“This project reflects my desire for more creative freedom”
During the 75th Berlin International Film Festival I had a chance to talk with Taiwanese visual artist and filmmaker Su Hui-Yu (蘇匯宇) whose latest film The Trio Hall (三廳電影) premiered in the Forum section of the festival.
I have been following Su Hui-Yu’s work for a while before we first met in Taipei in November 2022. Su was pitching his medium-length film Future Shock – The End of Eternity (未來的衝擊—永恆的消逝) at the Taipei Golden Horse Film Project Promotion. Originally starting out as a visual artist working for galleries, in the last five years Su Hui-Yu gradually gravitates more and more towards film festivals but does not allow for the film world to own him. Instead, what always mesmerized me in his work is the ability to defy limitations and expectations that the market – either art or film – imposes on a creative work to try to turn it into a product with a set commercial value.
In The Trio Hall, Su Hui-yu turns his 2023 performance at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) in Taipei into a feature film inspired by the history of Taiwanese cinema and television of the 1970s and the 1980s. The Trio Hall has a form of television stream featuring re-shoots of romance films written and directed by a hugely popular Taiwanese novelist Chiung Yao, aerobic television shows, beauty pageants, and variety shows that include gender-bending satires of the 20th century leaders and dictators. When I saw The Trio Hall I immediately thought that it is a film that can very well represent contemporary Taiwan cinema because it conveys the exact feeling I got while living in Taipei in 2020. Moreover, it is also connected to the history of Taiwan’s audiovisual media through stylisation on the 1970s and 1980s popular cinema and TV programs. Finally, through the use of grotesque and satire, Su comments on the international political situation nowadays by highlighting clashes of ideologies and perspectives.
Su Hui-Yu and I met in a cafe near Zoo Palast on the last day of the festival to talk about the unique mode of filmmaking the artist used while working on Trio Hall, his thoughts on history as well as the state of contemporary politics, and the audience feedback at the Berlinale.
Maja: I found the film to accurately grasp the feeling I got while living in Taiwan, the heated public debates, the fluidity of gender, clashing ideologies, and the power of visual language. I kept thinking if it makes Trio Cinema Hall a hermetic film which is difficult to understand by international audiences. Therefore, I am very interested in how the film has been received at the Berlinale.
Su: Yes, I find it quite interesting that during the Q&A sessions, most of the audience members who asked questions seemed to really like the film, and those who didn’t ask questions usually didn’t dislike it either. After each screening, about one-third of the audience would leave, while the remaining two-thirds stayed for the Q&A. Some of them were curious about the film, while others asked very precise questions, showing that they had done a lot of research. For instance, they asked why I chose certain characters or why I included World War II leaders and historical figures. They also asked questions about the film’s music—many said they loved the music. I also read a few reviews, including two smaller ones, which mentioned that my film reflects the “madness” of the world today. On Letterboxd, audience reactions were highly polarized: some people loved it, while others didn’t like it at all. But overall, the ones who liked it completely understood what I wanted to convey. That said, there were one or two comments mentioning that some of the jokes in my film might be misleading or even dangerous. But I think it’s fine. Most of the audience reactions were positive. Especially in live screenings, the audience laughed and responded quite well.
Maja: During a press screening before the Berlinale some members of the audience laughed awkwardly when Hitler appeared. It seems to reflect how Germany hasn’t fully processed its historical trauma. They are very afraid of touching upon these topics.
Su: Yes, and this is something that can actually be discussed in Taiwan or other parts of Asia. For example, a few years ago, the Taipei Biennial featured many Palestinian artists, and discussions around such topics are possible in Asia. In contrast, the current climate in Germany is too sensitive, and it’s not suitable to address similar issues. Taiwan is a very mixed space where you can talk about Taiwan-China relations or even discuss Ukraine and Palestine. While Taiwan’s political environment is complex, it offers a platform where all kinds of topics can be openly discussed. I chose these historical figures because their images vary greatly across different regions. For example, Churchill might be seen as a villain in India. History is local, and different narratives create different perceptions. What I wanted to express through the film is that we can use humor to reexamine history and even let go of certain historical narratives. If people are willing to laugh at what they believe in, that could be a starting point for mutual understanding. When we were filming, we also considered how German audiences might react. It turned out their response wasn’t as negative as I had imagined. No one directly told me they couldn’t accept it, and there weren’t any displays of anger.
Maja: They were probably more surprised, surprised that you chose performers in swimming suits to play leaders and dictators entering beauty pageant.
