For those viewers who are rusty on their Taiwanese history, Cape No. 7 is a good time, a sweet if somewhat angsty love story, and an intriguing glimpse into the day-to-day life of a Taiwanese town. For those who do know something of Taiwan's history and present international deadlock, the film becomes a vocal assertion of selfhood.
The amorous tension in the film is between a local Taiwanese boy, Aga, and a Japanese model, Tomoko. Aga has returned home to his small seaside village moody and gruff after failing to make it as a musician in Taipei, while Tomoko, trying to organize a Japanese pop star's concert at a nearby resort, has been tasked with finding locals good enough to form the opening band. A sweet if somewhat skimmed-over subplot involves a failed romance set during the aftermath of Japan's occupation of Taiwan in World War II, in which a young Japanese teacher writes letters to his Taiwanese beloved as he sails home to Japan. Sixty years later, these letters now find their way into the hands of Aga and Tomoko, who determine to discover their owner.
Both love stories reflect aspects of Taiwan's relationship with Japan at different times in its history. The Japanese teacher deserted his Taiwanese beloved, much as the Japanese deserted Taiwan after the war, turning over the reigns of their repressive but adept rule to the even more iron-fisted Chiang Kai-shek. During colonization, Japanese cultural systems were forcibly enforced on the island; under Chiang's rule, Chinese culture was dominant. In both cases, local Taiwanese culture was considered second-best. The movie addresses these issues of abandonment and desire for equality. Aga yearns for recognition of his talent, which he finally gets when Tomoko confesses her love and when his music – specifically a traditional Taiwanese ballad - is embraced both by the local villagers and, more importantly, by the Japanese pop star, who says he "knows the song." By winning the love of Tomoko and the acknowledgement of the Japanese pop star, Aga – and Taiwan – claim equal footing at last.
The film can also be seen in light of Taiwan's current condition as a pariah in international relations. As a country formally recognized by only 23 states, most of them small islands in the Pacific, Taiwan has fought tooth and nail for just minimal acknowledgement from the world community. (This year's small victory as an observer in the World Health Assembly, which as part of the United Nations has traditionally refused to recognize Taiwan, is one such example.) Taiwan's lack of global recognition is due in a large part to the influence of China, which sees Taiwan as part of its territory. Tellingly, Cape No. 7 makes no mention of China or the Chinese influence on the island; most of the dialogue is in Taiwanese, Japanese, or Taiwan guoyu (Taiwanese Mandarin). Mandarin Chinese, the official language of China, becomes the compromise language between Tomoko and the Taiwanese villagers – she snaps at them, "I can't understand your Taiwanese accent!" and they make fun of her, saying, "Who can understand her Chinese?" Mandarin, although a necessary tool for communicating, is a foreign tongue for all of them, which illustrates the ambivalent position of China in the world of the film. In real life, ties between Taiwan and its Mainland neighbor have thawed rapidly; the two now permit direct flights, the first in sixty years, and economic relations grow closer with each dip of the stock market. China's marginalization in the film, however, consciously disregards that part of Taiwan's complicated present to explore other aspects of Taiwanese identity – perhaps a way of fighting back against the influence the PRC has increasingly tried to cast over the island.
Aside from being a love story that will appeal to the emotion-laden teenager in all of us, Cape No. 7 is a glimpse into an unvarnished, unapologetic Taiwan. From pompous local politics, to millet wine and karaoke, to betel nuts and motorcycle mail delivery, the film throws back the shutters on all aspects of a Taiwanese village. Many of the actors in this production are not professionals, and it is the honest, tattered-at-the-edges quality of the scenes that most transports the audience into the world of the film.
Cape No. 7 is the coming-of-age story of a nation. Shot on a shoestring and popularized by word of mouth, the film became one of the highest grossing ever to be shown in Taiwan, second only to Titanic. It is rare for Taiwanese films to receive much attention in the U.S., but as a confident self-introduction, Cape No. 7 has the potential to be the film that crosses the impasse. And now that Taiwan is coming into its own, hopefully this will be the first of many vibrant films to come out of this small but spirited country.
