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Your Name Engraved Herein poster

Your Name Engraved Herein

2020 · Liu Kuang-Hui

For when you want to feel first love in all its intensity and be wrecked a little by it — a good-cry romance with real historical weight behind the tears. Bring tissues; it's tender rather than harrowing.

What it's about

Taiwan, 1987, the year martial law ends: at a Catholic boys' school, Jia-han and Birdy fall into a first love that the country's new freedoms don't yet extend to. Around them everything is opening up — while family pressure, homophobia, and the school itself keep closing in.

The experience

Unabashedly romantic and quietly devastating — humid, tactile, charged with the ache of things that can't be said out loud. It swoons and it stings, often in the same scene.

The craft

Liu Kuang-Hui drew on his own youth, and the filmmaking is sensual and specific — bodies half-lit in dorm rooms and bathhouses, nocturnes thick with humidity, and a swooning title ballad that won the Golden Horse award for best original song. The period texture of late-eighties Taiwan is lovingly rebuilt.

Why it matters

The first major gay romance produced after Taiwan legalized same-sex marriage, it became the highest-grossing LGBTQ film in Taiwanese history and, through Netflix, a phenomenon across Asia — a love letter to the generation for whom liberation arrived too late.

Reception & legacy: how Your Name Engraved Herein was received, argued over, and remembered →

Taiwan in 1987, the year martial law lifted: at a Catholic boys' school, two students fall into a love that the new freedoms all around them do not yet extend to. Liu Kuang-Hui, drawing on his own youth, shot the first major gay romance produced after Taiwan became the first place in Asia to legalize same-sex marriage — and the film's ache comes precisely from that gap, looking back at the generation for whom liberation arrived too late. It became the highest-grossing LGBTQ film in Taiwanese history and, via Netflix, a phenomenon across Asia, joining a lineage of Taiwanese queer cinema that runs from The Wedding Banquet through Blue Gate Crossing. The craft is unabashedly romantic — humid nocturnes, bodies half-lit in dorm rooms and bathhouses, a swooning title ballad that took the Golden Horse award for best original song and saturated Mandarin pop for a year afterward. Liu structures the film as memory itself works: in surges, out of order, returning obsessively to the moments that could have gone differently. The Maltese priest who hears the hero's confession carries his own untold version of the same story.

Lines of influence