Review by Jessica Carr
I've always loved reading stories and getting lost in books when I was younger, and I found myself most captivated by real-life stories and experiences. It's a big part of why I decided to be a journalist: I wanted to elevate the stories of others. In my career as a feature writer, I've written profiles on people from all different walks of life. But how can you tell the story of the person who is closest to you? How can you tell their story when they have a hard time sharing it with you? Writer, producer and director Alan Yang also grapples with these questions in his first feature film Tigertail. The film is largely based on Yang's father, a Taiwanese immigrant, as he makes the decision to move to New York. The film asks the question: “Whose job is it to tell the story of immigrants?”
Opening in 1950s Taiwan, the film introduces us to Pin-Jui. The young boy lives with his grandparents out in the countryside while his mother is away looking for a job. Although his father is dead and his mother isn’t around, sometimes he imagines seeing them in the rice fields. He misses his parents so much that it brings him to tears. His grandmother warns him to stay strong: crying is for the weak. Later, the film jumps to the present day where Pin-Jui is a middle-aged divorced man who rarely speaks and almost never smiles. He sees his daughter on occasion but struggles to make conversation with her when he does. The audience is given an immediate contrast between who Pin-Jui was in the past and who he is in the present. The film operates on this level for pretty much the entire duration. We see scenes from Pin-Jui’s early childhood leading up to him in the present day. Yang reimagines his parents’ lives and how they became the people who raised him. It had to be a hard task for Yang, especially if his father in real life is like the lead in Tigertail. It is clear that he is trying to connect the pieces to form a full picture of who his dad really is.
Once Pin-Jui makes the decision to leave Taiwan, things start to get bleak. There are no establishing shots of New York City. The camera work is very straightforward and to the point. There is nothing romantic about life in America. This is an abrupt change from the Wong Kar-Wai-inspired flashbacks that take place before Pin-Jui moves to America. In Taiwan, each scene is painted with warm colors and red lighting. The establishing shots of Pin-Jui’s real home are beautiful. The camera lingers on the rice fields as the wind rustles through. It’s a real sensory experience for the viewer. And although Pin-Jui and his mom are tirelessly working in a factory together day in and day out...they seem to be happy. He fills his time either working at the factory or sharing kisses with his girlfriend Yuan. Still, it isn’t enough for him. He wants to pursue the American dream. He makes the decision to move to New York and that’s when he starts to lose sight of who he really is.
I know that several critiques of the film say the abrupt change in Pin-Jui’s character after moving to America is a side effect of weak writing, but I think the change is done with purpose. Imagine leaving everything you’ve ever known behind and coming to a place where nobody speaks your language. Imagine spending all of your waking hours working at a convenience store and coming home to a wife that didn’t want to marry you in the first place. There isn’t a clear-cut explanation of how Pin-Jui became the hardened man who can’t communicate his feelings to the ones who are closest to him. In Yang’s mind, maybe his father did feel like he made a mistake when he came to America – but he was raised to stay strong and to his family that means keeping everything buried inside including feelings of regret. Yang’s father won’t tell him how he feels, not because he doesn’t have feelings, but because he doesn’t think his son will understand.
Yang may never know how his father really feels, but as a storyteller, he can try to paint a picture. In an interview with The New Yorker, Yang opened up about his father’s lack of communication:
“A lot of white people’s parents are also their friends,” he said, laughing. “That’s not how mine would see it. They weren’t always the most forthcoming about their lives. And you realize—or, at least, I realized, as I got older—your parents are their own people. They have their own stories. They have regrets and passions that you don’t know about.”
So Yang did his best to pay tribute to the immigrant experience. The film not only shows the perspective of his father but also the perspective of his mother. In the film, Pin-Jui’s wife chooses to embrace America after she becomes friends with a Taiwanese woman at the laundromat. After that, things in New York start to become a little less lonely for her. The contrast between these two characters shows both sides of coming to America. As the daughter of an immigrant, I also understand the struggle to picture what your parent’s life was like outside of America. My mom left the Philippines when she was 13 and there are a lot of things that she doesn’t remember – but that didn’t stop me from asking her a million questions about what it was like when she grew up. Unlike Yang’s father, my mom is very forthcoming about her childhood. Her stories have inspired me to write poems and stories about her experience. To me, it’s the best way that I can get American audiences to understand Filipino culture and what it must have been like for her.
Overall, I think Tigertail successfully showcases the immigrant experience. Yang uses cinematic storytelling to communicate what life must have been like for his father. He creates a beautiful film that has inspired me to tell the story of my mother. Films like Tigertail can help audiences everywhere develop stronger empathy for other immigrants and understand their experiences, and I hope they also inspire immigrants to tell their own stories – or entrust those stories to someone close to them so they can share it with the world.