The amorous tension in the film is between a local Taiwanese boy, Aga, and a Japanese model, Tomoko. Aga has returned home to his small seaside village moody and gruff after failing to make it as a musician in Taipei, while Tomoko, trying to organize a Japanese pop star's concert at a nearby resort, has been tasked with finding locals good enough to form the opening band. A sweet if somewhat skimmed-over subplot involves a failed romance set during the aftermath of Japan's occupation of Taiwan in World War II, in which a young Japanese teacher writes letters to his Taiwanese beloved as he sails home to Japan. Sixty years later, these letters now find their way into the hands of Aga and Tomoko, who determine to discover their owner.
Both love stories reflect aspects of Taiwan's relationship with Japan at different times in its history. The Japanese teacher deserted his Taiwanese beloved, much as the Japanese deserted Taiwan after the war, turning over the reigns of their repressive but adept rule to the even more iron-fisted Chiang Kai-shek. During colonization, Japanese cultural systems were forcibly enforced on the island; under Chiang's rule, Chinese culture was dominant. In both cases, local Taiwanese culture was considered second-best. The movie addresses these issues of abandonment and desire for equality. Aga yearns for recognition of his talent, which he finally gets when Tomoko confesses her love and when his music – specifically a traditional Taiwanese ballad - is embraced both by the local villagers and, more importantly, by the Japanese pop star, who says he "knows the song." By winning the love of Tomoko and the acknowledgement of the Japanese pop star, Aga – and Taiwan – claim equal footing at last.
The film can also be seen in light of Taiwan's current condition as a pariah in international relations. As a country formally recognized by only 23 states, most of them small islands in the Pacific, Taiwan has fought tooth and nail for just minimal acknowledgement from the world community. (This year's small victory as an observer in the World Health Assembly, which as part of the United Nations has traditionally refused to recognize Taiwan, is one such example.) Taiwan's lack of global recognition is due in a large part to the influence of China, which sees Taiwan as part of its territory. Tellingly, Cape No. 7 makes no mention of China or the Chinese influence on the island; most of the dialogue is in Taiwanese, Japanese, or Taiwan guoyu (Taiwanese Mandarin). Mandarin Chinese, the official language of China, becomes the compromise language between Tomoko and the Taiwanese villagers – she snaps at them, "I can't understand your Taiwanese accent!" and they make fun of her, saying, "Who can understand her Chinese?" Mandarin, although a necessary tool for communicating, is a foreign tongue for all of them, which illustrates the ambivalent position of China in the world of the film. In real life, ties between Taiwan and its Mainland neighbor have thawed rapidly; the two now permit direct flights, the first in sixty years, and economic relations grow closer with each dip of the stock market. China's marginalization in the film, however, consciously disregards that part of Taiwan's complicated present to explore other aspects of Taiwanese identity – perhaps a way of fighting back against the influence the PRC has increasingly tried to cast over the island.
Aside from being a love story that will appeal to the emotion-laden teenager in all of us, Cape No. 7 is a glimpse into an unvarnished, unapologetic Taiwan. From pompous local politics, to millet wine and karaoke, to betel nuts and motorcycle mail delivery, the film throws back the shutters on all aspects of a Taiwanese village. Many of the actors in this production are not professionals, and it is the honest, tattered-at-the-edges quality of the scenes that most transports the audience into the world of the film.
Cape No. 7 is the coming-of-age story of a nation. Shot on a shoestring and popularized by word of mouth, the film became one of the highest grossing ever to be shown in Taiwan, second only to Titanic. It is rare for Taiwanese films to receive much attention in the U.S., but as a confident self-introduction, Cape No. 7 has the potential to be the film that crosses the impasse. And now that Taiwan is coming into its own, hopefully this will be the first of many vibrant films to come out of this small but spirited country.
