“There are many things I never told you”

Representation matters. It isn’t enough to just work with undervalued groups, and there has been a seismic shift away from the realm in which people of colour weren’t afforded the opportunity to play the roles they deserved. Visibility is not only about focusing on diversity in your film, but also giving a platform for those who previously weren’t given the chance to tell their stories. Asian stories have gradually begun to find a home in American cinema, where the archetypes that had previously been asserted on these stories as being indicative of only a particular niche faction of society mercifully starting to wane, which is all the result of the decision to give a voice to those who truly needed it. One of the most recent exemplifications of this is Tigertail, the astounding debut directorial effort from Alan Yang, who immediately asserts himself not only as a great writer peddling meaningful work in television shows that aren’t embraced as they should be but also as a burgeoning voice in contemporary cinema. A young, idealistic filmmaker whose work as a writer has always reflected a keen sense of understanding the human condition, his first directorial effort is only a consolidation of this very clear fact and further proof that some of the greatest achievements are sitting just out of sight, waiting to overwhelm the viewer with their brutal honesty and incredible sincerity, which is the precise reason why there’s no hesitation in proclaiming Tigertail as one of the year’s most magnificent films.

Set in Taiwan over three distinct eras – the 1960s, during the socio-political tensions that afflicted the region, the 1980s during an era of enormous globalisation and the present day. Over the course of these three decades, we follow the story of Pin-Jui, who transitions from a life of extreme poverty, whether spending his childhood days in the fields that his grandparents toil on, or in the overcrowded factories where he barely makes a living, to one of extraordinary potential, as the inevitable migration to the United States will hopefully give him the opportunity to satiate his desire to achieve the American Dream. Now in his retirement years, Pin-Jui (Tzi Ma) finds himself reflecting on the past, having returned from a brief visit to Taiwan for the funeral of his mother. Caught between two worlds, he ruminates on his past experiences, and how each moment was pivotal in forming him into the individual he is today. In particular, he thinks of Yuan, a girl who he met as a child – as the years progressed, so did their relationship, going from naive childish friendship to passionate adoration. However, Pin-Jui is put in the compromising position when he is convinced into venturing off to America, with a wife he did not have any emotional connection to, in search of a better life. Decades later, he’s achieved that life – yet the indelible nature of the past continues to haunt him, bringing him back to his younger years as he realizes the true gravity of the challenges he had to face, and the consequences that came with doing what was expected of him, rather than trusting his instincts and pursuing them on the way to a happier, more fulfilling life.

Tigertail is a fascinating film for several reasons, all of which converge in how Yang approached the material. The film is quite an anomaly in how it covers the life of an individual over half a century, but yet feels remarkably intimate and earnest, being a small-scale social epic that flourishes on its ability to take a more internal, honest approach to a set of conventions that many more experienced directors have faltered with over the years. The director, in telling a story that clearly resonates with him in numerous ways, creates a poignant tapestry of a film, a daring character study that ventures into many different intersecting themes, all of which form the basis for many different works that consider deeply human stories such as this. Yang’s debut is nothing short of impressive – his ability to weave together a powerful film about one man’s journey from his years of childish ignorance to elderly regret, is nothing short of an astounding achievement, buttressed by the many narrative and creative choices made on the part of the director, which suggest a deeply personal connection to the material, and a profound interest in creating a film that doesn’t only tell a gorgeous story, but does so in a way that feels both authentic and extraordinarily vibrant in its unflinching humanity, a melancholic journey into humanity through the eyes of one individual, who guides us through this achingly beautiful ode to the endless resilience of those who find a way to make it through even the most challenging of circumstances. As demonstrated throughout Tigertail, many of these obstacles are more tangible, but it’s those that are of the soul rather than the flesh that often serve to be the most unbelievably difficult to overcome, but are still surmountable, even if it takes time and a great deal of inward introspection to realize it and come to terms with reality.

The baseline of Tigertail is set within the theme of memory – framed almost entirely as a series of quiet recollections on the part of the protagonist, the events depicted show Pin-Jui venturing into his past by revisiting memories, both those that he holds very dear to him and those that are a bit more painful. It’s an approach that isn’t revolutionary but is still quite effective in the context of the film, for two reasons. Firstly, Yang is looking to put together a decade-spanning story of a man’s journey between two entirely different cultures, and thus a non-linear storyline taking the form of flashbacks help convey an interesting juxtaposition between the worlds he’s investigating. Secondly, the film is structurally formulated as a series of moments, vignettes spanning the life of the main character that come together to form a coherent tapestry of his (meta)physical journeys over the years. The idea of fragments of the past being used as a narrative tool is something that has persisted throughout all of literature, being a means to convey meaningful messages to the importance of considering the past as a series of formative moments. Yang utilizes the device remarkably well – he seamlessly navigates the three different periods, presenting moments from them without the intrinsic convolution that normally finds its way into this approach. Each scene from the past is presented as a vivid memory, ending with a moment of startling clarity on the part of the current iteration of the main character, who finds himself encountering these memories at various inopportune moments, but never rejecting them, as difficult as they may be. The years of repressing the past and avoiding neglect are no longer feasible for Pin-Jui, who has to take the difficult step to work through his existential quandaries and coming to terms with the internal truths that he’s been evading for decades.

