July 7,
2016
The Sandwich Man – Taiwan, 1983
I’m
convinced that films like The Sandwich
Man are nearly impossible to do well. They require multiple directors to
create works that both blend together and stand alone as solo films. They often
have world-renowned directors, yet invariably one or two parts tend to stand
out, while what remains either slow the film down, makes dramatic shifts in
tone, or tells a story so distinct from the others that one may wonder why it
was included in the first place (think Michelangelo Antonioni’s “The Dangerous
Thread of Things” from 2004’s Eros).
Luckily, the three stories that make up 1983’s The Sandwich Man share enough in common that it seems logical that
they are included together. Unfortunately, as the film progresses, both quality
and tone decline, and what we’re left with resembles a three-course meal whose
concluding dish doesn’t quite leave you wholly satisfied.
The
stories that make up The Sandwich Man
are all set in Taiwan in the 1960’s, a time when martial law was still in place
and Taiwan was still recognized by the UN as China. Therefore, it seems
entirely apropos that each one is in some way connected to the influence of the
outside world on Taiwan. The first two showcase the influence of Japan on
advertising and economics; the latter has to do with the presence of foreigners
– mainly, the American military – on average Taiwanese citizens. The theme of
family also runs through all of three stories, and most of the lead characters
are deeply motivated by the need to provide better lives for them.
The
film’s first chapter, set in 1962 and directed by Hsiao-hsien Hou, is “Son’s Big
Doll” about a man who is inspired by a newspaper clipping of a Japanese man who
dresses in a costume and walks around town as a living billboard. It reminded
me of 1958’s masterful Giants and Toys,
a film in which characters do things like this to push sales and promote
products, often to surprising effect. Having lived in Taiwan now for over
eleven years, I immediately thought that it would almost certainly be less
effective here. However, our hero, Qun-Shu (Bor Jeng Chen) is undeterred, and
in one scene, we watch as he rushes home and makes a costume out of a blanket
that was probably being put to good use already.
Smartly,
the film is less about his attempts at advertising than it is about his
relationship with his wife (Li-Yin Yang) and very young son, and theirs is a
tough relationship. We see the strain that economics is having on them, and
many of their conversations contain words that are intentionally hurtful –
mostly from him. Failing to bring home the bucks can do this to someone as
proud and industrious as Qun-Shu, and being the object of scorn and snickers
doesn’t help either. In one scene, we see a family member openly express his
embarrassment at Qun-Shu’s choice of a profession. I was moved by this story,
for in just a short time it created interesting characters, established
realistic situations, and presented real emotions. In fact, it is only in its
final moments that the film takes a turn from realism to symbolism, but even
that is hard to fault completely.
The
second film, set in 1964, is less successful, yet still weaves a tale of good
people putting too much faith in both themselves and the decency of companies. Directed
by Zhuang Xiang Zeng, this part is entitled “Vicki’s Hat,” and it tell the
story of two men sent to a small area of southern Taiwan to sell Japanese
cooking pots, which, as they frequently remind potential customers, will reduce
the time in which it takes to cook from two hours to ten minutes. Again, the
film presents us with a family man, here Zai-fa Lin (Ting-li Fang), trying to
earn enough money so that his very pregnant wife will finally be able to quit
her job, and like Qun-Shu, we hear anecdotally that Zai-fa has had pressure
from in-laws.
The
story drags somewhat, relying too heavily on attempts to sell the pots. This
leaves precious little time to explore the film’s other, more interesting
subplots, such as Zai’s fa’s colleague’s interest in a local school girl, the
only girl in town, it seems, who wear a hat, and intriguing flashbacks that
call into question Zai-fa’s abilities as a salesperson, as well as his constant
depiction of himself as prepared and knowledgeable. As a result, I was less
involved in this one, and not even its strong finale was enough to pull me back
in completely.
At this
point in the film, drama has been its consistent tone, and for the first few
moments of the third piece, Jen Wan’s “The Taste of Apples,” it appears that
the film will continue in this tenor. However, it quickly veers into unadvised
and discomforting attempts at comedy, and at times, I could not tell whether
the film wanted the audience to laugh with the characters or at them. This
portion of the film takes place in Taipei in 1969, and it is about what happens
after a southerner living in Taipei with his family is hit by a car driven by
an American colonel (another foreign influence on average Taiwanese). Along
with a local interpreter, the colonel goes to the man’s home, picks up the
man’s family, and takes them in his shiny car to a hospital for Americans.
Seeing the looks on the family’s faces, it is clear that they’ve never seen
anything like it.
There
are things that ring true about this tale, from the joy and playfulness of the
two young boys to the mother’s worry over the family’s well-being if her
husband dies or cannot work for a long stretch of time. The film also contains
a reference to “selling” the family’s oldest daughter into marriage that will
remind viewers just how different times were back then. However, all too often
this part of the film veers into situation comedy, depicting the family’s
interest in seeing the bathrooms or their abrupt switch from sad to happy at
the mention of a financial settlement. It’s a film that doesn’t take its
characters seriously and seems to see negative or real emotions as simply steps
to the next comic moment. In other words, it establishes a character’s negative
emotions only to show them smiling and acting silly a moment later. In fact,
the message of this segment seems to be that everyone would be fortunate to be
hit by a car driven by an American officer.
It
reminded me of the last segment in In Our
Times, also from 1983, and I wondered why there was such an interest in
ending with laughter. Sure, movies have always tried to end with moments of big
excitement, huge impressive spectacles, and sheer hilarity, yet usually those
are the themes of the movie throughout. Here, it isn’t, and the effect is
jarring. It’s as if the directors underestimated their audience, viewing them
as capable of handling only so much “realism.” This is unfortunate, for with just
a few tweaks, The Sandwich Man could
have been that rarest of films – the combination of divergent stories that
gelled well together and added up to something special. As it is, the film is
watchable, yet much less memorable than it should have been. (on DVD and
Blu-ray in Region 3/A as part of the Taiwan
New Wave Cinema: 1982 – 1983 box set)
3 stars
*The Sandwich Man is in Mandarin, Min Nan,
and English.
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