Tag Archives: Lee Kang-Sheng

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THE HOLE (1998)

Dong, aka The Last Dance

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DIRECTED BY: Tsai Ming-Liang

FEATURING: ,

PLOT: In the face of a growing epidemic and environmental calamity, two of the only remaining occupants in an apartment building struggle to maintain their lives and find themselves inexorably drawn to each other through the hole in the ceiling that connects them.

Still from The Hole (1998)

COMMENTS: It never stops raining in The Hole’s Taipei. Condensation drips down every surface in the apartment building where we spend the entirety of the film, and its’ so humid that our two lead characters, the Man Upstairs and the Woman Downstairs, strip down to their sweat-soaked undergarments as soon as they get home. Wallpaper peels off the walls like it was held on by a Post-It note. For drinking, though, boiling is an absolute must. The world is becoming unlivable, and yet people still cling to the past. When an older man is unable to find a favorite bean paste, but learns that he can have the exact same product under a different brand name, he responds with devastated silence, unable to even consider a change of such magnitude. Even in the face of complete loss, the commitment to the world we think we know remains strong.

Created for the French television “2000, Seen By” project, which also counts such films as Don McKellar’s Last Night and Hal Hartley’s The Book of Life among its number, The Hole is a grim preview of the near future, featuring such highlights as environmental catastrophe, massive class inequality, and a rapidly spreading worldwide plague. For us pandemic fans, that last one hits like a prescient ton of bricks, even though though it’s the source of the most science fictional element of the film, as this particular plague curses the afflicted with cockroach-like behavior, crawling about the floor on all fours and retreating to dark, enclosed spaces. Yet despite this outwardly negative view of the new millennium, Tsai infuses The Hole with a hopeful streak, as the residents of this rundown apartment complex defiantly persevere in the face of adversity.

The titular aperture, which inadvertently connects the Man Upstairs and the Woman Downstairs, is appropriately the most emblematic show of humanity’s persistence. They go to their jobs, stock up on toilet paper, boil their water, and stare longingly at the incessant rain, but the hole forces them to cut through their routine and see each other. Initially a source of conflict, it wrecks their privacy, and they sometimes pick at each other out of humorous spite. It ultimately proves to be a means of connection, however, becoming increasingly important as things fall apart.

The movie’s most overt sign of optimism, and its most radical element, is the occasional shift into glitzy musical numbers, as Yang gets gussied up and leaves her apartment to dance and lip-sync to the tunes of Chinese chanteuse Grace Chang. In the best tradition of , the tunes are thematically appropriate and graft peppy dance numbers directly onto the dank, crumbling sets. Tsai actually dedicates the film to Chang, saluting her as a source of comfort in dark times, and she ultimately soundtracks the bittersweet coda. The film does not take a clear position on whether this is true cause for hope or bitter irony, but the cheery vocals and Yang’s joyfully amateurish dancing provide a strong endorsement for fiddling while Rome burns, and lift The Hole beyond its compatriots in the sad future brigade.

Look up any discussion of the filmography of Tsai Ming-Liang and you’ll inevitably stumble upon the term “slow cinema.” We’ve seen one of the most extreme examples of that genre on this very site. The Hole is unquestionably deliberately paced, but that is well-suited to a tale where life itself seems to be coming apart in slow motion. The rain is constant, the hole will never be repaired, so when change does come, it’s galvanizing. When we waited through our own pandemic, connection is what we were desperate to get back to at the end. The Hole knew that two decades earlier, and the waiting is what makes the payoff exquisite.

The Hole is now (if you’re reading this in summer 2026) in theatrical re-release.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“The premise is weird enough, but interrupting the metaphorical story with delightfully amateurish song and dance sequences… takes it still further into uncharted territory.”–Geoff Andrews, Time Out 

(This movie was nominated for review by B. Gibson. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.) 

LIST CANDIDATE: THE WAYWARD CLOUD [TIAN BIAN YI DUO YUN] (2005)

DIRECTED BY: Ming-liang Tsai

FEATURING: , Shiang-chyi Chen, Sumomo Yozakura,

PLOT: During a nationwide drought, a Taiwanese porn star courts a shy and lonely apartment dweller obsessed with watermelons; characters occasionally burst into fantasy song-and-dance numbers.

Still from The Wayward Cloud (2005)

WHY IT’S ON THE BORDERLINE: As a romantic, pornographic, hallucinatory musical that makes sure you will never see watermelons or Taiwanese sex movies quite the same way ever again, The Wayward Cloud is audacious and, yes, weird. The powerful downside is the fact that, outside of the musical sequences, Tsai’s minimalism—long takes, a motionless camera, and the absolute minimum amount plot and dialogue he can possibly get away with—is the most acquired of acquired tastes.

COMMENTS: There are seven memorable scenes in The Wayward Cloud—three bizarre sexual encounters (and a couple of ordinary ones) and four outlandish musical numbers.  Given all that’s going on, it’s amazing that writer/director Ming-liang Tsai still managed to keep the script so arid, and to convey an overall feeling of malaise rather than excitement.  Without these seven scenes, the movie would hardly exist; the wisp of a plot involves a boy-meets-girl-and-never-quite-loses-her story that’s told in nearly dialogue free episodes of long takes of actors reacting to nothing.  The meet-cute (or in this case, meet-mute) involves Shiang-chyi coming upon Hsiao-Kang while he’s napping, then sitting down across from him and taking a nap herself.  It’s five minutes of hot napping action before they exchange their first words.  (It’s helpful to know that these characters have met before, in Tsai’s What Time Is It There? [2001], and in a subsequent short film.)  Hsiao-Kang doesn’t divulge his job as a professional video gigolo to his new girlfriend, but there’s no cover story, no sense of urgency that she might discover his vocation, and there’s nothing divulged about her to suggest she would care either way.  There is a quiet, believable sort of intimacy in scenes where Hsiao-Kang smokes a cigarette held between Shiang-chyi’s toes; the lovers are so comfortable together they don’t have to say anything to each other.  But we, the viewers, still wish they would say something for our benefit.

Fortunately, there is the sex.  It’s graphic, but not explicit: there’s no visible genital- Continue reading LIST CANDIDATE: THE WAYWARD CLOUD [TIAN BIAN YI DUO YUN] (2005)