As the first frames of the film hit your eyes and brain, the start of drama “Mongrel” could very briefly bring to mind the famous opening shot of another movie. Although their respective aspect ratios differ, the first shot of “Mongrel” is composed oddly similarly to Scarlett Johansson lying pantless on a bed in Sofia Coppola’s “Lost in Translation;” filmed from behind, her back to the camera and the actor’s body cut off above her waist.
The visual allusion could be read as “Mongrel” writer-director Chiang Wei Liang — making his feature debut — triggering a specific, popular cinematic memory in order to immediately subvert the associations that compositional nod will have provoked; establishing a harsh contrast with his own film’s content and tone. When you think of Sofia Coppola as a filmmaker and stylist, a certain sense of glamor is one trait that quickly comes to mind. But as your eyes adjust to the darkly-lit room where someone is similarly lying atop a bed, their back facing the camera, the framing emphasizing their midsection and butt, the opening shot of “Mongrel” actually turns out to be the complete opposite of glamour.
The bottomless subject at the center of the frame is a man whose bare behind is slathered in so much excrement as to almost resemble brown underwear. Eventually, in this sustained long take lasting several minutes, someone’s arm enters the frame, proceeding to slowly and gently wash him clean. This will be a film told with considerable patience, about patients and how those who care for them end up performing such a vital role.
Many of the central characters in “Mongrel” are migrant workers in rural Taiwan, who’ve journeyed from Southeast countries and taken intermittent, technically illegal caregiving work in mountain communities because it’s all they can get. They are not actually trained professionals and only speak select phrases of the language of those for whom they provide services. In navigating their circumstances, they are frequently — wait for it — lost in translation.
This is a long preamble to discuss the significance of one shot of a bed bath, but the compositions, editing rhythms and pacing of “Mongrel” fully encourage absorbing and analyzing as much detail as possible from sometimes very little onscreen movement. In that sense, it seems all too fitting that Taiwanese New Wave vanguard Hou Hsiao-hsien and Liao Ching-sung (Hou’s regular editor) were reportedly on board this film as executive producers since its inception.
At a camp in the mountains of Taiwan, Thai migrant Oom (Wanlop Rungkumjad, “Manta Ray”) is one of several undocumented workers whose livelihood depends on the shady dealings of “Boss” Hsing (Hong Yu-hong), who hasn’t distributed pay for two months and plays favorites with who gets work at all. As Hsing has all their IDs as collateral from when they first crossed paths with him, options to simply start anew elsewhere are severely limited. “If something goes wrong,” he says, “always call Boss first.” That’s not simply because Hsing has a better grasp of the local language, but so that he can cover his ass before real medical professionals or even police show up.
Oom has no formal training for the field of caregiving but is good at caring for the elderly and disabled. He has a bond with younger patient Hui, the man from the opening sequence. Hui is played by Kuo Shu-wei, an acting newcomer who lives with athetoid cerebral palsy himself. When one member of the camp, Indri, abruptly falls ill, Oom is picked to cover her caregiving shifts in this area that has limited access to healthcare.
While his friend Mhai (Atchara Suwan, “By the Time it Gets Dark”) continues to protest their exploitation, Oom is suckered by Hsing into taking on additional odd jobs (including the smuggling of more workers), rewarded with perks like new wireless headphones. But the stresses of barely getting by are placing more and more pressure on the young man, with the emotional toll compounded by the fallout of Indri’s illness and a grave proposal from Hui’s mother, Mei (Lu Yi-ching, frequent collaborator of Tsai Ming-liang).
A Taiwan-based Singaporean filmmaker, Chiang has made a number of shorts exploring migration of Southeast Asians, such as the VR piece “Only the Mountain Remains” (2018). His feature debut continues to probe the difficulties of anchoring oneself in modern Asia, while also being informed by some of his own personal experiences working as a caregiver in Taiwan.
The subject of palliative care proves an especially potent dramatic device to pair with the uncertainties and struggles of trying to establish roots somewhere. By its very nature, palliative care cannot outright cure a serious illness, only providing relief from pain or certain symptoms. The goal is to improve quality of life for both patients and their families, but so often the respite provided will be all too brief. Who ends up caring for the caregiver, whose days consist of tasks where the only constant is that their actions will have just temporary effects?
Rooting his drama in the specifics of rural Taiwan and the Southeast Asian diaspora that make their way there, Chiang’s tough but affecting film taps into tragically universal notions of feeling invisible or ineffectual in one’s day-to-day survival. These concepts are most certainly not lost in translation.
Grade: B
“Mongrel” premiered at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival. It is currently seeking U.S. distribution.
