In her remarkable directorial debut, Shu Qi presents ‘Girl’, a film that delves into the complexities of family dynamics and the haunting effects of abuse.
‘Girl’ Review: A Bleak, Provocative Look at an Unhappy Family from a Great Actor Turned Director
During the shooting of the historical epic “The Assassin” over a decade ago, its director — the renowned Taiwanese filmmaker Hou Hsaio-Hsien — advised star Shu Qi to pick up the camera for herself. That’s akin to Buddha suggesting you might excel at meditating. Qi wisely heeded his advice. She spent years writing and rewriting, while also starring in 11 more movies in the eight years following “The Assassin.” After serving on the Venice Film Festival jury two years ago, Qi’s directing ambition became too compelling to ignore, and instead of returning home after the festival, she stayed in Italy to complete her script.
“Girl” is the culmination of those efforts — and a testament to Qi’s decision to take the reins from her mentor. The dark and challenging narrative of an abused mother who inadvertently transfers her suffering onto her young daughter, “Girl” is a bold debut, as formally ambitious as it is genre-defying. It blends elements of domestic drama, horror, and coming-of-age film, incorporating the visual aesthetics of each.
It’s no coincidence that 1988, the year in which “Girl” unfolds, was a time of great promise for Taiwan. Beijing had temporarily relinquished its claim over the island nation, and a new leader was accelerating economic reforms and democratic institutions. Hsiao-Lee (Bai Xiao-Ying) and her younger sister — played by Lai Yu-Fei, though the character is unnamed — walk home from school on a sunlit evening, and all seems well. Until they arrive home. Their mother Chuan (portrayed brilliantly by popstar 9m88) is a frustrated young parent who reflects on her choices with more regret than pride. The primary one being her choice of partner: Chiang (Roy Chiu) is an erratic tyrant. His nightly return home is heralded by his sputtering motorcycle and drunken stumbling up the stairs, often culminating in violence towards Chuan.
Fortunately, the girls don’t witness too much of him. Hsiao-Lee imagines her father attacking her as she sleeps, but it’s a mere fantasy. Qi depicts these night terrors with haunting beauty: A fluorescent hand pressed against a polyester sheet, nearly reaching Hsiao-Lee’s face. It’s enough to make you squirm in your seat, as Hsiao-Lee does in her sleep. Meanwhile, her younger sister pacifies their father with silence. Chuan, however, is less fortunate, enduring physical and sexual assaults that she is too frightened to report, either at home or outside. Here, Qi diverges from the norm among many Western directors, who often prefer to cut away from the extremes of sexual violence or domestic abuse. In “Girl,” we witness it in all its brutality, almost monotonously. Qi doesn’t soften the impact of Chiang’s tyranny with her stark, unflinching direction. In its sheer banality, it becomes perhaps even more terrifying.
The primary focus of “Girl,” however, isn’t the brutish alcoholic who is cruel to his wife. Qi is more interested in how Chuan’s motherhood is affected — and what transpires when Hsiao-Lee gains the confidence to rebel against her mother. Hsiao-Lee is already precocious and wise beyond her years, but it’s when a new girl joins her school that her adolescence truly begins. Li-li (Audrey Lin) is Americanized, having lived in the States with her parents before their marriage ended. Armed with a sharp wit that can disarm and humiliate the boys in their class, Li-li introduces Hsiao-Lee to the darker side of town, alcohol, and those boys. Hsiao-Lee’s teenage years seem to begin overnight. Her constrained home life appears more provincial and punishing than ever, the clanking metal door in front of their house increasingly resembling a cage. In one of the most heartbreaking scenes in any film this year, Hsiao-Lee eventually confronts her mother about their father’s actions. The implications are severe — and a harsh reality check.
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Li-li’s arrival at Hsiao-Lee’s school serves as a metaphor for the influx of American commerce and culture into Taiwan. Hsiao-Lee is indulged by her newfound freedoms, but they come with risks. The boys who take them out of the city on their bikes seem to have good intentions, but Li-li and Hsiao-Lee have no safety net if things go awry. Hsiao-Lee is exhilarated to skip school and disappear from home for hours without notice, but the reality of vanishing is more complex than it appears. This isn’t “Grease.”
Moreover, these dreams of modernity cast an unwanted light on the futile struggles of the family’s status quo. If Chuan isn’t prepared to go it alone and embrace the Hollywood ending that Li-li’s world has in store for her, the vocabulary for her suffering may be better left unspoken than merely unexpressed.
“Girl” challenges our preconceived notions of what a happy (or happier) family looks like. In its bleakness and raw portrayal of abuse, it defies much of what we’re accustomed to seeing in the domestic drama genre, to the credit of a new voice in directing. Qi’s first film likely won’t have you skipping out of the theater with joy. But it will leave you eagerly anticipating her next project.
Grade: B
“Girl” premiered at the 2025 Venice Film Festival. It is currently seeking U.S. distribution.
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