Not every movie can remain earnest and heartwarming despite the protagonist strolling around his South Korean hometown in a T-shirt emblazoned with Taiwanese obscenities. It gets more absurd later when we find out he owns different colors of the same shirt, and even his Korean love interest wears one.
However, it’s a fitting juxtaposition in Jang-Gae: The Foreigner as the mixed-heritage Gwang-yong (Ho Yeh-wen, 賀業文) tries to be as Korean as he can, clashing with his parents about giving up his Taiwanese passport for a South Korean one. His strict father insists on speaking to him in Mandarin, constantly reminding him to remember their roots.
Ho delivers the nuances of the extremely introspective Gwang-yong’s personality well, perhaps because he also shares a similar background as a third-generation Chinese-Korean. The movie’s title, transliterated as “sauce dog,” is a derogatory term toward people of such backgrounds, referring to a time when Chinese immigrants in Korea were restricted to working in restaurants that sold black bean sauce noodles. It is Gwang-yong’s least favorite Chinese food: you just can’t cover up the smell, he says not-so-subtly.
Photo courtesy of Joint Entertainment
This identity is often confusing, even to Chinese-Koreans like the Lee family, who do not have roots in Taiwan. His father was born in South Korea to Chinese immigrants fleeing the Chinese Civil War, but over half a century later they’re still seen strictly as “foreigners” and don’t have Korean citizenship. Since they emigrated when the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) still ruled China, they ended up with Taiwanese documents after the party retreated to Taipei.
Like many overseas Chinese during those days, Gwang-yong’s father attended university in Taiwan. But since he doesn’t have household registration in Taiwan, he couldn’t enjoy full rights despite his citizenship, making this marginalized group feel stateless. Until 2015, they even had to obtain visas to visit Taiwan, and the movie briefly shows footage of “passport equality” protests in front of the Taipei Mission in Korea.
Gwang-yong’s father grew up in a time when Chinese in South Korea were denied citizenship, restricted from property rights and barred from attending Korean schools. Things have changed for Gwang-yong’s generation, but he still suffers from discrimination and is denied significant opporturnities solely due to his status.
Photo courtesy of Joint Entertainment
“They look Chinese but they’re not Chinese, they have Taiwanese passports but they’re not Taiwanese, they were born in South Korea but they’re not Korean,” Director Chang Chih-wei (張智瑋) told the press after the film premiered at last year’s Tokyo International Film Festival.
This quandary is not explicitly explained in the film, but the never-ending challenges that Gwang-yong faces are enough to pique the viewer’s interest in the oft-forgotten issue. After all, not even all people in the situation are aware of it — not even Gwang-yong, who can’t explain to a classmate why he has Taiwanese citizenship.
Despite this background, the plot is actually quite typical for this sort of coming-of-age film, with too many cliched narrative devices designed for emotional appeal. Perhaps that’s what Gwang-yong would want, however, as a regular teen just longing to fit in.
Photo courtesy of Joint Entertainment
But even the cheesier scenes are made somewhat intriguing with Gwang-yong’s identity constantly looming. For example, after one of those “let’s let loose at the amusement center” scenes that inevitably ends up in a karaoke box, his love interest insists that he sings a Mandarin song. He’s surprisingly good despite his usual reluctance to speak the language.
Gwang-yong’s character development is also strong enough to keep the interest of those who want more than just a teen romcom. Director Chang’s experiences as a half Taiwanese, half Korean who grew up in South Africa definitely contributes to the intricacies of such a character.
Chang explained the T-shirt’s significance during the movie’s premiere last year in Tokyo, noting that besides a swear word, gan (幹) also means “just do it” and “tree trunk.”
Through prominently displaying the offending character throughout the movie, Chang wants to draw the audiences attention to the intense conflict and internal discord felt by young Chinese-Koreans like Gwang-yong.
The terms “Hell Joseon” and “Ghost Island Taiwan” are also brought up in the film, used by cynical youth unhappy with their respective countries. Gwang-yong is aware of both terms, but that still doesn’t help him feel accepted in either place.
That US assistance was a model for Taiwan’s spectacular development success was early recognized by policymakers and analysts. In a report to the US Congress for the fiscal year 1962, former President John F. Kennedy noted Taiwan’s “rapid economic growth,” was “producing a substantial net gain in living.” Kennedy had a stake in Taiwan’s achievements and the US’ official development assistance (ODA) in general: In September 1961, his entreaty to make the 1960s a “decade of development,” and an accompanying proposal for dedicated legislation to this end, had been formalized by congressional passage of the Foreign Assistance Act. Two
Despite the intense sunshine, we were hardly breaking a sweat as we cruised along the flat, dedicated bike lane, well protected from the heat by a canopy of trees. The electric assist on the bikes likely made a difference, too. Far removed from the bustle and noise of the Taichung traffic, we admired the serene rural scenery, making our way over rivers, alongside rice paddies and through pear orchards. Our route for the day covered two bike paths that connect in Fengyuan District (豐原) and are best done together. The Hou-Feng Bike Path (后豐鐵馬道) runs southward from Houli District (后里) while the
March 31 to April 6 On May 13, 1950, National Taiwan University Hospital otolaryngologist Su You-peng (蘇友鵬) was summoned to the director’s office. He thought someone had complained about him practicing the violin at night, but when he entered the room, he knew something was terribly wrong. He saw several burly men who appeared to be government secret agents, and three other resident doctors: internist Hsu Chiang (許強), dermatologist Hu Pao-chen (胡寶珍) and ophthalmologist Hu Hsin-lin (胡鑫麟). They were handcuffed, herded onto two jeeps and taken to the Secrecy Bureau (保密局) for questioning. Su was still in his doctor’s robes at
Mirror mirror on the wall, what’s the fairest Disney live-action remake of them all? Wait, mirror. Hold on a second. Maybe choosing from the likes of Alice in Wonderland (2010), Mulan (2020) and The Lion King (2019) isn’t such a good idea. Mirror, on second thought, what’s on Netflix? Even the most devoted fans would have to acknowledge that these have not been the most illustrious illustrations of Disney magic. At their best (Pete’s Dragon? Cinderella?) they breathe life into old classics that could use a little updating. At their worst, well, blue Will Smith. Given the rapacious rate of remakes in modern