Written and directed by Sean Baker and Shih-Ching Tsou
Immigrant stories may show the hardships faced by newcomers, but they rarely go in on the material existence and really make you live it. Sean Baker and Shih-Ching Tsou’s Take Out does. Shot at eye-level and over the shoulder of Ming Ding, a Chinese illegal immigrant making deliveries in New York, we stick to him through the greasy haze of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the squalor of his shared apartment, and a miserable rainy day as he brings people their Chinese takeout.
Hell is at his heels. He owes a loan shark money, and that morning Ming was roused from his place on the floor in the overcrowded apartment he sleeps in by two men who rough him up, take what he has, and give him until that night to find $800 more. That’s a lot of money when your primary income is tips.
The simplicity and immediacy of the story holds you fast, but Take Out is far from intense. It’s mired in the unending repetition of Ming’s day. Endless shots show the food being prepared, cuts to Ming on his bike, pedaling through rain, handing over change, hoping to keep some of it. Repeat.
Take Out markets itself as half a documentary and this is how: steeping itself in the mind-numbing monotony that’s suspended above a deep chasm of existential worry.
Beyond the grueling working conditions, be it long hours out in the elements and the inherent danger (delivery drivers are almost twice as likely to be killed on the job than cops, and they account for nearly 20% of occupational fatalities), there’s an emotional toll: illegal immigrants live in the tension of that fact, far away from home and family, likely under the yoke of a predatory lender or shady actor who enabled their entry to the country in the first place.
Take Out isn’t out for your pity, but it’s certainly there for your recognition. With its camcorder quality picture it jams itself into these cramped living and working spaces, documenting the bug infestations, cracked floors and grimy hallways with keen observation. Baker’s later and more well-known features appear maximalist in comparison to the modest and unvarnished presentation of Take Out, and while some criticize Baker’s treatment of his subjects as exploitative, that’s not the case here. The exploitation is firmly in front of the camera.
Fans of Baker will recognize the beleaguered sense of community found in his other films. These communities on the edges are entrenched in a common existence, and while it features yelling, ribbing, ostensibly abrasive stuff, everyone’s ultimately there for each other because there’s a shared understanding of how tough their odds are.
Despite the stress that drives Take Out forward, it’s not a stressful movie, at least not in the intellectual sense. No, this circling narrative in which not much happens besides delivery runs won’t get your heart rate up, but there is a visceral fear for Ming throughout. On his bike, trudging through the big city, the frailty of his life imposes itself, and as he’s hard-won for words, Baker’s protagonist becomes more of a universal stand-in than a stand-alone individual.
Take Out isn’t vintage Baker, but certainly an early marker of the humanitarian outlook defined by an affinity for the marginalized and their particular codes of conduct. Baker’s collaboration with Tsou sees him not yet into his maximalist ways, but Take Out is him at his most pared down and direct, and perhaps, purposeful.
Mikkel Frederiksen 