2017
Golden Bell Awards
非戲劇類節目導演獎
非戲劇類節目導演獎
1:18:54 邱永漢等旅日台裔作家被排除在台灣文學論述之外，最可惜的還是我們無法讀到更多元、更細緻的文學作品。如同岡崎郁子在電影裡所說，她認為邱永漢筆下的台灣，比起許多台灣文學研究慣於討論的作家如楊逵、吳濁流等人都來得有趣。不只提醒了創作者，小說最重要的還是在於故事本身有不有趣，更是給予年輕台灣文學研究者一記忠告，「先著重在閱讀作品本身，不要被先前的論述帶著走。」
台灣特殊性的影響除了造成這幾位作家自身對於身分認定上的模糊之外，邱永漢和陳舜臣這輩作家也可能因為白色恐怖的陰影而有所規避。不過，從另一個角度來看，他們確實也沒有義務服膺於台灣國族，反而將文學創作放置於國族想像之前才有辦法成就更好的作品。
除了邱永漢，陳舜臣和年輕一輩的東山彰良（本名王震緒），他們都在身份的自我認同上，有意無意地避開了台灣人這個選項。可能因為試圖在日本文壇塑造一種模糊不清的神秘感，也可能和台灣本身政治上、歷史上的特殊性有關。
「什麼是台灣文學？」這是岡崎郁子最初試圖將邱永漢納入台灣文學系譜中，不斷浮現的問題。邱永漢戰前出生、成長於台灣，戰後因為台獨運動的關係輾轉定居於日本，小說作品雖以日文寫成，內容卻反覆書寫二二八事件。然而，邱永漢卻經常被排除在台灣文學論述之外，他的作品在當今的台灣也不容易取得。這個問題其實並不只是帶出了台灣文學研究劃定範圍的問題，更進一步地將問題推向「誰才是台灣人？」、「台灣是什麼？」。
電影裡穿插多個核彈爆發後的畫面作為轉場，像是不斷提醒著台灣和日本終戰後分家的事實。然而，這並不代表兩者從此分道揚鑣，反而像電影裡日本學者岡崎郁子說她對台灣的印象，總有種像日本又不太像那樣的複雜關係。不單純是地景，文化交混可能也是重要因素，電影裡主要提到的旅日台裔作家作品也都算是這種複雜關係下的產物。
For most people, “home” naturally refers to the place one returns to each day—a space of comfort and rest for both body and soul. Yet for many around the world, the feeling of having a home is unimaginable. At some point in their lives, they were forced to leave—because of war, politics, or simply in pursuit of a better life—and began a journey of drifting, searching for a new sense of home. While trying to settle and take root, they continue to yearn for the ghost of a homeland left behind. Can this new home ever replace what was lost? Faced with new identities and unfamiliar neighbors, how do they perceive themselves? Have they become someone new, or are they destined to remain like rootless water plants, adrift?
Why do we write? When words erupt from the mind and pour into the heart, images and monologues take the place of daily tedium—of the mundane, the irritating, the unbearable. For some writers, however, writing is more than expression; it is salvation. It is an unshakable calling. In this themed selection on literature, Giloo presents documentaries that delve into the lives and inner worlds of writers—poets, novelists, critics—who wield pens (or typewriters) like swords, fearlessly confronting the truths of the world. The passage of time leaves behind not just pages, but marks of introspection—quiet yet undeniable badges of their creative journey.
This curated film list centers around the Time Travel Taiwan Series, featuring 13 Taiwanese documentary filmmakers who reinterpret officially archived footage through creative reimagining. By transforming historical images into new narratives, they breathe fresh life into decades past. Audiences are invited to step into a time tunnel — to explore Taiwan’s historical landscapes and witness the sparks ignited by cross-generational dialogue through these experimental visual works.
As a kid growing up glued to the TV, I used to dream of flying to Japan just to cheer for Vivian Hsu’s group “Black Biscuits.” Japanese entertainment had an indescribable magic for me—everything on screen felt so beautiful, so funny, so captivating. Not like Taipei, which always seemed kind of gray. In my early twenties, I decided to leave Taipei and chase my dreams in Japan. In the blink of an eye, 14 years passed in Tokyo—and I grew up. I finally realized that what I once saw on television perhaps only ever existed on television. Living in Japan is a whole other story—more often than not, it’s been about gritting my teeth and “eating bitterness” until I was full. Just last week, I happened to hear Ambassador Frank Hsieh on the radio here. He chose to introduce Taiwan with two songs: You Must Fight to Win and Twilight Hometown. Hearing those songs on Japanese radio, I felt unexpectedly emotional. “The hometown of twilight keeps calling me, calling me...” People say that traveling is a way to find the road home— I think now, I finally understand what that means.
Margaret Atwood carried The Handmaid’s Tale from Canada to the world. Yu Xiuhua, a woman with cerebral palsy from rural Hubei, moved the Chinese-speaking world with a single poem. In the 1930s, Ong Naô journeyed from Taiwan to Tokyo for his studies and left behind Before the Dawn. Giloo Documentary and ChiuKo Publishing present a curated selection of literary documentaries. Let the words of these writers take you elsewhere.
It all started as a joke: “Will people say this is too Taiwanese?” After all, we’re the ones always afraid of being boring or too slow— and yet here we are, gritting our teeth and programming a lineup of gloriously slow cinema. But some stories can’t be skipped. Some lessons, no matter how painful, you just have to get through. Taiwan’s inner angst is like a deep bruise beneath the skin—long-settled and hard to press out. Sometimes, you just need a hot young masseur to work it loose. Whether you end up loving, hating, or feeling nothing at all about Taiwan, we invite you to revisit its joy, rage, sorrow, and everything in between. This film festival is like a sketchy pair of hands passing you crib notes under the table—an attempt to loosen what refuses to unclench, to summarize the unsummarizable.