Caring for some of society's most vulnerable and infirm people can be incredibly rewarding, but it can also be incredibly thankless. Coupled with a miserable economic system rife with exploitation and people trafficking, then you are faced with almost impossible odds. It is these odds that are confronted by Mongrel, a bleak but beautifully presented debut feature from the Singapore-born writer and director Wei Liang Chiang. Mongrel is unforgiving and unrelenting in its exposure of those left behind by society's excluding march, but it is a portrait executed with a curiously serene flow that rewards an attentive viewer with a soulful experience.
Mongrel focuses on Oom (Wanlop Rungkumjad), one of a myriad of undocumented migrant workers brought into Taiwan by gangs to fill numerous unforgiving jobs. Oom is a caregiver for the elderly, sick, and disabled. He appears as a morally ambiguous figure, although this may stem from how powerless he feels in his situation. He is at once gentle and respectful of those in his care, but seemingly complicit with his boss' ongoing drive to snatch up new workers even though he can scarcely pay the ones he has. His boss, Tsing (Yu-hong Hong) promises Oom that his debt is almost settled, but continues to take advantage of his natural compassion by forcing him to do even more work for him.
Oom is often without the means or security to act on the inherent good of his character. You see him at his best when he tends to those in his care, something that is exploited by those above him in the food chain. The earphone and later earbud he wears seem to at once represent a salient desire for better things and also a means to drown out his immediate reality, even if only to an extent. Oom elicits your sympathy and interest without ever really asking for it, in no small part down to a tender but politely detached performance from Rungkumjad who seems largely able to deflect any concentrated effort to get inside Oom's head.
Mongrel envelopes you in its very deliberate and blunt approach. Much of the action takes place in low or dim light as if to emphasise the loss of hope, while the aspect ratio creates a confining, almost claustrophobic feel. There is next to no music – even the tracks from Oom's earphones are barely audible – as if to further trap the viewer in the situation presented to them. And yet, to say this is a grim venture and a grim one only would overlook the delicacy and calming touch that Chiang applies to visualising the subject matter. It depicts harsh realities, but does so by allowing the camera to patiently linger on the action and moving slowly between different shots of the same action. There is a grace and beauty to the pace of Mongrel that at one feels like an empathetic gaze while on the other hand is silently relentless in its portrayal of an exploited workforce.
Chiang chooses not to scream about the sheer misery of it all, as one would feel entitled to do, but instead to play everything out at a breathtakingly slow speed. The opening scene, which shows Oom caring for a young disabled man named Hui (Shu-wei Kuo), sets the scene for a film that is as frank and unforgiving as it is strangely meditative and calm. Mongrel feels less like a rallying cry for change and more like a sombre look at how we identify with the pain and suffering of those around us in times of moral and personal crisis. Chiang's debut feature is at once a difficult but rewarding watch that favours subtlety as much as overt anger, and that goes to great lengths to treat its central characters with the respect not afforded to them by the society in which they live.
Mongrel had its UK premiere on 16th August 2024 as part of the 77th Edinburgh International Film Festival.
