Little Big Women

Joseph Chen-Chieh Hsu’s Little Big Women (孤味) became a massive cultural phenomenon upon its release in 2020, becoming the highest-grossing Taiwanese film of the year and earning veteran actress Chen Shu-fang a historic double win at the Golden Horse Awards. Adapted from Hsu’s own 2017 short film and inspired by his grandmother’s real-life experiences, the movie possesses an intimate, lived-in authenticity. It is a deeply resonant exploration of the emotional landscape of Taiwanese women across generations, set against the rich, visually textured backdrop of Tainan. The story opens with a quintessential irony: Lin Shoying, a matriarch who has built a successful restaurant empire from humble beginnings selling shrimp rolls by purely frying them herself, is preparing for her grandiose 70th birthday celebration. However, the festivities are interrupted by the news of the death of her estranged husband, Bochang, who abandoned the family years ago.

The film’s Chinese title, “Gu Wei” (孤味), offers a key to its thematic depth. Untranslatable in a single word, it literally means “lonely taste” or “solitary flavor.” In Taiwanese culinary culture, it refers to a chef’s stubborn insistence on a unique, singular flavor profile, perfected in isolation. Metaphorically, it symbolizes Lin Shoying’s entire existence: a life compounded of profound loneliness, stubborn pride, and singular dedication. She is a woman who has “stewed” in her own resentment and resilience for decades, holding onto the bitter flavor of abandonment as a source of strength. The narrative delicately peels back the layers of this resentment—her bitterness towards her husband for leaving, and her complex, controlling love for her three daughters.

Tainan, the cultural capital of the south, is not merely a setting but a vital character in the film. The movie is soaked in the city’s golden light and specific sounds, with characters frequently switching between Mandarin and the Tainan-accented Taiwanese Hokkien that marks their regional identity. Hsu captures the city’s culinary heritage—the steaming shrimp rolls, the bustling markets—and uses them to ground the emotional drama in sensory reality. This local flavor extends to the film’s depiction of funeral culture, which becomes the central stage for the family’s conflict.

The funeral itself highlights a clash of values: the “Face” vs. the “Soul.” Shoying insists on a lavish, traditional Taoist ceremony, complete with elaborate chanting, paper lotuses, and elaborate “gong-and-drum” bands. This spectacle is less about the deceased and more about asserting her status as the “legitimate wife,” a public performance of propriety and ownership. This clashes with the wishes of her husband’s lover, Ms. Tsai, who advocates for a simpler, Buddhist approach. The film brilliantly uses these rituals to explore how Taiwanese families perform grief, suggesting that the noisy, structured chaos of the rites is often a way to mask the messy, unresolved silence of the heart.

The three daughters represent distinct archetypes of modern Taiwanese womanhood, each reacting differently to their mother’s towering legacy. The eldest, a free spirit driven by fear of commitment; the middle, a high-achieving plastic surgeon trying to escape the family’s shadow; and the youngest, who runs the restaurant and feels trapped by obligation. Their interactions are filled with the specific passive-aggressive tenderness of close families. The film excels in showing how trauma is passed down not through grand events, but through small comments at the dinner table and the silent burdens of expectation.

Central to the conflict is the appearance of Ms. Tsai, the “other woman” who spent the last years of Bochang’s life with him. In a lesser melodrama, she would be the villain. In Little Big Women, she is rendered with profound empathy and grace. The confrontation between the “legal wife” and the “soulmate” subverts all tropes, evolving into a quiet understanding of shared grief. It challenges the traditional binary of the virtuous wife versus the home-wrecker, presenting instead two women who loved the same flawed, absent man in different ways. Shoying’s journey is one of realizing that her status as the “winner” of the legal marriage has brought her no peace.

The performance of Chen Shu-fang as Lin Shoying is the film’s gravity. At 81, she brought a lifetime of experience to the role, conveying volumes with a single stoic look or a trembling hand. Her portrayal avoids the caricature of the “tiger mom,” revealing instead a woman deeply wounded by patriarchy who learned to survive by becoming harder than the world around her. Her eventual softening is earned, not given.

Ultimately, Little Big Women is a story about the difficult art of letting go. The film’s climax does not happen with a shout, but with a song. In a moving scene inside a taxi, Shoying finally sings the karaoke song she never finished with her husband, a moment of private release that signifies her acceptance. She chooses not to attend the funeral service itself, handing the role of “chief mourner” to Ms. Tsai—an act of radical grace that liberates her from the chains of her own resentment. It is a tender, tear-jerking, and authentically female-centered narrative that celebrates the resilience of Taiwanese women, suggesting that true strength lies not in holding on to the bitter past, but in the courage to walk away and taste life’s “solitary flavor” on one’s own terms.