Taipei, January 9, 2026
Taiwan’s Cinematic History Is Vanishing—and a Race to Save It Is On
Table of Contents
An estimated 1,000 to 2,000 Taiwanese-language films produced between 1955 and 1981 are at risk of being lost forever, with fewer than 200 currently remaining.
- Between 1955 and 1981, Taiwan produced a vibrant, yet largely undocumented, cinematic landscape.
- Many original film negatives were discarded or repurposed due to a lack of preservation awareness and the influence of organized crime.
- The Taiwan Film and Audiovisual Institute (TFAI) is leading a challenging effort to restore these films, battling time, funding constraints, and a shortage of skilled technicians.
- Restoration isn’t just about technical repair; it’s a crucial act of cultural preservation and identity reconstruction.
Hsu Pu-liao, the “Taiwanese Charlie Chaplin,” didn’t live to see the premiere of his biggest hit, The Clown and the Swan (1985). The film, starring Hsu himself, remarkably outgrossed Jackie Chan’s Heart of Dragon, earning NT$9.2 million at the Taiwanese box office. Forty years later, it’s become the 100th film restored by the Taiwan Film and Audiovisual Institute (TFAI).
How Film Was Lost—and Sometimes Saved
The survival of The Clown and the Swan is a stroke of luck. “It is the only one of Hsu’s films whose original negative survived,” says director Kevin Chu (朱延平), a commercially successful filmmaker in Taiwan. “We were lucky.” But luck wasn’t always a factor in the fate of Taiwanese cinema. The story of how so many films vanished is a complex one, often involving organized crime and a disregard for cultural heritage.
During the 1970s and 1980s, Taiwan’s film industry was largely controlled by gangs. According to Chu, theater owners paid NT$40 million for film packages, with gangsters spending NT$10 million on production and pocketing the remainder. Films were frequently used for money laundering and then discarded after their theatrical runs. Even when prints were returned to theaters, the original negatives often met a grim fate— repurposed as shirt collar stays or even padding for flip-flops.
Photo courtesy of TFAI
Professor Robert Chen (陳儒修) of National Chengchi University’s Department of Radio and Television explains that there was simply no awareness at the time of the importance of film preservation. This lack of foresight coincided with a period of significant change for Taiwan’s film industry. By the 1990s, the industry had collapsed, largely due to loosened film import controls negotiated during trade talks related to WTO accession and agreements with the United States. These concessions, intended to protect agriculture, inadvertently sacrificed the domestic film industry.
Local film production plummeted from 81 films in 1990 to just 16 in 1999, according to the Cinema Yearbook in the Republic of China: 1990–1999. Today, data from the Taiwan Creative Content Agency (TAICCA) reveals that foreign films still dominate the market, accounting for 89 percent of theatrical releases.
A Race Against Time and the Elements
What are the biggest threats to Taiwan’s film archive? The TFAI is currently battling both time and the natural elements. The institute holds nearly 180,000 reels, many of which are severely degraded after decades of improper storage. Taiwan’s humid climate accelerates a process known as “vinegar syndrome,” causing the film base to become brittle and warp as it releases acetic acid.
Even in climate-controlled vaults, deterioration continues. Preparing a badly damaged reel for scanning can take an entire month. Wang Yu-jen (王鈺禎), a digital restoration technician at TFAI, meticulously stabilizes footage and removes defects frame by frame. “Ten minutes of footage can take a month to restore if you’re lucky,” she says. She recalls spending over six months on a single 1980s classic, The Story of a Small Town (小城故事), due to extensive mold damage.
Ethical considerations also play a role. TFAI adheres to the International Federation of Film Archives guidelines, prioritizing faithful restoration over “beautification.” When restoring Tsai Ming-liang’s Vive L’Amour in 4K, the institute sought the director’s personal supervision of the color grading process. “The goal is always to return the film as close as possible to its original state,” explains Watson Lee (李仲豪), supervisor of TFAI’s Division of Preservation and Restoration. “[Tsai’s] supervision ensured it matched what was intended at the time.”
However, quality restoration is expensive. Each film can cost millions to restore, and TFAI currently has only six restoration technicians, a limited number of conservators, and a single sound restorer. “We do our best within the time allowed,” Wang says. “Some films can only be restored so much.”
Cultural Rescue and the Limits of Revival
Restoration is more than just technical repair; it’s a vital act of cultural rescue. Wang Yu-jen recalls recognizing footage of her hometown, Tainan, while working on a project. “It felt personal,” she says. Every film serves as a historical document, encoding the political, economic, and cultural nuances of its time. The Story of a Small Town, for example, captures a Taiwan in transition, marked by the completion of the Sun Yat-sen Freeway and the Taiwanization movement that emerged after the US broke diplomatic ties in the late 1970s.
“Film restoration and preservation are a vital part of safeguarding historical memory,” Chen says. “The work must go back to the negatives.” Iris Du (杜麗琴), TFAI’s director, views the institute’s mission as one of identity reconstruction. She believes that through films, documents, and audiovisual records, we can piece together answers to fundamental questions about who we are and how Taiwan evolved. “Our mission is to reintroduce films to contemporary audiences and reinterpret them in today’s context,” Du says.
Despite having the highest restoration capacity in Asia, the current pace of 10 to 12 films per year means it will take decades to process the existing archive. Taiwan also faces a shortage of trained professionals. Aside from a single graduate program at Tainan National University of the Arts, there is limited comprehensive training in film preservation. Yet, the cost of inaction is far greater. “If nothing is rescued, that memory disappears,” Chen warns.
The institute’s work also helps restore the legacies of filmmakers and performers whose careers were nearly erased. Golden Horse-winning actress Lu Hsiao-fen (陸小芬) remembers the emotional impact of seeing herself on screen again at a restoration screening. “It brought back a rush of mixed emotions,” Lu says. “The long waits, the heartbreaks and the hard-won victories all resurfaced.”
Hsu Pu-liao never experienced that moment. But at the 40th anniversary screening of The Clown and the Swan, the audience’s laughter echoed through the theater, just as it had in 1985. “Hsu gave me my career,” director Chu says. “I want the next generation to know Taiwan had this era, had this person.”
