Tigertail captures the isolation and pain of a Taiwanese immigrant in America while touching a deep universal chordOn the trail of longing & nostalgia

Nonika Singh

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The beauty of Netflix is not just the binge-worthy, nail-biting thrillers it constantly brings to us. Rather its biggest strength is how it is slowly becoming a nucleus of stories which are as culture-specific as universal in appeal. One such beautiful and poignantly touching story is Tigertail, directed and written by Emmy Award-winner Alan Yang. Himself a Taiwanese American, he borrows heavily from his own lineage and his father’s life though does not replicate it in toto.

Certainly, love and loss is not exactly an earth-shattering theme. Yet as Tigertrail, currently streaming on Netflix, tackles the same subject while spanning generations and continents, it embraces you in a warm hug. So strong is the hold that however hard you may try, you can’t shirk off its grip. Revelling in the art of minimalism, this cinematic nugget does not remain just another individual story of a man choosing future aspirations over love. Touching a deep chord within, it could well be the story of a migrant anywhere in the world, who in their quest for greener pastures do not factor in other realities.

But of course, the film which unfolds bit by bit, expectedly in a non-linear fashion takes no moralistic position or preachy stance. Simply and beautifully told, the arc follows a young man Pin-Jui living in Taiwan, whose circumstances are anything but enviable. He finds happiness in love even if briefly, only to squander it all away for dream of better life in a foreign land via an arranged marriage.

On paper, the story doesn’t come riding with too many twists and turns. Yet as it is fleshed out in warm and tender hues, few things escape your attention. Slowly, you see the man with a twinkle in his eye (Hong-Chi Lee as the younger Pin-Jui is charmingly effusive) transform into a pale and sad imitation of his real self (wonderfully restrained Tzi Ma), who finds it enormously difficult to even relate to his daughter Angela (Christine Ko). If his love story is packed with relatable emotions that many of us are too familiar with, the separation and the ensuing nostalgia tugs at your heart-strings with greater force.

Yet there is economy of expression and intent. Not a wee bit melodramatic, just a tear drop has the power to pierce right through your heart. The visual language is boxed just right, especially in the final scene where father and daughter are seen through the prism of window of his old house; finally connected through their common roots. The final scene is as visually rich as emotive in its appeal.

Even otherwise, the film is beautifully framed. If the lush rice fields fill your senses, equally evocative are the interiors mirroring Pin-Jui’s isolation and loneliness in no uncertain terms. His stilted relationship with his daughter, who too is struggling in her personal space, weaves yet another thread.

Interestingly, the title Tigertail has no exotic connotations yet is emblematic of longing for a homecoming. The name of the province Huwei translated into English as Tigertail is writ on the signboard of the path that would take young Pin-Jui home each day. And the road could well be called nostalgia. As so many of us walk different paths in pursuit of our dreams, American or otherwise, we often quite forget that when we open the door of opportunity, we could unwittingly be shutting one on happiness. It is this thought and many more about inter-cultural differences as well as integration that we are left pondering upon. And heartfelt emotions remind us of the vacuum many of us create unknowingly yet at our own bidding.