in the genre circuit, the Brussels International Fantastic Film Festival and Puchon International Fantastic Film Festival, picked the movie as part of their lineups this year.
With a more than adequate beginning that recalls many blockbusters of its kind, the self-proclaimed horror B-movie gets off to a good start. Yet the momentum soon dissipates as the movie struggles to flesh out its story.
The film starts with a familiar premise. There is a virus breakout, which is suggested in a sketchy opening sequence. And the next thing we know, Ximending becomes a zombie-infected neighborhood under quarantine. A SWAT team moves in to contain the situation in the seedy downtown area run by local gangs whose obese boss, played by Morris Rong (戎祥), the film’s producer, spends his days surrounded by cocaine and naked women. After a gunfight, the cops and gangsters form an uneasy alliance as they try to survive the flesh-eating undead.
Photo courtesy of Heyshine International
Meanwhile, young mother Linda (Yvonne Yao, 姚采穎) escapes the undead horde with her daughter but falls prey to a pervert, played by director Chien himself, who holds women as sex slaves in his basement.
Eventually, the survivors turn up at the pervert‘s apartment. A Japanese serial killer is thrown in for good measure.
To director Chien’s credit, the zombie assault scenes are well played out. There is also a good deal of gore and blood, though not quite as exciting as many horror fans would expect.
Photo courtesy of Heyshine International
The action sequences are enlivened with parkour and martial arts moves by Taiwanese taekwondo athlete Chu Mu-yen (朱木炎) and martial artist-turned-actor Dennis To (杜宇航) from Hong Kong, both playing SWAT cops. The idea of incorporating extreme sports and kung fu into the fight against zombies has great potential. But the film doesn’t take advantage of this and instead confines itself to a poorly written script revolving around a bevy of mostly dull characters.
The role of women in the zombie action is mostly utilized for torture porn sequences, and the casualness of the sexploitation is hard to stomach.
After making several unsuccessful genre flicks, including Button Man (鈕扣人) and Gangster Rock (混混天團), director Chien seems to be heading in the right direction, into B-movie territory, but he will need to deploy a lot more ingenuity than he shows in Zombie 108 to become a notable filmmaker of trashy movies.
When life gives you trees, make paper. That was one of the first thoughts to cross my mind as I explored what’s now called Chung Hsing Cultural and Creative Park (中興文化創意園區, CHCCP) in Yilan County’s Wujie Township (五結). Northeast Taiwan boasts an abundance of forest resources. Yilan County is home to both Taipingshan National Forest Recreation Area (太平山國家森林遊樂區) — by far the largest reserve of its kind in the country — and Makauy Ecological Park (馬告生態園區, see “Towering trees and a tranquil lake” in the May 13, 2022 edition of this newspaper). So it was inevitable that industrial-scale paper making would
Asked to define sex, most people will say it means penetration and anything else is just “foreplay,” says Kate Moyle, a psychosexual and relationship therapist, and author of The Science of Sex. “This pedestals intercourse as ‘real sex’ and other sexual acts as something done before penetration rather than as deserving credit in their own right,” she says. Lesbian, bisexual and gay people tend to have a broader definition. Sex education historically revolved around reproduction (therefore penetration), which is just one of hundreds of reasons people have sex. If you think of penetration as the sex you “should” be having, you might
July 21 to July 27 If the “Taiwan Independence Association” (TIA) incident had happened four years earlier, it probably wouldn’t have caused much of an uproar. But the arrest of four young suspected independence activists in the early hours of May 9, 1991, sparked outrage, with many denouncing it as a return to the White Terror — a time when anyone could be detained for suspected seditious activity. Not only had martial law been lifted in 1987, just days earlier on May 1, the government had abolished the Temporary Provisions Effective During the Period of National Mobilization for Suppression of the Communist
Hualien lawmaker Fu Kun-chi (傅?萁) is the prime target of the recall campaigns. They want to bring him and everything he represents crashing down. This is an existential test for Fu and a critical symbolic test for the campaigners. It is also a crucial test for both the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) and a personal one for party Chairman Eric Chu (朱立倫). Why is Fu such a lightning rod? LOCAL LORD At the dawn of the 2020s, Fu, running as an independent candidate, beat incumbent Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) lawmaker Hsiao Bi-khim (蕭美琴) and a KMT candidate to return to the legislature representing
RSS