From an outsider’s perspective, things are quite grim for the Chen family. Set in perpetually-rainy rural Yilan County near the beach, this subdued drama revolves around youngest son A-liang (Tung Liang-yu, 董亮宇), who performs odd jobs and devotes himself to taking care of his mentally disabled elder brother A-ting (Chung Shang-ting, 鍾尚庭). He’s also a talented artist whose bedroom walls are plastered with his drawings.
Meanwhile, eldest son A-wei (Wu Wei-han, 吳威翰) engages in questionable activities and rarely comes home, and the stern, silent yet sensitive father A-ming (Chen Ming, 陳銘) tries his best to keep the family afloat while his wife is in the hospital.
The natural beauty of their surroundings is mostly littered with trash, and A-liang and A-ting spend their days playing baseball among the debris, catching fish in the dirty pond and scavenging junk washed up on the beach.
Photo courtesy of Golden Horse Film Festival
But somehow, their situation does not come off as pitiful nor sad. They may not seem to have much to look forward to, but they’re not exactly struggling either. Like his previous film Synapses (那個我最親愛的陌生人, reviewed on Nov. 28, 2019), which deals with dementia and memory loss, director Chang Tso-chi (張作驥) presents the story through extended vignettes of the family’s daily interactions. Flotsam and Jetsam (夏日天空的那匹紅馬) goes more into detail with their mundane activities and has even less of a clear plot, but what’s different is that it doesn’t dwell on hopelessness and despair. It’s even heart-warming at times.
Nothing dramatic happens to the family and the characters don’t express themselves very well, if at all, but it’s clear that they care deeply about each other. The father and two younger sons eat dinner together every day, and while the conversation mostly consists of things like “eat more vegetables, don’t just eat meat” and “don’t drink too much alcohol,” their bonds are evident. Even the wayward eldest son tries to provide for them and shows up when it’s time to visit the bedridden mother.
One of the more poignant scenes is when A-zhen (Fox Lee, 李亞臻), a young woman who barges into their lives, attends A-ting’s birthday party and expresses her envy for what the family has. And the brief conversation with A-liang that ensues is one of the very few moments where he talks about how he really feels. A-ting gets drunk that night and poops his pants, and while A-liang scolds him and grumbles, he still cleans up after his brother and they head out together again the following day, with A-ting clutching onto the back of A-liang’s shirt.
Photo courtesy of Golden Horse Film Festival
A-zhen’s side-story of longing and searching provides some drama and distraction from the monotony of the all-male household, and her animated, gangster-ish ex-boyfriend (Huang Huai-te, 黃懷德), who raps at a local night market, provides absurdist comedic relief. Chang could have expanded more on A-zhen’s background, as there are several scenes that are confusing and unclear. It would also give a bit more color (literally, as she wears bright clothes compared to the others) to the story.
While many Taiwanese films of this genre focus on family conflict and dysfunction, there’s little bitterness or complaints (although a lot of nagging) in Flotsam and Jetsam. The central motif in the film, as the Chinese title indicates, is a giant inflatable red horse, and it seems to represent the bit of hope that the characters manage to hold on to, no matter how hard things get.
It’s not the easiest film to watch as one constantly wonders if the plot is going anywhere, and many of the subtle details only sink in afterward. But it’s beautifully shot (even the garbage-filled scenes are somehow poetic) and edited, with a fitting emotional soundtrack that amplifies the mood.
Photo courtesy of Golden Horse Film Festival
Most heroes are remembered for the battles they fought. Taiwan’s Black Bat Squadron is remembered for flying into Chinese airspace 838 times between 1953 and 1967, and for the 148 men whose sacrifice bought the intelligence that kept Taiwan secure. Two-thirds of the squadron died carrying out missions most people wouldn’t learn about for another 40 years. The squadron lost 15 aircraft and 148 crew members over those 14 years, making it the deadliest unit in Taiwan’s military history by casualty rate. They flew at night, often at low altitudes, straight into some of the most heavily defended airspace in Asia.
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Like much in the world today, theater has experienced major disruptions over the six years since COVID-19. The pandemic, the war in Ukraine and social media have created a new normal of geopolitical and information uncertainty, and the performing arts are not immune to these effects. “Ten years ago people wanted to come to the theater to engage with important issues, but now the Internet allows them to engage with those issues powerfully and immediately,” said Faith Tan, programming director of the Esplanade in Singapore, speaking last week in Japan. “One reaction to unpredictability has been a renewed emphasis on
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