Tan Siyou’s Amoeba Explores Teenage Rebellion, Identity, and Quiet Resistance Born from a School Punishment

Filmmaker Tan Siyou’s journey into the cinematic world began not in a film school classroom, but amidst the stifling rules of a secondary school library, sparked by an act of youthful rebellion. It was a punishment, meted out to her friends for the seemingly innocuous transgression of sneaking food into the air-conditioned sanctuary, that would sow the seeds for her distinctive storytelling voice. The task: devise a skit for morning assembly, a public admonishment to deter others from similar culinary escapades. Yet, for Tan, then a spirited teenager, this was more than just a school mandate; it was an affront to the innocent desire for comfort in Singapore’s humid climate, a perceived public shaming that ignited a spark of defiant creativity.

"I know you are not supposed to eat in the library. But it was very hot and this is such an innocent act. Why would (teachers) publicly shame you?" the now acclaimed director, in her 30s, recalled reasoning at the time. Tan herself had experienced the brunt of school disciplinary measures, once banned from the library for skipping class to sleep there. Her empathy for her friends, coupled with a burgeoning sense of injustice against what she viewed as an overly authoritarian system, spurred her to join their ranks. "I was like, they want skit, we give them skit," she declared, transforming a forced apology into an elaborate, theatrical production complete with props. In a masterstroke of subversive wit, she cast herself as the very teacher who had imposed the punishment, delivering a performance so keenly observed that it reportedly left the actual educator displeased—a testament to Tan’s early, innate ability to critique and mirror societal structures through art. This formative experience, a microcosm of adolescent struggle against rigid authority, would later become a pivotal narrative thread in her much-lauded feature debut, Amoeba.

Today, this rebellious spirit has blossomed into a formidable career. Tan Siyou stands as an award-winning Singaporean writer and director, whose short films like Hello Ahma and Strawberry Cheesecake have graced the screens of prestigious international festivals, including the Toronto International Film Festival, Berlin International Film Festival, and Locarno Film Festival. These early works hinted at her thematic preoccupations, often delving into intimate family dynamics and the complex inner lives of young people navigating societal expectations.

Her feature debut, Amoeba, however, is where Tan truly crystallizes her vision, drawing directly from the crucible of her own experiences in a high-pressure girls’ school. The film is a raw, evocative exploration of the inner world of four Singaporean girls who form a close-knit gang, grappling with the universal rites of passage—school, adolescence, and the complexities of friendship—all underscored by a haunting ghost encounter that serves as a powerful metaphor for unseen anxieties and repressed emotions. The film’s narrative is delivered in a vibrant, authentic blend of Mandarin, English, and Singlish, reflecting the linguistic tapestry of contemporary Singaporean youth and adding layers of cultural specificity that paradoxically enhance its universal appeal.

Amoeba has captivated audiences and critics globally, premiering at the Singapore International Film Festival in November 2025 before embarking on a world tour that included screenings across Canada, South Korea, China, the United States, and Japan. Its critical acclaim is undeniable, evidenced by a slew of prestigious awards in 2025: Best Youth Film at the Asia Pacific Screen Awards in Australia, the Youth Jury Award at the Pingyao International Film Festival in China, and the coveted FIPRESCI Prize at the Golden Horse Awards in Taiwan, a significant accolade often seen as an indicator of emerging talent in Chinese-language cinema. Tan Siyou herself received a nomination for Best New Director at the Golden Horse Awards, further cementing her status as a significant new voice in Asian filmmaking. The film’s highly anticipated theatrical release on March 26 at Filmhouse at Golden Mile Tower in Singapore was preceded by a sold-out sneak preview on March 21, which included a post-screening Q&A with Tan and her cast, highlighting the strong local anticipation for a film that resonates deeply with the Singaporean experience.

The very essence of that secondary school skit, the "public shaming" incident, is artfully adapted into Amoeba, forming a central pillar around which the film explores issues of authoritarian systems, the pervasive pressure to conform, and a profound sense of erasure felt by those who don’t fit neatly into prescribed molds.

The Pressure to Conform: A Misfit’s Perspective

Tan, who is currently based in New York, candidly describes herself as a "misfit" during her school years. Attending a leading girls’ secondary school, an institution synonymous with academic excellence and rigorous discipline in Singapore’s meritocratic education system, the academic pressure was immense. Tan found herself placed "not in the best class," a categorization that often carried a subtle but significant social stigma.

