Shu Qi has spent her career embodying other people’s stories — enigmatic drifters for Hou Hsiao-hsien, comic foils in international action franchises, or, more recently, the tragic heroine of Bi Gan’s Cannes award winner Resurrection. With Girl, Taiwan’s most acclaimed screen star, now 49, turns the camera on herself, mining her childhood in 1980s Taipei for a bracingly personal directorial debut. The result is not nostalgia but something darker: a stark coming-of-age tale about inherited sorrow, cycles of violence, and the fleeting possibility of friendship and escape. It is, as Shu says, “a story that opens up a conversation about the powerful impact of one’s family of origin, for better or worse.”

Girl centers on taciturn teenager Li Hsiao-Lee (Bai Xiao-Ying), who cares for her younger sister (Lai Yu-Fei) while navigating a home dominated by poverty, alcoholism and violence. Her mother, played by Taiwanese singer 9m88, is mercurial and resentful, while her father, embodied by Roy Chiu, returns drunk each night — unpredictable, menacing, explosive. As THR’s review observed, “The actress deserves credit for making something so bravely bleak.”

Girl can be unwieldy — “artfully made and grippingly acted” but sometimes seeming “a bit unedited,” as THR‘s critic put it — but its power lies in its refusal to offer relief. Shu plunges us into the cramped apartment with long, static takes and subdued color palettes, creating an immersive portrait of pained adolescence in a family poisoned by generational trauma. At its darkest, the film depicts sexual assault and domestic brutality with an unflinching directness. Yet there are flickers of light, too: a tender friendship with a rebellious classmate (Audrey Lin) briefly offers Hsiao-Lee glimpses of freedom, cigarettes and stolen denim skirts standing in for the wider world waiting beyond her family’s apartment door.

Girl premiered in competition earlier this month at the Venice Film Festival, a coveted launchpad for a first-time filmmaker. Now the film returns home to Asia to compete at the Busan International Film Festival. In Korea, Shu’s directorial debut will have to face off against her own formidable talents as an actress, with Bi’s Resurrection also landing a spot in the festival’s new competition section.

The Hollywood Reporter connected with Shu ahead of her dual promotional appointments in Korea to discuss the deeply personal process of making Girl.

Girl seems to be so deeply personal. Do you think you became a director so you could tell this particular story, or was directing itself something that you always wanted to do?
I never would have thought about directing if not for Hou Hsiao-hsien’s suggestion. About 12 years ago, while we were on set together, he suddenly asked me very seriously if I wanted to direct. I was so surprised that I didn’t know what to say at first. Now, on the other side of that journey, I’ve discovered that being a director carries a lot of pressure. As an actress, it was already difficult enough to be fully immersed in one role. But as a director, you must constantly switch perspectives between characters while also coordinating with the gaffer, lighting, color — so many tasks to handle and study deeply. After the premiere in Venice, I felt relieved and not too worried about comments or critics, because I know I tried my best. I think this has been a good start for me. Even while re-watching the film at the premiere, I was already thinking about how to improve the next one. I believe I can go ahead — this is a new role for me.

Did you ever consider putting yourself in Girl as an actress?
Yes. When I started 10 years ago, I was ambitious — I wanted to write, direct and star in it. But it took me a decade to finish the screenplay, and I’m getting older. I can’t play the young mother anymore, so I found 9m88 to take on that role. Looking back, I was naïve. Writing is already difficult, directing even more so, and if I had also acted, I don’t think I could have remained objective about the other characters or the development of the story. Maybe someday — but not for my first film.

The film contains many emotionally intense and challenging moments for your lead performers — especially Bai Xiao-Ying, who plays your young protagonist. How did your own experience in front of the camera shape the way you communicated and collaborated with your actors?
I never played a role like this little girl, but I knew I didn’t want a young actress to face explicit violence. Instead, I wanted to convey her deep sense of fear. With my sound designer, we created noises and ambient effects — the father, drunk, coming home on his motorcycle; parking; yelling at neighbors; the keys and keychain as he enters. Xiao Li hides in the wardrobe; we hear her breath, and the audience listens with her. In this way, the fear becomes more psychological, and perhaps even more powerful than showing physical abuse directly. This connects to the theme of the film: family origins can create trauma that lingers beneath the surface far longer than physical wounds, influencing a child’s life and choices.

You’ve said the film is very autobiographical. What was it like, on a personal level, to revisit that history for 10 years while writing, and then to recreate the Taipei of your childhood in such detail on set?
It’s been a wonderful journey. I describe it as making onion soup. You peel the onion layer by layer — and each layer brings more tears — but then you cook the soup, hoping it becomes delicious. When I began, director Hou advised me to write what I knew best, that eternal wisdom for first-time writers. So I looked to my family and my childhood. To be honest, I didn’t feel very emotional while writing. I just wanted to get it down. I thought the emotions would come during the shoot, as I entered Xiao Li’s perspective again. But something unexpected happened — I stepped into my mother’s shoes.

Making this work helped me reconcile with my mom. After 40 years, our relationship has finally improved — and after watching the film at the premiere, I can say I feel fully reconciled. Facing your pain is the best way to let it go. When I left home, I thought I had set myself free, but the scars remained. If I had had a baby girl at 18, as my mother did, maybe I would have just imitated what I knew, as she did. It’s ambitious, but I hope this film helps people reconcile with themselves and their parents — and sends a positive message about how we should treat our children: just show them love.

Do you plan to show the film to your mom, or have you already?
Yes, I will let her watch it — but maybe not at the Taiwan premiere. My biggest fear is that we’ll just hug and cry together and cause a big scene.