Making film about immigrants means you really have to know your stuff, both the written history and the unwritten history. These stories tend to circle around familiar themes – mostly sacrifice and regret – so the little details matter. We are judging films for what they are, but for those who know the story first-hand, every misstep in the story of immigrants feels like a massive misrepresentation, and we all know how important that is today. We are not talking about inaccuracies in depicting day-to-day or generational hardships, but little cultural nuances that can catch you so off-guard that it de-legitimizes the film and forces you to question everything it represents.

Tigertail is directed by Alan Yang, making his feature directorial debut after working on shows like Master of None and The Good Place. The film is set in three different periods of Grover’s life: as an impressionable young child in Taiwan, as a dissatisfied young adult in Taiwan (played by Hong Chi-Lee), and finally as a divorced middle-aged man in America (Tzi Ma). It’s no different from many other immigrant stories; Grover comes from very modest means and works at the local factory where his mother (Yang Kuei-Mei) also works. In order to seek a better life for himself and his mother, he decides to abandon his childhood soulmate, Yuan, and marry the boss’ daughter, Zhenzhen (Fiona Fu). (There’s a minor plot inconsistency on Wikipedia that says Yuan’s family is said to be wealthier than Grover’s family, a source of embarrassment for him, but he still ends up marrying someone from a wealthier family anyway, but I digress). They immigrate to America and Grover and Zhenzhen suffer through enormous hardships, and their marriage – a union based on practicality over love – eventually falls apart. By the time we meet present-day Grover, he is divorced and estranged from his two children.

My internet research tells me Yang was born in California to parents who emigrated from Taiwan, so it’s not exactly clear if the film is biographical. If it is rooted in real-life experience, then the historical and cultural inconsistencies and inaccuracies are rather odd. While young Grover speaks exclusively Taiwanese, young adult Grover speaks only Mandarin with a Taiwanese accent, and old Grover only speaks Mandarin with a Hong Kong accent. The same goes for Yuan, who speaks Taiwanese as a child, but an older version speaks Mandarin with a mainland accent. We’re supposed to believe they’re all the same people, but it’s jarring for those with a more experienced ear.

There’s a real missed opportunity in Tigertail to really drill it down as a uniquely Taiwanese immigrant experience. When we first meet Grover in the film’s brilliant first few scenes, it sets the stage for underlying political strife that marked much of life in Taiwan in the post-WWII era, and yet the film abandons it as quickly as it is introduced. When the Mandarin-speaking Kuomintang (KMT) government lackeys drop by to make spot checks on its residents, Grover’s Taiwanese-speaking grandmother makes an effort to hide Grover, and it’s also implied that Grover’s dad was a victim of political purging. And judging by Zhenzhen’s mainland accent, we assume the boss at the factory is also KMT, which again should add another layer to their complex relationship. It’s the only explanation why Zhenzhen offers to make mapo doufu for dinner, a dish from Sichuan and far removed from Taiwanese comfort food. (By the way, any Asian film that doesn’t depict food is a travesty, and that’s a missed opportunity here, though the appearance of lembu – wax apples native to southern Asia – was a highlight).  

I nitpick about accents because we do the same thing in non-Asian films. We discount or criticize films and performances because they’re inauthentic. Tom Cruise in Far and Away, anyone? Or how about the comical Russian accent Jennifer Lawrence attempts in Red Sparrow? Would we ever forgive Mel Gibson if he did Braveheart with an Irish accent?

It’s a short 91-minute tale but it drags because it so clumsily bounces between the three time periods in non-linear fashion. When multiple timelines work, it can be a brilliant story-telling tool, but when it doesn’t, the outcome tends to be confusing and awkward. It’s supposed to be nuanced and emotional, but there’s too many narrative gaps and you’re forced to make lots of assumptions, and too often the camera simply lingers on Grover making tea for himself – we get it, Grover’s really, really sad, and if that wasn’t the obvious cue, then surely the overused solemn melody of string instruments will knock you over the head with it.

There’s also the title of the film itself. Tigertail is the literal translation of the Taiwanese village (Huwei) where Grover grows up, yet it offers no real meaning. There’s literally nothing tiger-like about Grover or his story, except maybe a nod to Taiwan as one of the Four Asian Tigers, which doesn’t make sense either because it was a period of prosperity, and I can only surmise that “tail” refers to the tail end of Grover’s story. At least in An American Tail the main character is a mouse, and the double entendre is obvious.

Don’t misconstrue this as gatekeeping; what I’m really asking for is a little more accuracy. A lot of people – including Asians – criticize Hollywood for painting all Asians with a single brush, yet they continue to make films that have little or no ability to differentiate between all of the different cultures in Asia. There does seem to be a difference when a mostly American production, such as this one, portrays stories about Asians for western audiences, and ones about Asia produced by Asians for Asian audiences. Netflix made a great move to hire Korean production crews to produce its Korean dramas, and the result is something different than what we’re used to. Let’s not forget that Tzi Ma, as prolific as his career has been, is cast much too often as everyone’s Asian dad in Hollywood despite his very obvious Hong Kong roots, again refusing to change from its ignorant depictions. I think we can all agree that Hollywood has been resistant to change, and even when it tries to change, it often does so in really stupid ways.  

Despite my constant griping, Tigertail is still a fine film. The production design is good and the acting also good, but it doesn’t do much to differentiate itself from any other film about immigrants, many of them which tell far more personal stories.

Tigertail gets two and half stars out of four.