The Time to Live and the Time to Die

In a post‑war Taiwan still finding its footing after the arrival of families from the mainland, a young boy narrates his own memories, guiding the audience through a landscape of modest homes, bustling streets, and quiet countryside. The film is anchored by Ah‑ha, whose voice‑over stitches together moments from childhood to early adulthood, offering a personal map of a nation in transition.

His family’s journey begins with his father’s role as a modest public servant, a position that takes them from the northern town of Hsinchu to a cramped dormitory in Fengshan, Kaohsiung. Within this mobile household, Grandmother serves as a steady, if enigmatic, presence, often calling the boy home for simple meals and ferrying him on imaginary trips back toward the mainland—a gesture that hints at longing and displacement. The household’s dynamics, marked by the quiet perseverance of his mother and the lingering shadows of a past life, shape the boy’s sense of identity.

The film’s tone is deliberately meditative, allowing the camera to linger on ordinary details—a row of guava trees, the texture of old photographs, the muted hum of a town street—while the narration reflects on the passage of time. Light filters through weathered shutters, and the rhythm of daily life is set against the backdrop of a nation still echoing with the aftershocks of conflict. This visual poetry, paired with a restrained soundscape, creates an atmosphere that feels both intimate and expansive.

As Ah‑ha moves through adolescence, he confronts the expectations of school, the pull of peer groups, and the first stirrings of love, all while wrestling with the weight of family history. The narrative suggests a tension between yearning for a stable future and the restless energy of youth, inviting viewers to contemplate how memory, place, and personal resolve intertwine in the slow, steady march toward adulthood.

Last Updated: December 04, 2025 at 15:55