Growing up with "the devil's hand": The director of My Family in Taipei recounts how much of herself is in the film's young protagonist

Set in Taipei and told through the eyes of a five-year-old girl, My Family in Taipei starts from a minimal gesture to tell a deep fracture. The protagonist Yi-An grows up within a family and a community that constantly ask her to adapt, correct herself, and conform to the social rules imposed on women of all ages since childhood. Starting from her being left-handed, a trait considered wrong and to be straightened, the film builds an intimate story about the silent forms of rebellion and the weight of traditions never truly questioned.

The film is openly autobiographical: director Shih-Ching Tsou reworks her own childhood and transforms it into an all-female generational portrait, featuring three different female figures (a child, a teenager, and a mother) unable to unite but bound by the same system of internalized rules. In My Family in Taipei rebellion doesn't come from conflict, but from truth: saying things as they are, refusing excuses, continuing to be oneself even when it's uncomfortable.

Presented as Taiwan's official candidate and included in the shortlist announced by the Academy, the film could enter the final five titles competing for the Best International Feature Film Oscar, as it is spoken in Mandarin. The film also stems from the artistic and human partnership between Shih-Ching Tsou herself and Sean Baker, who have collaborated for years. Tsou worked with the Oscar-winning director for Anora as a producer and assistant director, while in this project Baker was directly involved in creative development, co-writing the screenplay and editing. A contribution that strengthens the film's independent identity and its connection to cinema attentive to the margins, real places, and everyday gestures.

In this interview, Tsou explains how My Family in Taipei became not only a film about childhood, but a personal and artistic stance: against forced adaptation, against arbitrary rules, in favor of a rebellion that simply begins with the left hand.

Interview with Shih-Ching Tsou, director of My Family in Taipei

The film stems from a very personal experience: as a child you were left-handed and were corrected, as happened to the actress who plays the protagonist. After seeing the film, her family decided to let her use her left hand. What does it mean to you today to tell a story of “correction” and rebellion that has this impact?

It's one of the main reasons I wanted to make this film. I wanted things to change. I hope that those who watch it can then reflect on their own lives and recognize how many rules we follow just because they are called traditions, while they are absolutely obsolete and harmful.

There are many things that are clearly outdated today and should simply be abandoned. We need to create new traditions that are fair and equitable for everyone. Thanks to the film, at least one thing has changed, as you mentioned: Nina's family changed their minds and now she can finally be herself. It was fundamental for me to show this possibility.

The rebellion of the film's teenage protagonist, however, often comes from telling the truth in a culture that requires women to remain silent about their problems.

Yes, absolutely. Yi-An is the character who always puts the truth on the table. From the beginning, she tells her schoolmate things as they are, she doesn't make excuses.

She even teaches her little sister to tell the truth when she steals from a store. In that cultural context, telling the truth is perceived as an act of rebellion. But for her, it's simply the most natural way to be herself; she has also grown in the sense that society's impositions feel too restrictive. That's why she argues with her mother, responds acrimoniously, rebels.

The film also reveals a generational rift between women, more concerned with appearances than solidarity. Was this a conscious reflection?

Yes. It's based on my personal experience and the stories I've heard from many women of my generation living in Taiwan. This film reworks our collective memory.

Society changes, progresses, but some dynamics remain unchanged because they become part of the culture. People no longer question them, they just follow them: that's what I wanted to show with this story.

The three female figures seem to represent a true life cycle.

Yes. The child is innocent and naive. She doesn't understand why she's told not to use her left hand, not to be herself, to follow society's rules.

As she grows up, the teenage daughter rebels: she no longer wants those rules, she wants to become the person she desires to be. The mother, on the other hand, grew up completely within that system and tries, with great difficulty, to stay in it at least until she realizes what it's costing her daughters.

The view of Taipei also seems filtered by this tension between conformity and freedom. Why tell the city from a child's perspective?

Because children see things we no longer see. They have much sharper senses: they see more intense colors, hear more sounds.

Night markets, for them, are much more alive than they are for us adults. Furthermore, they still have few life experiences, so everything appears new and fresh. It was important that the city be seen through that gaze.

In the film there is also a very particular choice related to animals: Gugu is not a monkey, but a meerkat. How did this decision come about?

Originally Gugu was a monkey, because as a child I had one as a pet and I wanted to preserve that memory in the film. During pre-production, however, we realized it would be almost impossible to film with a monkey: in Taiwan there are very strict rules about the use of these animals in cinema and television.

So we had to find an alternative and a meerkat was recommended to us. It's a very intelligent animal and easy to train: you just put its favorite snack, cockroaches, inside a ball and, when you throw it, it chases it. That's how we learned to make it run with the ball. In a way, it was even simpler than working with cats, which are notoriously difficult to train for films. In the end, the meerkat gave the film a very funny, almost unexpected effect.

The project also stems from your collaboration with Sean Baker. What role did he play in My Family in Taipei?

Sean and I have been working together for many years. I have collaborated with him as a producer and assistant director, and there is a very strong human and artistic relationship between us. This film was born within that collaboration.

In this case, Sean was directly involved in the creative process: he co-wrote the screenplay and handled the editing. His perspective was very important, also because he is not Taiwanese and brought an external perspective on the city and the characters. After Anora, continuing to work together was natural: we share the same way of making cinema, very connected to real places, people, and small daily gestures.

In this film you worked mainly with professional actors, while in the past you often directed non-professionals as well. What differences did you notice?

Actually, it wasn't that different. Professional actors obviously know the rules and the work process very well, but our set is very different from a traditional one, so they also had to adapt.

The main difference is experience. Some actors have a great capacity for improvisation, like Chen Xiao-Cai, who plays Johnny. He is a TV presenter and also a comedian, and in his private life he is very similar to his character. I am very grateful to all the actors: not only for their work on set, but also because they continue to support the film during promotion.