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TIGERTAIL
Netflix’s other tiger tale is a heartfelt critique of the American Dream.
Between his work on Parks and Recreation and Master of None, Alan Yang has quietly grown to become one of the most interesting and unique television writers around. Writing with charm, wit, and low-key poignancy, Yang’s comedy work may appear light-hearted on the surface, yet its surprising depth stems from a readiness to engage with his experiences as the son of immigrant parents.
In particular, Master of None, which Yang co-created with the show’s star Aziz Ansari, puts a refreshing, unique spin on the story of a 30-something second-generation American immigrant, complete with all the prejudices, pressures, and boujee monotonies that come with it. Going on to win multiple awards, Master of None was clearly only the start of the Alan Yang story.
As the importance of hearing immigrant voices from all generations grows exponentially against the backdrop of a world - or at least certain corners of it - determined to silence them, Yang’s brand of relatable, unpretentious storytelling feels as crucial now as it’s ever been. But can his unique style translate successfully from serialised comedy to the world of feature-length drama?
Free-spirited yet impoverished, young Taiwanese factory worker Pin-Jui (Hong-Chi Lee) makes the difficult decision to leave his homeland and loved ones in search of a better life in America. However, years of loveless arranged marriages and monotonous menial work leave an aging Pin-Jui (Tzi Ma) a shell of his former self. Steadfastly unable to reconcile with his daughter Angela (Christine Ko) and risking seeing his life out completely alone, Pin-Jui must reconnect with his past to repair his life and finally build the future he once dreamed of.
As a disturbing anti-Asian sentiment drifts across our current virus-scarred timeline, the arrival of Tigertail couldn’t be more pertinent if it tried. Fold into that the simmering tension towards all forms of immigration, and the importance of a simple but effective migrant-centric film such as this, released on a global platform like Netflix, shouldn’t be underestimated.
With humble ambitions, Tigertail may be modest in its scope but the immigrant experience at its heart is as global as it gets. Cinema and immigration have long been intertwined, but never has there been a more opportune moment for so many intimate and disparate émigré stories to be told, not just to a handful of people but to the world at large.
With a clear personal connection between Tigertail’s subject matter and writer-director Alan Yang, the film marks itself out as a simple, yet endearingly earnest entry in the growing tapestry of cinematic immigration, and it’s in this simplistic power that the film ultimately shines. As a fictionalised account of his own parents’ journey to America, the film is Yang’s low-key ode to the understated heroism of their generation, as they reluctantly turned their back on their homeland for the hope of a better life.
While the account is certainly uneven and underdeveloped at times, Yang’s story positively drips with authenticity, which, for all its faults, carries the film a long way. Splicing together the multi-faceted complications of cultural and generational divides, Tigertail may have humble ambitions on the surface, yet as Yang pours his heart and soul into every frame, the film blooms to become a far more complex beast.
Unfortunately, for all its refreshing honesty, the narrative itself feels somewhat patchy, as it jumps back and forth between two distinct eras of Pin-Jui’s life at will. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with either section of the story, the two halves never fully gel, feeling rather half-baked as a result.
Although the running time is admirably swift, there’s certainly a lot more to the story that could’ve, and maybe should’ve, been told. Tigertail’s narrative dots are there, yet there seems little to connect them at times, as Pin-Jui’s life story never fully satisfies as a coherent whole.
Taking a similar tact to the fantastic The Farewell, Tigertail falls somewhat short of its predecessor with a story that hits many of the same beats, just not quite as satisfactorily. Boasting such an impressive writing CV, Yang’s script, however, falls a little flat, never quite hitting the lofty heights of either The Farewell or his previous work on Master of None.
However, making up for the scripting deficiencies, Yang manages to get the most out of his film visually. In particular, Pin-Jui’s youth in Taiwan is shot beautifully, mixing dashes of warm, vibrant period colour in both the rural and urban locations, lending the whole thing a subtle poetic beauty that coaxes you in with its evocative, amiable charm.
Additionally, Tigertail is supplemented by a collection of superb performances across both of its timelines. Carrying much of the film’s narrative weight, Hong-Chi Lee as young Pin-Jui adds an infectious energy to the film that makes it doubly deflating when this vim and vigour is slowly ground out of him. As the less showy half of the story, Tzi Ma’s older Pin-Jui is the film’s true standout, with his cold stoicism lending Tigertail an alluring gravitas that keeps things ticking, even as the writing wobbles.
A little too soapy in parts, despite Tzi Ma’s exceptional performance, the present-day section of the story never really lives up to the successes of the past, as the writing often descends into melodramatic cliché. Often undermining its subtleties with blunt, on-the-nose dialogue, these modern-day scenes never quite build on the film’s earlier achievements, leaving behind a somewhat unsatisfactory aftertaste.
Nevertheless, at its heart, Tigertail is a touching personal story that works precisely because of its protagonist’s mounting emotional repression. Pin-Jui is a closed book in his present-day state, ground down emotionally by a system that feels at odds with his youthful ambitions and the harsh realities of immigration, where hopes and dreams are very rarely fulfilled.
Tzi Ma cuts an immensely frustrating, yet wholly realistic figure as he steadfastly refuses to engage with his daughter on any level. Of course, there’s certainly some emotional softening as things progress, yet Alan Yang’s writing is at its poignant best when it makes us work for Pin-Jui’s affection.
Bringing his Master of None sensibilities to the table, Yang constructs a subdued but moving tale packed with wry wit and personality. While its narrative inconsistencies and uneven writing may hold it back from greatness, Tigertail works perfectly as a timely, pragmatic look at the mundane realities of immigration and the devastating effect the slow grind of life in a strange land can have on you and those you love the most. While Netflix have hit the lockdown jackpot with a certain other tiger tale, Alan Yang’s poignant and personal story makes up for its lack of actual big cats with a huge heart.