In bringing the character of Pin-Jui from the screen to the page, Yang chooses to give the role to Tzi Ma to realize, a daring but utterly brilliant decision. Tigertail contains a type of revelatory moment that only occurs once every few years, namely where a hardworking character actor emerges from the shadows and claims a place in the cultural consciousness, where there isn’t anything other than his incredible performance to draw the audience’s attention. Ma’s performance as Pin-Jui in this film is exactly what happens when someone takes a risk in giving a bigger role to an actor who was most certainly capable of it but was never afforded the opportunity, always being relegated to scene-stealing supporting parts at best, thankless background characters at worst. Ma, who has been a respected member of the acting community for decades, gets the chance to demonstrate his immense talents in the role, and he turns in one of the year’s most incredible performances, playing a man who is working through his memories of the past as a way of finding insights into the uncertain future that he is dauntingly faced with. The actor’s work here is mostly internal for the first two acts, with a few moments of quiet sincerity populating a film that is otherwise preoccupied with looking into the past – and even in these more catatonic moments, Ma brings an incredible gravitas that is rarely glimpsed from more traditionally-magnetic stars. Tigertail is the result of decades of experience, where Ma has found his way into every crevice of the industry, and only now receives the role that elevates him from the depths of only minor recognition to enormous acclaim, all through the magnanimity of Yang, who gives the veteran actor a truly undeniable role that allows him to do more than ever in his career.

Tigertail beautifully touches on the theme of identity throughout, particularly in how it explores the main character’s growing disillusionment with the world around him. which he eventually realizes is not the result of being unable to make sense of society and its various idiosyncrasies, but rather his own mentality, where his ability to feel at home anywhere contributes to a feeling of immense isolation. Yang explores this theme, intercutting it with the fascinating approach to memory, showing us the plight of Pin-Jui as he traverses continents, and still struggles to find the sense of belonging he has always been promised. One of the film’s main motivations is looking at the common factor of the American Dream and how it is far more complex than the idealistic beliefs of the myriad of people who surrendered themselves to the idea would convey. The consequences of pursuing a dream underpin the film and inform much of what the director is intent on exploring. The protagonist has always been an outsider, regardless of where he found himself – the concept of “the other” pervades Tigertail and propels it forward, particularly in looking at Pin-Jui’s constant struggle with finding the contentment that everyone else around him seems to have achieved, which is not an uncommon theme. Where this film deviates is in how it doesn’t present us with this story as if Pin-Jui requires any sympathy as the only individual to experience this – by the end of the film, after having seen many different characters intersecting with the protagonist, the ultimate conclusion is that no one truly belongs. We’re all outsiders in a perilous world, and accepting the conclusion that we’re going to struggle to fit in until we can adopt the right mindset and find the silver lining in the uncertainty that all of us experience, especially went facing the daunting prospects of the future.

Finally, putting all of these elements together, Yang creates one of the most profoundly moving explorations of the immigrant experience produced in the last few years. In particular, the idea of homecoming persists throughout Tigertail, which is a theme that is often present in this kind of film, but hardly ever explored in as much detail as it is here. The United States is not viewed as the flawless land of opportunity that it is perceived to be, in the same way, Taiwan isn’t shown to be a sacrosanct sanctuary of the past. Both are filled with imperfections, and much of the film focuses on Pin-Jui trying to make sense of his surroundings, as a way of finding a place to call home. Therefore, a large portion of what makes Tigertail such a success is how it gradually forms a powerful story of both physical and mental homecoming, whereby we look back to our origins, while still sowing the seeds of the future, creating global citizenship that is both wonderful and daunting, especially for someone like the main character, who is just searching for a sense of belonging. The film is a paced, quiet affair that takes it time in establishing a clear direction, a deliberate choice in favour of the eventual unravelling of the immense poignancy that consistently flows throughout the story. The memory of one’s origins intersects with the film’s fascinating use of language, which is rightfully shown here as not only a means of communication but also as a tool of self-realization. There are three different languages spoken throughout Tigertail, each one not only representing the specific cultural context, but also the main character’s relationship with that particular situation, each one harbouring different meanings – English is the language of opportunity and freedom, Mandarin the language of politics and history, and Taiwanese the language of home, and throughout the film, Pin-Jui negotiates his identity through the use of language, finding insights into his own life through his shifting cultural perceptions, which all situate him in a fragile state, where his sense of identity is lost as a result of never being able to truly find his home.

Tigertail is undeniably one of the year’s most exceptional achievements. It’s an unflinchingly personal film and one that finds the director keeping everything at the fundamentally human level, giving Tigertail the intimacy that the story deserves, creating an immersive and poetically resonant atmosphere, one that reverberates with a sincerity that is rarely found. Yang has put together a truly compelling story of identity and the role of the individual in a world that simply doesn’t seem to make any sense to those who found themselves caught between cultures. Looking at alienation and the challenges many face in their attempts to assimilate into society when everything leads them to become more distant. The director composes a gorgeous tale of individuality and the resilience that is entirely necessary to propel ourselves forward and find the hidden beauty in even the most harrowing of situations, which often form the basis for the most formative moments in our lives, and become pivotal memories that we continuously draw upon. Tigertail conceives the idea that we are all ultimately fragments of our individual pasts, thrown together into vulnerable, insecure entities that attempt to navigate whichever portion of society we’ve found our way into – what matters is how we work through this uncertainty to find the joy that each one of us is seeking, but rarely find without adopting the right mentality and accepting that we’re all unique, just like everyone else. Elegant, heartfelt and ultimately resonating with the brilliance of a young director already in firm command of his craft, Tigertail is a poignant masterpiece, and one of the most incredible debut feature films in recent memory.