Left-Handed Girl Review – This stunning Taiwanese family drama is a true marvel | Sean Baker

TThere are few things in a culture as absurd and powerful as its superstitions. Left-Handed Girl Ai-Jing, a beautiful five-year-old girl who has just returned to Taipei with her mother and older sister, gets a literal first-hand experience when her grandfather advises her to use her left hand for everything – it’s not normal; He says: It’s the devil at work.

As Ai Jing stares at her limbs in horror, a new relationship begins between her and her demon hand as she navigates city life. Shot entirely on iPhones, solo director and co-writer Shih Ching Tzu (the other co-writer is Tso’s frequent collaborator, Anora’s Sean Baker) evokes the frenetic energy and sensual experience of Taipei. There are bright red Chinese characters lining the glass windows of the pawn shop; The gentle melody of garbage trucks; Easy intergenerational Mandarin and Taiwanese ping pong game; Lush trees versus dirty buildings that can make you smell the specific essence of a crowded and humid city. It’s less a love letter from a fan than a dedication to a place he knows by heart. Combining the kaleidoscopic shards of the city with the fragments of imperfect people – Tsou poignantly and tenderly shows what it means to be a family in Taiwan, and scores a triumph for the film.

The drama, which Taiwan submitted for Best International Feature Film at the Academy Awards, begins with Ai Jing, her older sister, and her mother rebuilding. Pensive mother Shu Fen (Janelle Tsai) sets up a noodle stall at the night market, and volatile Ai An (Xie Yuan Ma) has dropped out of high school and works at a betel nut stall, where she sleeps with her boss. I-Jing, played by the extremely charming Nina Ye, starts a new school and, with the wonder that only a child can have, tests the potential of this newly anointed demonic hand.

As she begins placing trinkets at the night market with the cursed end, separating the good hand that does what is expected of it and the other that entertains what the heart desires, Tso gracefully reflects the dualities of each character. Here, the film illustrates the complexities between what a person feels obligated to do and what they really want: Shu-fen cannot get rid of her ex-husband’s debts; I-Ann feels relegated to the role her mother wants her to play as she watches her peers move forward; The I-Jing is asked to be seen and not heard.

Tso, along with Baker as editor and Kuo-Chin-Chen and Tzu Hao-Kau as cinematographers, skillfully bring us into the separate planets of each family member, with many shots capturing the playful, joyful rhythms of daily life in Taipei. We’re at eye level with I-Jing as she pulls off her first heist, adrenaline rushing through the camera, shaky and choppy. The camera pans overhead as I-Ann rides her scooter at night, the city lights twinkling in the heat, bringing a vast sense of freedom with the pain she feels alone.

A sense of duty is masterfully woven into each mystery, as well as the loneliness that comes with it – it is both heartwarming and heartbreaking to see how duty can often be a solitary experience. We see this when I-Jing tries hard to draw with her right hand, when I-Ann lies in bed after being snubbed at a former classmate’s hotel party. Meanwhile, Xu Fen scrambles to pay the rent, and her mother is upset that she needs help again. “A married daughter is like water that is poured,” says the grandmother (played by Shen Yan Zhao). The son was still her responsibility.

There are also moments of lightheartedness and hilarity, especially with flashes of Grandma’s exasperation, time with the meerkat that becomes I-Jing’s pet, and I-Jing’s general delight in the world (conveyed with a verve reminiscent of Tsou and Baker’s previous film The Florida Project). Ye (who is left-handed in real life) perfectly walks the tightrope of an innocent child absorbing the financial realities and unknown entities — Shu-Fen’s ex, Grandma’s shenanigans, I-Ann and Shu-Fen’s bickering — that surround her. Ma’s I-Ann is also a thoughtful portrait of a poignant teenager dealing with grief, making it feel like an undeniable but unbearable emotion in an environment where everyone is trying to survive.

Through the TV series-like penultimate dinner scene, the clan has nurtured big secrets leading to the final Taiwanese. Dio lian (Losing Face): Being humiliated in front of the public (specifically your extended family, which is the scariest way to go down). And discoveries are good – at this point, it’s like discovering an exciting, painful secret about a dear friend. Tso and Baker’s text carefully examines what it really means to lose face: which kinds of shame are noble, which are tolerable, and which should be passed down from generation to generation?

Some of these bombs are left unexploited after the big showdown, and the left-handed girl may leave you unsatisfied – but perhaps also realizing that blowing it all up doesn’t mean shutting down or following a tidy adage right away, or that there will be a demonic hand to blame. Instead, perhaps the city will wake up to another day, a little lighter (having lost a little of its face), and so will you.