The emotional impact of Mongrel (Wei Liang Chiang, You Qiao Yin, Taiwan, Singapore, France, 2024) is an assault on our conscience, with a brutal overture warning of what awaits us. Its visual rawness goes hand in hand with the proposal conveyed by its directors to narrate a story of enormous social realism. The film never spares the viewer of the brutality of human servitudes that we prefer to ignore or leave in the hands of others, as well as the repercussions of precarious employment not only on the economy but also on people’s consciences, their dignity, and their survival. The central issues in Mongrel are the care of the vulnerable, be they the elderly, babies, or the disabled. It is also about the handicaps with which the disadvantaged are born, forced to migrate in conditions of semi-slavery, and risking their own lives, having to accept the jobs that no one else wants to take on. Above all, and in a gradation that the film scales perfectly, we find a universal theme, such as the limits we are willing to cross to survive.
The immigrants from Southeast Asia (Vietnam, Philippines, Indonesia, and Thailand) who arrive in Taiwan as tourists are, in fact, unskilled laborers grateful to be accepted by the human traffickers and are willing to take on the hardship of their tasks and the precariousness of their housing and subsistence conditions. Interestingly, Oom (Wanlop Rungkumjad), the man most capable of providing care and the one who shows the most empathy for the pain of others, will be the intermediary between the workers and the traffickers. It is in the depiction of his attitude and descent into hell that the film takes flight from the brutalist social portrait to the psychological and emotional interiorities of its protagonist, revealed in well-chosen detail through scenes that show his ethical confrontation, always actively resolved, taking the action he deems right according to an exceptional moral standard. We cannot help but evoke Son of Saul (László Nemes, 2015) and Saul, its main protagonist, equal to his peers but just a step above them, at the border of enslavers and enslaved, always depending on the favor of the former in order not to succumb to the latter.
The aesthetic choices, the framing, the pacing, and the treatment of color, with stunning photography by Michaël Capron and production design by Liv Chih-wei Ye, are perfectly in tune with the story. The meaning of each shot, the demands made on the viewer regarding the patient observation required of us, and the gradual immersion into the depths of Mongrel, whether indoors or in a mountainous landscape no less claustrophobic, are admirably coherent. The drama that runs through each of the film’s scenes is never gratuitous or voyeuristic; the film is sober in its tragic telling, relying on the impact of the story itself, even if it might seem from its brutal overture that we are confronted with capharnaüm-style pornography of misery.
The roots of Mongrel‘s realism stem from Singaporean Taiwan-based Chiang’s own experience, who had also dealt with the same subject in several short films. His proposal rises from the most miserable detail of the human condition in dependency, reduced to its essential scatological survival functions, to the universality of the need for care for the most vulnerable, which their own families cannot directly provide. The film explores the involvement of the disadvantaged in facilitating care, the involvement of human trafficking mafias to save others, the difficulty of maintaining a moral standard amidst the absolute necessity of subsistence, and the management of guilt.
The absolute darkness of the lives shown, the lack of hope, and the impotence of the protagonists, whether due to cerebral palsy, old age, or slavery, which turns them into prisoners incapable of acting freely, inexorably leads them to the only possible alternative in their vital context of despair. Death hovers silently and invisibly over the whole film.
Thai Rungkumjad’s performance is brilliant, physical, and contemplative. Despite the few sentences he speaks, his presence floods the screen with his kindness, sincere dedication to his clients, and inner struggle. The work of supporting actors like Lu Yi-ching is outstanding, especially that of Kuo Wei, an actor who suffers from cerebral palsy in real life.
Mongrel premiered at the Cannes Film Festival (Directors’ Fortnight), winning a special mention in the Caméra d’Or competition, and was awarded Best Director at the 61st Golden Horse in Taiwan.
Eva Peydró
Edited by Anne-Christine Loranger
© FIPRESCI 2024