Su: When we were growing up, our education was based on these historical figures. The post-World War II world was essentially shaped by these people. In Taiwan, we had Chiang Kai-shek; in China, they had Mao Zedong. We are all living within the same historical order that was established after World War II. This film was my attempt to bring these historical narratives to light and juxtapose them with modern world leaders. For example, in the scene with the children, many audience members immediately connected it to Trump or other contemporary leaders. In a way, our world today feels like it has returned to that era, with a group of people continuing to play the same games. It’s not exactly a sense of helplessness, but rather a hope to use art as a way to liberate ourselves from pain. I had this idea as early as 2022, or maybe even earlier. At that time, I couldn’t have anticipated everything that has happened since.
Maja: Those historical figures entering the beauty pageant, it shows well how over the last few decades they have been fetishized. They became images and symbols connected to national identities, commodities that can be turned into different forms of capital.
Su: Yes, through this approach, I wanted to highlight the connection between power and idolization, and how these narratives influence us. At the time, the idea came from when we were working on this project at MOCA Taipei. We shot the film in sections, almost like an Excel spreadsheet. The entire process was performative—not just for the audience, but also for ourselves. It was as if we were performing the act of making a film. So, it wasn’t entirely scripted in a traditional sense; it had a more fluid and organic feeling. Even our cinematographers were performing, and everything unfolded live in front of the audience. The idea from the beginning was to start on the first day of the exhibition at the museum and finish on the last day—two and a half months in total. Everything, from drafting the script to completing the shoot, happened during that period, and the audience could witness the process. It’s like opening up the filmmaking process for everyone to see. In a way, it’s also a metaphor for history: we’re revealing the process of how history is constructed and inviting the audience to see it unfold. When we began thinking about how to incorporate these historical figures into the film, we came up with the idea of a beauty pageant. Beauty pageants were incredibly popular in Taiwan in the 1980s, especially the kind you could see on TV. If you search for “Miss China” from that era, you’ll find footage from the pageants, particularly from shows like the ones on CTS television channel (華視主頻). The hosts were always very flirtatious, making inappropriate comments like, “Wow, you’re so beautiful, your figure is amazing.” I grew up watching these shows, where women were paraded in swimsuits for everyone to ogle. The hosts would stare and ask them to perform a talent. Looking back now, it feels gross and absurd. This kind of objectification wasn’t unique to Taiwan—it was a global phenomenon with pageants like Miss America and Miss Universe. I thought it was funny and ridiculous, so I decided to take these historical figures, dictators, and leaders, and turn them into contestants in a pageant. I called it “Mr. East” to amplify the absurdity. The east-west or north-south dichotomy is another layer of satire because we live in a world obsessed with division—whether it’s geopolitical, ideological, or cultural. Leaders like Xi Jinping talk about “the East rising while the West declines,” or others emphasize east versus west or north versus south. It’s a global trend to draw lines and create factions. So, I decided to take it further and say, “Why not imagine Earth as one planet, with Mars and the solar system as part of the narrative?” There’s even a character in the film who plays Xi Jinping, delivering a line about how “the world is one planet, indivisible.” All these political slogans are embedded in the dialogue, and I wanted to mock these ideas subtly. People who understand the references will get the humor, but even those who don’t catch every detail can still enjoy it on a surface level. There was one audience member who wrote that they were thoroughly entertained, even though they didn’t understand all the cultural references—and I think that’s great. Coming from a visual arts background, I believe film and visual language can evoke emotions and ideas without the audience needing to grasp every single detail or cultural context. That’s what I aim for: to let the humor and visuals resonate in a way that transcends explanation. This is also my first time creating something that feels like a combination of a comedy or variety show. My previous works were not as humorous, but I’ve come to realize the importance of humor—it’s a powerful tool.
Maja: Yes, I feel like your previous works were more finite, almost like a painting put in a frame. But this project feels much more dynamic, like it has a fixed structure.
Su: Exactly. This project, which will next go to MAMBO, the modern art museum in Bogotá, Colombia, in October, continues to evolve. We’ll be adding new sections there, just as we’ve done at MOCA Taipei. Since MOCA Taipei sent me the invitation and provided the initial funding, there’s a version tailored for them, and the Berlin screening was another version specifically for the film festival. During the shoot at MOCA Taipei, we created several sequences that didn’t make it into the current version, such as a commercial that’s more like a skit or parody. These pieces might be included in future versions, depending on the context. This project challenges the conventional idea of what a film is—it’s not a static work. It can adapt and transform based on where it’s shown, whether in a cinema or a museum. This flexibility has led to some interesting challenges. For instance, museums often ask whether this is a video installation or a film. I tell them it’s both. Museums want labels and definitions—they need to know how to acquire the work and make it their possession—but I resist boxing it into one category. Similarly, the length of the film isn’t fixed, and future versions might be longer or shorter. In a way, this project reflects my desire for more creative freedom. Traditional filmmaking often locks everything into a rigid structure based on length, format, and even the mode of exhibition. But I want this project to be free to grow and adapt. For audiences, this means every version they see might feel like a different film. In today’s digital age, people experience media differently. They might watch a short clip online before seeing the full film, which contrasts with the traditional experience of going to a cinema. At museums, we often exhibit sequences that aren’t part of the feature film because there simply isn’t enough time to show everything. So, this project functions as an evolving artwork. Whether it’s in Taiwan, Bogotá, Berlin, or elsewhere, whether in a cinema or a museum, it can take on different forms and offer unique experiences.
