tigertail (dir. alan yang) was beautiful and poignant in the way you come home after a long day and allow yourself to slowly unwind in the silence. the film soaks in the quiet, recognizes that there aren’t always words to say what you mean, and visually renders those moments to speak louder than the script. it’s not a perfect film, but it is a poignant one. stop on any frame, and you see a sketch of yourself and your family in the mirror. these are a few things that made the film so resonant:
- recognizing that the homeland is so bright and vibrant, yet so unbearable. our parents, grandparents all started somewhere—some version of that same concrete house and barely-paved dirt road.
- the monotony and loneliness of arriving somewhere new, unanchored. trying to put down roots in a place when you’re not sure it wants you.
- the sacrifices and choices we make so that someday we end up with a house on american soil. when does that stop being the dream? when did it stop for pin jui?
it’s pin jui sitting with a cup of tea in his dining room, alone in a big house. it’s angela with a half-eaten meal, wishing her father would say something. it’s the two of them together, framed side-by-side by a concrete block at the end.
this film was alan yang’s way of producing a careful study of his own father, vivid in color and pensive in thought. it makes you want to stop and study your parents too; think about where they came from and what they have to say too.