Song, Ken-Ren
Austin Lin
Song, Ken-Ren
Overview
Former bomb disposal expert, Song Kang-Ren, and his fiancée, Huang Xin, board a high-speed train that contains a bomb. At the same time, Liu Kai, a well-known physics teacher who was involved in an affair scandal, also boards this same train in order to win back his wife, Ting Juan, who took the prior high-speed rail to return home in frustration… After all, can the bomb be successfully defused this time? and resolve the crisis?
Cast
Huang, Xin
Vivian Sung
Huang, Xin
Liu, Kai
Edison Wang
Liu, Kai
Li, Jie
Lee Lee-Zen
Li, Jie
Yang, Ting-Juan
Eleven Yao
Yang, Ting-Juan
Yang, Li-Hui
Kent Tsai Fan-Hsi
Yang, Li-Hui
Mr. Wu
Frederick Lee
Mr. Wu
A-Pin
Ki-pin Ng
A-Pin
Mrs. Song
Lu Hsueh-Feng
Mrs. Song
VP Yang
Cheng Chih-wei
VP Yang
Train Conductor
Vera Chen
Train Conductor
A-Ken
Wu Chien-Ho
A-Ken
Reviews
✦ AI-generated review
The Mathematics of Survival
There is a reason the train remains cinema’s most enduring metaphor for destiny. From the terrifying velocity of the Lumière brothers to the class warfare of *Snowpiercer*, the train offers a narrative inevitability: it moves in one direction, it cannot turn, and once you are on board, your fate is welded to the track. In *96 Minutes*, Taiwanese director Tzu-Hsuan Hung takes this linear nightmare and accelerates it. Moving away from the scrappy street brawls of his previous hit *The Scoundrels* (2018), Hung steps into the high-gloss arena of the disaster blockbuster, but he brings with him a gritty, localized sensibility that keeps this high-speed rail thriller from feeling like a hollow Hollywood imitation.
The premise—a bomb on a high-speed train rigged to blow if the velocity drops—is undeniably familiar, echoing the adrenaline logic of *Speed* or Japan’s *The Bullet Train*. However, Hung uses this structural constraint not just for suspense, but as a pressure cooker for moral reckoning.
Visually, *96 Minutes* is a technical marvel for Taiwanese cinema. It is the first local production to extensively utilize an LED volume (virtual production) to simulate the blur of the passing landscape. This decision is crucial: instead of green-screen artificiality, the lighting inside the carriage reacts organically to the rushing world outside. The result is a suffocating atmosphere where the passengers are trapped in a capsule of stagnant air while the world screams past them at 300 kilometers per hour. The camera work emphasizes this claustrophobia, staying tight on the sweating faces of the passengers, making the viewer feel the vibration of the tracks in their teeth. The train becomes a hermetic seal, a sleek, silver coffin hurtling toward a deadline that feels mathematically precise.
At the heart of this kinetic engine is a conflict that transcends the mechanics of wire-cutting. Austin Lin, playing a bomb disposal expert haunted by past failures, anchors the film with a performance of desperate restraint. He is not a swaggering hero but a technician of survival, trying to solve an equation where the variables are human lives. His dynamic with Vivian Sung’s character provides the film’s emotional ballast; their relationship is the quiet tragedy beneath the noise of the sirens.
The script cleverly juxtaposes the expert’s cold logic with the chaotic variable of the "civilian" passengers—specifically the disgraced physics teacher (played by Edison Wang/Wang Po-chieh). This clash turns the train into a microcosm of society’s breaking point. The tension isn't just about whether the bomb will explode, but about who deserves to make the choice of who lives. The film asks difficult questions about the weight of a single life against the safety of the many, refusing to offer easy ethical exits.
Ultimately, *96 Minutes* succeeds because it understands that speed is meaningless without stakes. While it indulges in the spectacle of disaster, it never loses sight of the terrified faces reflected in the train windows. It is a muscular, propulsive piece of filmmaking that proves Taiwan’s industry can execute high-concept action without sacrificing its soul. It leaves the audience breathless, not just from the rush of the ride, but from the emotional exhaustion of the arrival.
There is a reason the train remains cinema’s most enduring metaphor for destiny. From the terrifying velocity of the Lumière brothers to the class warfare of *Snowpiercer*, the train offers a narrative inevitability: it moves in one direction, it cannot turn, and once you are on board, your fate is welded to the track. In *96 Minutes*, Taiwanese director Tzu-Hsuan Hung takes this linear nightmare and accelerates it. Moving away from the scrappy street brawls of his previous hit *The Scoundrels* (2018), Hung steps into the high-gloss arena of the disaster blockbuster, but he brings with him a gritty, localized sensibility that keeps this high-speed rail thriller from feeling like a hollow Hollywood imitation.
The premise—a bomb on a high-speed train rigged to blow if the velocity drops—is undeniably familiar, echoing the adrenaline logic of *Speed* or Japan’s *The Bullet Train*. However, Hung uses this structural constraint not just for suspense, but as a pressure cooker for moral reckoning.
Visually, *96 Minutes* is a technical marvel for Taiwanese cinema. It is the first local production to extensively utilize an LED volume (virtual production) to simulate the blur of the passing landscape. This decision is crucial: instead of green-screen artificiality, the lighting inside the carriage reacts organically to the rushing world outside. The result is a suffocating atmosphere where the passengers are trapped in a capsule of stagnant air while the world screams past them at 300 kilometers per hour. The camera work emphasizes this claustrophobia, staying tight on the sweating faces of the passengers, making the viewer feel the vibration of the tracks in their teeth. The train becomes a hermetic seal, a sleek, silver coffin hurtling toward a deadline that feels mathematically precise.
At the heart of this kinetic engine is a conflict that transcends the mechanics of wire-cutting. Austin Lin, playing a bomb disposal expert haunted by past failures, anchors the film with a performance of desperate restraint. He is not a swaggering hero but a technician of survival, trying to solve an equation where the variables are human lives. His dynamic with Vivian Sung’s character provides the film’s emotional ballast; their relationship is the quiet tragedy beneath the noise of the sirens.
The script cleverly juxtaposes the expert’s cold logic with the chaotic variable of the "civilian" passengers—specifically the disgraced physics teacher (played by Edison Wang/Wang Po-chieh). This clash turns the train into a microcosm of society’s breaking point. The tension isn't just about whether the bomb will explode, but about who deserves to make the choice of who lives. The film asks difficult questions about the weight of a single life against the safety of the many, refusing to offer easy ethical exits.
Ultimately, *96 Minutes* succeeds because it understands that speed is meaningless without stakes. While it indulges in the spectacle of disaster, it never loses sight of the terrified faces reflected in the train windows. It is a muscular, propulsive piece of filmmaking that proves Taiwan’s industry can execute high-concept action without sacrificing its soul. It leaves the audience breathless, not just from the rush of the ride, but from the emotional exhaustion of the arrival.