Rarely do elements in any society carry as much absurdity and potency as its superstitions. This Taiwanese drama introduces us to I-Jing, a sweet five-year-old who has just moved back to Taipei with her mother and older sister. She gets direct personal experience when her grandfather warns her for using her left hand for everything – it’s not natural, he insists; it’s evil, he claims.
As I-Jing examines her hand with worry, a new connection forms between her and her so-called devil hand while she adjusts to city life. Shot entirely with iPhones, first-time director and screenwriter Shih-Ching Tsou, together with frequent collaborator Sean Baker, captures the dynamic vibe and sensory immersion of Taipei. Bright red Chinese characters cover the glass windows of a pawn shop; the cheerful tune of trash-collecting trucks fills the air; the fluid exchange of Mandarin and Taiwanese between generations; verdant foliage against aged structures that nearly evoke the scent the specific essence of a vibrant, humid city. It’s not so much a love letter from a fan as it is a dedication to a place known by heart. Tsou combines the kaleidoscopic fragments of the city with the complexities of imperfect people – poignantly showing what it means to be a family in Taiwan, and presenting a triumph of a film.
Family Relationships and Personal Struggles
The story, Taiwan’s entry for best international feature film at the Oscars, begins with I-Jing, her older sister, and her mom in a period of reconstruction. Pensive mom Shu-Fen has established a night market noodles stand, and the volatile I-Ann has left high school and works at a betel nut stall, where she’s in a relationship with her boss. I-Jing, played by the utterly delightful Nina Ye, starts a new school and, with the wonder only a child can have, tests out the potential of this newly labeled devil hand.
As she begins stealing trinkets at the night market with the cursed limb, separating a good hand that does what’s expected and the other that pursues what the heart desires, Tsou gracefully reflects each character’s own dualities. Here, the film portrays the complexities between what a person feels duty-bound to and what she genuinely desires: Shu-Fen can’t free herself from her former husband’s debts; I-Ann feels reduced to the role her mom wants her to play as she watches her peers move forward; I-Jing is told to be present but silent.
Visual Storytelling and Emotional Resonance
Tsou, along with Baker as editor and Ko-Chin Chen and Tzu-Hao Kao as cinematographers, skillfully places us onto each family member’s individual worlds, with many shots capturing the frisky and delightful rhythms of daily Taipei life. We’re eye-level with I-Jing as she makes her first theft, the adrenaline rushing with a camera shaky and beat abrupt. The camera pans overhead as I-Ann rides her scooter at night, city lights glistening in the heat, bringing an expansive feeling of freedom with a pain that’s hers alone to feel.
A feeling of responsibility is expertly integrated into each dilemma, as well as the isolation that comes with it – it’s at once intimate and heartbreaking to see how duty is often a solitary experience. We see it when I-Jing tries in sincerity to draw with her right hand, when I-Ann rests in bed after being mocked at an ex-classmate’s motel party. Meanwhile, Shu-Fen struggles to make rent, her own mom irritated she needs help yet again. “A married daughter’s like water that’s poured out,” says the grandma; a son would have still been her responsibility.
Moments of Light and Character Portrayals
There are also moments of levity and fun, especially with the grandma’s bouts of anger, time with a meerkat that becomes I-Jing’s pet, and I-Jing’s general joy with the world. Ye, who is a left-hander in real life, expertly balances of an young girl absorbing the economic pressures and unfamiliar forces – Shu-Fen’s ex, the grandma’s hijinks, I-Ann and Shu-Fen’s arguments – that surround her. Ma’s I-Ann, too, is a thoughtful portrait of an sharp teenager dealing with grief, making it feel like an undeniable but unaffordable emotion in an environment where everyone’s just trying to survive.
Final Acts and Themes
By the dramatic second-to-last dinner scene, the clan has developed big secrets that lead to the ultimate Taiwanese diu lian (losing of face): getting humiliated in front of an audience. And the revelations are good – by that point, it’s like uncovering a shocking, painful secret about a close companion. Tsou and Baker’s script sharply examines what it really means to lose face: which shames are honorable, which are self-serving, and what should be passed from one generation to the next?
Some of these bombs are left unresolved after the big showdown, and Left-Handed Girl may leave you wanting more – but perhaps also understanding that airing everything doesn’t mean closure or a tidy adage immediately follows, or that there will be a sinister influence to blame. Instead, perhaps the city just wakes up to another day, and, a little lighter (having lost a little face), so do you.
- Availability: Left-Handed Girl is released in certain theaters on November 14 and on streaming platforms from 28 November.
