Culture, Myth, and Fear Collide in the Fog

Read Time:5 Minute, 16 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Haunted Mountains: The Yellow Taboo
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Genre: Experimental Horror, Fantasy
Year Released: 2024, 2025
Runtime: 1h 36m
Director(s): Rain Wu
Writer(s): Rain Wu
Cast: Li Tien-lu, Hsu An-chih, Ko Yen-chen, Pan Li-li
Where to Watch: shown at the 2025 Fantasia Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: HAUNTED MOUNTAINS: THE YELLOW TABOO doesn’t rush to frighten you—it drifts, floats, and occasionally vanishes into its own shadow. It's a film as stubbornly ethereal as the legends it draws from, positioning itself somewhere between experimental cinema, mythological meditation, and slow-burning horror. Rain Wu’s film is not trying to fit a conventional mold, and that’s both its strength and its Achilles’ heel.

This exploration trades jump scares for long silences and metaphors. It is more interested in memory than narrative, more enchanted by nature than by plot. Watching it feels like slipping into a fever dream—a visually captivating one, but not always a narratively fulfilling one. And that ambiguity will either invite viewers to lean in or push them away completely.

Set deep in the wilds of Taiwan’s Central Mountain Range, the story follows a young woman named An-Chih (played with grace by Hsu An-chih) who returns to her family village after the death of her grandfather. There, local legends, superstition, and buried family secrets bubble to the surface. From the start, the film is shrouded in fog—both literally and narratively—and it’s clear Wu isn’t interested in giving us easy answers. This isn’t a story about solving a mystery. It’s about living in one.

What makes the film hypnotic is its embrace of Taiwanese indigenous rituals, particularly the Bunun people's ceremonies. Their presence isn’t tokenistic or merely for flair; they’re given space, time, and reverence. These sequences are often the film’s most affecting moments. The camera doesn’t cut away quickly. Instead, it lingers—on faces, in chants, in movements—inviting viewers to observe rather than interpret.

And yet, for all its strengths, HAUNTED MOUNTAINS: THE YELLOW TABOO often feels trapped between its ambitions. On one hand, it wants to be a poetic meditation on grief, folklore, and belonging. On the other hand, it suggests a horror framework—spectral inclusions, crumbling sanity, ominous pacing—without ever fully committing to the genre. It's not suspenseful in a traditional sense, and while some sequences flirt with dread, they rarely escalate to a truly climactic moment.

The visual approach is perhaps the most consistent strength. Rain Wu, also serving as the cinematographer, uses the natural landscape as both a stage and a character. The lush greens, mist-covered peaks, and shadowy interiors convey more emotion than much of the dialogue. The film’s use of sound—wind rustling, animal cries, the low hum of distant rituals—further immerses the viewer in this haunted ecosystem.

But while the atmosphere is dense and inviting, the pacing can become an endurance test. The plot thins out by the midway point, replaced by long, unbroken takes that rely heavily on the viewer’s patience. It's not that these moments lack intention—it’s just that their payoff is often minimal. Those seeking clarity, resolution, or escalation will likely be left disappointed.

The cast, mostly composed of non-professional or local actors, contributes to the film’s grounded feel. Hsu An-chih carries the emotional burden well, often with little more than her eyes. Li Tien-lu’s archival footage appearance adds a surreal touch, tying the film to a broader cinematic legend. The entire project often feels like a nod to Tsai Ming-liang or even Apichatpong Weerasethakul in its hypnotic slowness and spiritual preoccupations.

Wu’s direction shows confidence—arguably too much at times. His refusal to spoon-feed the audience is admirable, but a bit more structure could’ve helped the film’s final third land with greater impact. There’s a moment late in the movie involving a ritual deep in the woods that should be devastating. Instead, it washes over like another pretty image. It’s poetic, yes, but its emotion gets lost in the film’s haze.

Still, there’s something undeniably admirable about how personal this film feels. Wu clearly understands the cultural roots he's exploring, and there's a tactile love for the landscapes, songs, and silences of Taiwan's indigenous culture. This isn’t horror, designed to thrill. It’s horror designed to remember—and that gives it a deeper, if less accessible, power.

HAUNTED MOUNTAINS: THE YELLOW TABOO is a patient, mysterious, and culturally rich film that lingers with you.. Whether that lingering feels meaningful or maddening depends on what you bring to it—and how willing you are to sit in the fog without needing to find the path.

Let’s call it what it is: flawed, but fascinating.

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[photo courtesy of THE TAG-ALONG]

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