Maja: I think the idea of transforming a museum into a film studio is very exciting.
Su: Yes, this project lasted for two and a half months, and it was truly challenging. By the end of the two and a half months, we hadn’t completed the final edit because it was still in production. But audiences in Taipei were already able to see some clips. They didn’t fully understand what we were filming—some saw an actress performing as Hitler but had no idea what the entire film was about. I also discussed the performance with the curator Eugenio Viola, who said the process itself was already very meaningful. He even felt there was no need to see the final feature-length film because the focus of the exhibition was to engage the audience continuously. We were constantly interacting with the audience. You saw the shouting spectators—those were museum visitors, and some of them accidentally entered the frame. This method made the entire work both symbolic and open.
Maja: It sounds like you’ve been experimenting with new forms of film production and storytelling.
Su: Yes, and we’re now planning to further develop this kind of collaboration in Bogotá. We might collaborate with local production companies, partially livestream some parts online, and even incorporate AI elements. Why AI? Because AI is very politicized right now. Actually, some parts of my work are scripted by AI, which ties back to my childhood experiences. I grew up in the 1980s when people were already discussing AI. Although AI back then wasn’t as advanced as it is today, the pursuit of technology has never stopped. Humanity has always sought convenience and better living conditions, but in reality, we often end up repeating history.
Maja: So, you want to reflect on this “repetition” through your work?
Su: Yes, I find it both absurd and intriguing. For example, interactive films from the 1980s—you could choose the storyline, much like what Netflix offers now. Back then, the technology wasn’t as convenient, but the concept already existed. Human nature, for better or worse, has essentially remained unchanged. The pursuit of war, technology, and power continues. The humor in my work comes from this absurdity. I hope that by making jokes, I can help the audience address complex issues in a relaxed way. Some Chinese friends watched my work, and they knew I was satirizing Mao Zedong or other dictators, but they really enjoyed it. They thought the foolishness and absurdity were very real. This playful approach might help people let go of antagonism.
Maja: Indeed, the power of art lies in creating a space for people to rethink things.
Su: Exactly. For instance, looking at Taiwan’s current social situation, in recent years, there’s been a lot of tension between men and women online, and this tension has extended to education and various aspects of society. Taiwan now also has far-right factions that are very hostile toward feminists online. Conversely, some women hold strong resentment toward men. This kind of division and confrontation makes communication between people much harder. I think art should try to ease this situation and provide a space for reflection and renewed dialogue. Of course, I wouldn’t claim that I can achieve this, but it’s the starting point of my creative process.
Maja: During the press screening a friend asked me how to understand the title of your film. Can you talk a little bit about why you chose to entitle it The Trio Hall?
Su: The title has many layers of meaning. In Chinese, The Trio Hall initially referred to Chiung Yao’s films, but we’ve extended it to a broader interpretation. For example, the three colors (RGB) in film, or the symbolic significance of trinity in Western contexts. The museum space also aligns with this title, as audiences experience different scenarios in different spaces. In Chiung Yao’s film the three halls (三廳) represents a middle-class lifestyle—cafés (咖啡廳), restaurants (餐廳), and living room (客廳). It was very cheap to set the films in those three spaces in film studios, they could be continuously reused. The popularity of these films during Taiwan’s martial law era had its social context—it was a time in which audiences craved escapism.
Maja: That cultural background is very interesting. I remember being drawn to similar spaces when I first visited Taiwan.
Su: Yes, these spaces carry traces of the era. Taiwanese people love demolishing old buildings, thinking they’re unsafe or not modern enough, but these cultural relics are very meaningful. I often shoot my films in places that are about to be torn down, like in Kaohsiung or Chiayi, because I hope these places can be documented.
Maja: Will you explore similar themes in your Bogotá project?
Su: Yes, especially 1980s culture and art history. Many of my childhood memories, watching variety shows and Chiung Yao’s films, are rooted in that era, which was when Taiwan joined the global supply chain and began democratizing. Bogotá has gone through different historical stages but shares a complex background of colonialism, civil wars, and corruption. I look forward to collaborating with local production teams to find points of resonance between us.
Maja Korbecka
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