If the 1982 film In Our Time (Guangyin de gushi) marked the start of Taiwan New Cinema (TNC), then the 2022 publication of Song Hwee Lim’s book, Taiwan Cinema as Soft Power: Authorship, Transnationality, Historiography, honors the legacy of this important cinematic movement on its 40^th anniversary. If further proof of the timeliness of this monograph is needed, attention could be directed to the retrospective “Taiwan New Cinema: Revisited” held in Taipei in October 2022.

What is most remarkable about Taiwan Cinema as Soft Power is Lim’s employment of the concept of “soft power,” which is borrowed from political science. The concept enables Lim to discuss in the same breath the latest career moves of Taiwan’s most celebrated auteurs (production) and the influences that TNC has cast on contemporary directors, such as Hirokazu Kore-eda (b. 1962) and Bi Gan (b. 1989) (reception); it also allows Lim to examine film texts alongside institutions (the Golden Horse Awards), policies (Taichung City’s), and discourses (“little freshness”). The wide-ranging discussions are anchored by three keywords: authorship, transnationality, and historiography. Ultimately, Lim champions cross-cultural cinephilia as a form of soft power and an engine capable of reorienting the historiography of TNC (or even Taiwan cinema) as transnational in nature. The focus on “historiography” places this book squarely in dialogue with various conceptualizations of Chinese cinema, such as “Chinese national cinema,” “Chinese language cinema,” and “Sinophone cinema.”

Chapter 1 focuses on the 2014 documentary Flowers of Taipei: Taiwan New Cinema (Guangyin de gushi: Taiwan xindianying), which was commissioned by the Taipei City Government’s Department of Cultural Affairs. Showcasing a plethora of interviews dominated by foreign nationals, the documentary rendered cross-cultural cinephilia visible for critical examination. Chapters 2 through 4 discuss the cinematic development of three prominent Taiwan auteurs in the new millennium: Hou Hsiao-hsien, Tsai Ming-liang, and Ang Lee. Lim privileges the use of sound in Hou Hsiao-hsien’s two foreign-language films—Café Lumière (2003) and Flight of the Red Balloon (2007) (“The Aural Turn”). Lim continues on to detail Tsai Ming-liang’s gradual trajectory away from movie theaters and into museums vis-à-vis his radically experimental Walker series (“The Medial Turn”), and further explains how Ang Lee used his profile in Hollywood and moved his production of Life of Pi (2012) to Taichung City—a move in part responding to Taichung’s initiative to develop tourism through film production (“The Industrial Turn”). Chapter 5 focuses on the affective discourse of “little freshness” (xiao qingxing), which accompanied the breakout commercial successes of Cape No. 7 (2008) and You Are the Apple of My Eye (2011) in both the PRC and Hong Kong. The discourse establishes Taiwan as a desirable destination for imagination or immigration. The Epilogue chronicles the latest development of Taiwan’s Golden Horse Awards. After experiencing difficulties with the PRC, the Golden Horse Awards expanded into more loosely defined linguistic and national territories with the lure of artistic credibility established by TNC. Poised to become a regional cinematic magnet, the Golden Horse Awards evince the unmistakable soft power of the Taiwan state in the process.

The chapter on the Taiwan commercial cinematic brand of “little freshness” —which Lim believes represents a kind of “citizen-to-citizen soft power” (p. 128)­­—is one of the first critical studies of its kind in English scholarship, thus representing a significant contribution to the study of Taiwan cinema and popular culture. Its inclusion in this book, however, coheres less than do the other chapters, which are conceptually strung together by TNC. In the introduction, Lim asserts, “this book’s object of analysis is the legacy, in the twenty-first century, of Taiwan New Cinema …” (p. 3). Including commercial cinema in Chapter 5 enlarges the scope of the book from TNC to Taiwan cinema, which reflects in the book title. Despite Lim’s own awareness (p. 26), the fixation on TNC throughout a book bearing the title “Taiwan Cinema” gives the impression that TNC is equated to the entirety of Taiwan cinema, as happens too often. In addition, his exploration of the meaning of “little freshness” could also benefit from more Chinese academic sources, beyond the internet comments and journalistic discourses cited. As a result, the definition of “little freshness” in the PRC as a yearning for a clean and free life, symbolized by the imagery of “blue sky, white clouds, and green grass” (p. 128), appears incomplete.

The book is otherwise meticulously researched, citing all relevant literature on soft power, national cinema, affect, New Wave Cinema, expanded cinema, cinematic sound, city tourism, and cultural miniaturization, among many other critical concepts. The eloquent prose, neat conceptualization, and regimented organization exemplify quality academic writing. Although Lim’s repeated use of his three titular keywords (authorship, transnationality, and historiography) to comment on various topics feels hackneyed at times, this very organization tool prevents this truly interdisciplinary study from falling into analytical disarray. Offering a timely study about the notable development and reception of TNC in the last two decades, this very book, no doubt, also constitutes part of the legacy of TNC. It is a must-read for anyone who is interested in New Taiwan Cinema, art cinema, and the study of soft power.