"The ‘bad’ classes are treated quite badly. You are often told you will never achieve anything in your life: We are lousy, we are naughty, the teachers look down on us. These things linger throughout your whole life," she revealed to CNA Women. This system of academic streaming, a long-standing feature of Singapore’s education landscape, while intended to tailor learning to different aptitudes, can inadvertently create deep psychological divisions, fostering feelings of inadequacy and resentment among students perceived as less academically inclined. The subtle daily reinforcement of these labels, from teacher attitudes to school policies, contributes to a climate where conformity to academic ideals is paramount, and divergence is often met with disapproval.

Beyond academic performance, the school environment extended its control to personal presentation. Tan vividly recalls regular spot checks for bra colour, a policy she found particularly "violating." "I was wearing a lot of sports bras in lime green and hot pink. I was constantly being caught and had to buy a white bra," she recounted. The issue wasn’t just the policy itself, but its perceived discriminatory enforcement. "This school policy was a bit unfairly executed. My class was always the target of these bra checks, but they would never check the ‘good’ classes," she noted. Such rules, often justified as maintaining discipline and uniformity, can feel arbitrary and invasive to adolescents, especially when applied unevenly, highlighting power imbalances and contributing to a sense of being unfairly targeted. These seemingly minor infringements on personal autonomy become potent symbols of a larger system that seeks to regulate and homogenize individual expression.

Tan further critiques the patriarchal values subtly, yet powerfully, promoted within her all-girls institution. "There’s a sense that you need to grow up to become a virtuous wife or mother. You are taught to be very small and submissive… don’t talk, just smile, always defer to someone else and don’t take up space," she stated, reflecting on the insidious conditioning she observed. This emphasis on traditional female roles, while perhaps unintentional, can limit aspirations and internalize restrictive norms, fostering an environment where young women are encouraged to minimize their presence rather than assert their individuality. "There was a lot of conditioning. And as an adult, I am very angry about it," Tan confessed, underscoring the lasting psychological impact of these formative years on her identity and artistic drive.

Amidst these struggles with societal and institutional pressures, Tan also grappled with a profoundly personal and unsettling experience: a ghost encounter in her bedroom. "I was on my computer chatting at 3am, with the radio on. Suddenly, the radio became very loud, very soft and then very loud. No one was touching it. My room became very cold, even though I didn’t turn on the air-conditioner. You just feel like somebody is there," she vividly described. The encounter escalated, leaving her terrified: "I turned off the lights, jumped into bed and covered myself with a blanket. I felt someone sitting on me. To be honest, I thought I was going to die. It was super terrifying."

This deeply personal and frightening incident, which she bravely incorporated into Amoeba, brought with it a different kind of alienation. When she recounted it, many people dismissed her experience, including her own mother, who told her "there’s no such thing." Tan revealed the profound psychological toll this disbelief took: "Psychologically, it really did something to me because my mother didn’t even believe me, and I was supposed to just forget this extremely terrifying episode of my life." In a society that often prioritizes rationality and scientific explanation, experiences that defy logic can be met with skepticism or outright denial, leaving individuals feeling isolated and invalidated. However, it was in her friends that Tan found solace and belief, with them offering protective charms and prayers. "They were like, take this Catholic card, it’s going to protect you. Or chant this from Buddha," she recalled, highlighting the crucial role of peer validation when institutional or familial support was absent.

"I was a misfit in my school, family, the larger society. But in my friend group, I fit in. We were misfits together and I didn’t feel such a ‘misfit’ anymore," Tan reflected. This sense of belonging forged in shared "misfit-ness" provided a vital emotional anchor during her secondary school years, making them, despite the pressures, "quite joyful."

Her junior college years, however, proved to be a more challenging chapter. The transition from an all-girls secondary school to a co-educational junior college brought with it a significant culture shock, introducing the complexities of boy-girl relationships and a new social dynamic. Compounding this, Tan was grappling with her sexuality at the time, a private struggle intensified by Singapore’s conservative social norms and the lack of open discourse around LGBTQ+ identities. Academically, the demands of the A-Levels were relentless, and the school’s perceived emphasis on science subjects left her, with her inclination towards arts and literature, feeling further marginalized.

"I felt like I didn’t belong. I became very withdrawn. That’s when I told myself that I’m an amoeba—this weird blob, floating, a bit lonely and by itself. I was not a human. I was not an animal even. I was just this weirdly shaped microscopic thing that nobody could see," she articulated, her voice imbued with the lingering memory of profound isolation. This powerful metaphor, born from her deepest sense of alienation, would eventually become the evocative title of her film. She was drawn to the amoeba—a single-celled organism capable of surviving on its own—seeing in its self-sufficiency a kind of resilience and independence she desperately yearned for. This personal narrative, a private symbol of endurance, helped Tan navigate those confusing and difficult years, ultimately evolving into the titular concept for her cinematic exploration of identity and belonging.

