The beginning of Get The Hell Out (逃出立法院) features the following disclaimer: “If you choose the wrong movie, you only have to wait 90 minutes; if you choose the wrong legislator, you have to wait four years.”
The people certainly chose the wrong lawmakers in this absurd satirical romp, as an ill-fated government scheme to get rich through an international venture (they call it ‘diplomacy’ here, of course) literally turns the entire legislative body, as well as the president, into bloodthirsty zombies.
Get The Hell Out is a relentless caricature of the nation’s fight-happy Legislative Yuan, government bureaucracy, rabid media industry and other issues such as authorities colluding with corporations to raze villages and build harmful factories. Director Wang I-fan (王逸帆) doesn’t just satirize the infamous legislature, he pokes fun at a wide range of uniquely Taiwanese phenomena, and one would need to be very familiar with the nation’s pop culture, web celebrities and recent sociopolitical events to get all the references in this film. If you don’t, the film is just another gory and campy zombie movie that is not worth your time.
Photo courtesy of CPT Entertainment
The film was slated for release in April, but the COVID-19 pandemic pushed it back until last week, which actually makes it even more relevant as the Legislative Yuan descended into violence again last month over Chen Chu’s (陳菊) appointment as Control Yuan president. The themes of (zombie) pandemic control and “Taiwan Can Help” would also resonate a lot more with audiences now than in four months ago.
Stylistically, Get The Hell Out is Taiwanese mainstream cinema’s trademark over-the-topness taken to the extreme as the characters use video game moves to fight infected Taoist priests and machine-gun toting Centers of Disease Control staff, and it also takes a page from Western cult movies with tons of blood and exaggerated sequences.
The nonstop zaniness gets tiring, though, especially in the middle of the film where much screen time is wasted on brainless battle and chase scenes. One would expect more given the loaded premise and scathing first half, as the plot gets caught up in its own shenanigans and loses its way. At points, it seems like Wang is just using the Legislative Yuan as a pretext to make a crazy zombie flick, whereas he should have been using the zombie pandemic as a device to delve deeper into government and social dysfunction.
Despite the missed opportunities, the movie still entertains overall, and serves as an example of where these otherwise tired tropes make sense, as there’s no better way to criticize the already ridiculous phenomena of brawling legislators than with even more ridiculousness.
The leads are Ying-ying (Megan Lai, 賴雅妍), a legislator dedicated to saving her hometown from being turned into a factory who loses her job after a beating up a paparazzi, and Yu-wei (Bruce Hung, 禾浩辰), a meek Legislative Yuan security guard who unexpectedly replaces Ying-ying and is caught between the warring factions. Of course, besides the zombies, the heroes also have to deal with the corrupt gangster-politician Li (Wang Chung-huang, 王中皇) who wears a bright magenta suit and struts around with his crew of bizarrely-dressed lackeys who call themselves “The Better Generation.”
Wang smartly steers clear of political factions, making the conflict more of a good-versus-evil between politicians who act out of greed and those who actually want to help society.
Amidst the chaos, Wang still tries to deliver an uplifting message about identifying with and protecting one’s homeland, whether it be a threatened seaside village or the entire nation. With many Taiwanese disillusioned in their country and wanting to “get the hell out,” Wang’s sentiment is definitely relevant, but this theme does not come through strongly enough and is buried in the frenetic action.
The transformation of top politicians — including the president — into zombies ultimately allows voters a second chance at choosing the right candidates, but will their replacements simply continue the ways of their predecessors? The nation’s legislators have been exchanging blows since the 1980s. Will things in Taiwan ever change? Is it worth staying and trying to make a difference? These are valid questions that Wang does explore — one just wishes he would have toned down the action just a bit to make more room for contemplation.
Recently the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) and its Mini-Me partner in the legislature, the Taiwan People’s Party (TPP), have been arguing that construction of chip fabs in the US by Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co (TSMC, 台積電) is little more than stripping Taiwan of its assets. For example, KMT Deputy Secretary-General Lin Pei-hsiang (林沛祥) in January said that “This is not ‘reciprocal cooperation’ ... but a substantial hollowing out of our country.” Similarly, former TPP Chair Ko Wen-je (柯文哲) contended it constitutes “selling Taiwan out to the United States.” The two pro-China parties are proposing a bill that would limit semiconductor
Institutions signalling a fresh beginning and new spirit often adopt new slogans, symbols and marketing materials, and the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) is no exception. Cheng Li-wun (鄭麗文), soon after taking office as KMT chair, released a new slogan that plays on the party’s acronym: “Kind Mindfulness Team.” The party recently released a graphic prominently featuring the red, white and blue of the flag with a Chinese slogan “establishing peace, blessings and fortune marching forth” (締造和平,幸福前行). One part of the graphic also features two hands in blue and white grasping olive branches in a stylized shape of Taiwan. Bonus points for
March 9 to March 15 “This land produced no horses,” Qing Dynasty envoy Yu Yung-ho (郁永河) observed when he visited Taiwan in 1697. He didn’t mean that there were no horses at all; it was just difficult to transport them across the sea and raise them in the hot and humid climate. “Although 10,000 soldiers were stationed here, the camps had fewer than 1,000 horses,” Yu added. Starting from the Dutch in the 1600s, each foreign regime brought horses to Taiwan. But they remained rare animals, typically only owned by the government or
“M yeolgong jajangmyeon (anti-communism zhajiangmian, 滅共炸醬麵), let’s all shout together — myeolgong!” a chef at a Chinese restaurant in Dongtan, located about 35km south of Seoul, South Korea, calls out before serving a bowl of Korean-style zhajiangmian —black bean noodles. Diners repeat the phrase before tucking in. This political-themed restaurant, named Myeolgong Banjeom (滅共飯館, “anti-communism restaurant”), is operated by a single person and does not take reservations; therefore long queues form regularly outside, and most customers appear sympathetic to its political theme. Photos of conservative public figures hang on the walls, alongside political slogans and poems written in Chinese characters; South
RSS