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Rarely do elements in any society carry as much absurdity and potency as its traditional beliefs. Left-Handed Girl introduces us to I-Jing, a endearing five-year-old who has just moved back to Taipei with her mother and elder sibling. She gets literal firsthand experience when her grandfather warns her for using her left hand for everything – it’s not natural, he insists; the devil’s influence, he claims.

As I-Jing examines her hand with dismay, a new bond forms between her and her so-called cursed hand while she explores city life. Filmed completely with iPhones, debut solo director and screenwriter Shih-Ching Tsou, together with frequent collaborator Sean Baker, captures the frenetic energy and sensory immersion of Taipei. Vibrant crimson Chinese characters overtake the glass windows of a pawn shop; the pleasant melody of trash-collecting trucks fills the air; the easy ping-pong of Mandarin and Taiwanese between generations; verdant foliage against aged structures that nearly evoke the scent the specific essence of a bustling, humid city. It’s not so much a love letter from a fan as it is a devotional to a place known by heart. Tsou pairs the kaleidoscopic fragments of the city with the splinters of imperfect people – poignantly showing what it means to be a family in Taiwan, and delivering a masterpiece of a film.

Family Dynamics and Inner Conflicts

The drama, Taiwan’s entry for best foreign language film at the Oscars, starts with I-Jing, her older sister, and her mom in a period of reconstruction. Pensive mom Shu-Fen has set up a night market noodles stand, and the volatile I-Ann has left high school and works at a betel nut stall, where she’s sleeping with her boss. I-Jing, played by the very charming Nina Ye, begins a new school and, with the curiosity only a child can have, tests out the potential of this newly anointed devil hand.

As she begins stealing trinkets at the night market with the cursed limb, separating a right hand that does what’s required and the other that entertains what the heart desires, Tsou skillfully reflects each character’s own dualities. Here, the film portrays the complexities between what a person feels obligated to and what she truly wants: Shu-Fen can’t free herself from her trash ex-husband’s debts; I-Ann feels reduced to the role her mom wants her to play as she watches her peers move forward; I-Jing is told to be present but silent.

Visual Storytelling and Emotional Resonance

Tsou, along with Baker as editor and Ko-Chin Chen and Tzu-Hao Kao as cinematographers, expertly lands us onto each family member’s individual worlds, with many shots capturing the lively and charming rhythms of daily Taipei life. We’re at the same height with I-Jing as she makes her first pilfering, the excitement building with a camera shaky and beat abrupt. The camera pans overhead as I-Ann rides her scooter at night, city lights glistening in the heat, bringing an boundless feeling of freedom with a pain that’s uniquely hers to feel.

A feeling of responsibility is expertly integrated into each conundrum, as well as the isolation that comes with it – it’s at once intimate and saddening to see how duty is often a lonely journey. We see it when I-Jing tries in earnest to draw with her right hand, when I-Ann rests in bed after being scorned at an ex-classmate’s motel party. Meanwhile, Shu-Fen struggles to make rent, her own mom annoyed she needs help yet again. “A married daughter’s like water that’s poured out,” says the grandma; a son would have still been her responsibility.

Moments of Light and Performances

There are also moments of levity and playfulness, especially with the grandma’s flashes of indignation, time with a meerkat that becomes I-Jing’s pet, and I-Jing’s general delight with the world. Ye, who is a left-hander in real life, perfectly walks the tightrope of an innocent child absorbing the economic pressures and unfamiliar forces – Shu-Fen’s ex, the grandma’s antics, I-Ann and Shu-Fen’s arguments – that surround her. Ma’s I-Ann, too, is a considered portrait of an acerbic teenager dealing with grief, making it feel like an undeniable but prohibitive emotion in an environment where everyone’s just trying to survive.

Climactic Scenes and Central Ideas

By the dramatic penultimate dinner scene, the clan has nurtured big secrets that lead to the ultimate Taiwanese diu lian (losing of face): getting embarrassed in front of an audience. And the disclosures are good – by that point, it’s like uncovering a shocking, painful secret about a dear friend. Tsou and Baker’s script sharply examines what it really means to be shamed: which shames are honorable, which are indulgent, and what should be passed from one generation to the next?

Some of these bombs are left unexcavated after the big confrontation, and Left-Handed Girl may leave you wanting more – but perhaps also realizing that airing everything doesn’t mean resolution or a tidy adage immediately follows, or that there will be a sinister influence to blame. Instead, perhaps the city just wakes up to another day, and, a little lighter (having lost a little face), so do you.

• Availability: Left-Handed Girl is available in select cinemas on 14 November and on streaming platforms from November 28.