From Metaphor to Movie: The Filmmaking Journey

After pursuing her passion for film and art at Wesleyan University in Connecticut, USA, Tan honed her craft as an art director in a Los Angeles production company, creating documentaries, music videos, and commercials. During this period, she also directed acclaimed short films, including Hello Ahma, a poignant tribute to her late grandmother. When the idea of her first feature film began to take shape, her thoughts inevitably gravitated back to her formative years, the period that had so profoundly shaped her understanding of self and society.

In 2019, she began to flesh out the script for Amoeba, but initially found it "too autobiographical," leading her to set it aside. The creative process of transforming deeply personal experiences into a compelling fictional narrative often involves a delicate balance of authenticity and artistic distance. The world events that followed, however, provided a renewed impetus. The onset of the pandemic and the subsequent intensification of government control through safety measures deeply resonated with her earlier observations of authoritarian systems in her school days. This global experience of heightened regulation prompted her to revisit and deepen her contemplation of conformity, control, and the erosion of individual freedoms.

This period of introspection also saw her create Strawberry Cheesecake in 2021, a short film about three secondary school girls caught smoking. This precursor, exploring themes of minor rebellion and the clandestine lives of teenagers, served as a vital stepping stone, allowing her to further refine her narrative voice and directorial approach before returning to Amoeba. With renewed clarity and a sharpened perspective, she completed the script and embarked on the challenging journey of production.

On September 4, 2025, the 98-minute film made its world premiere at the prestigious Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), marking a significant milestone in her career. Presenting such a personal work to a global audience required immense courage. "The film is honest and raw, and puts everything out there," she shared. "It is terrifying to write something personal, even if it’s fiction, and share it with people… I felt exposed." Yet, this vulnerability is precisely what gives Amoeba its power and resonance. "The thing is, I am who I am because of all these experiences. Some of them were difficult and stifling, but I found my own way," she added, emphasizing her journey of self-discovery and resilience. "I fought back against the quiet violence with my quiet resistance." This concept of "quiet resistance" – subtle, internal acts of defiance against overwhelming pressures – lies at the heart of the film and Tan’s own artistic philosophy.

A Universal Echo: Amoeba‘s Global Impact and Singaporean Identity

Despite the film’s distinctly Singaporean references—the mention of O-Levels, the iconic Merlion, and even a wake held at an HDB void deck, elements deeply embedded in the local cultural fabric—international audiences connected profoundly with Amoeba. Tan was moved by the feedback she received: many viewers told her they too had felt like an "amoeba," that they "felt that they should just disappear from the world." This universal resonance, cutting across diverse cultural backgrounds, validated her belief that her specific story tapped into a shared human experience of alienation and the search for belonging. "I was very touched. I feel that my point of view matters. And I don’t have to hide," she expressed, underscoring the liberating power of authentic storytelling.

This international reception also prompted Tan to re-evaluate her own perception of her teenage self. "I realised that it is really just a Singapore thing. Outside of Singapore, when you do this kind of thing, it is (understood as) part of growing up and discovery. I never killed anybody. I just slept in class, you know?" she mused, highlighting a cultural disparity in how adolescent non-conformity is perceived. In many Western contexts, teenage rebellion is often viewed as a natural, even necessary, part of individuation. In Singapore, however, where societal cohesion and discipline are highly valued, such acts can be seen through a lens of defiance against collective norms.

Tan argues that this perspective is closely linked to Singapore’s national narrative—that of a vulnerable island nation, a "fishing village" that needed to stay united and relentlessly strive for constant growth and success to survive. This historical context, while instrumental in Singapore’s remarkable development, has fostered a "survival mentality" that can inadvertently stifle individual expression and unconventional paths.

She observes that many young Singaporeans struggle with the tension between pursuing their own aspirations and succumbing to parental wishes for more conventional, financially viable careers. "It’s a very human desire to choose your own path in life and not have it chosen for you," she stated. This mindset, focused on pragmatic outcomes, also inadvertently "snuffs out curiosity." "If you want to do something that’s like wasting time—lie down and read a book that is not part of your A-Level book reading list—people would think you’re crazy and disapprove," she explained, illustrating the pervasive pressure to optimize every moment for tangible advancement.

Beyond Survival: A Call for Curiosity and Conversation

As Singapore has matured into a wealthy and advanced society, Tan hopes its citizens can evolve beyond this ingrained "survival mentality." She advocates for creating more space for open conversations about crucial topics such as identity and conformity, and for a greater willingness to consider alternative viewpoints. "I grew up in this environment where everyone was controlling everything, even the length of fingernails. What does that do to a young person?" she poignantly asks, urging a re-examination of disciplinary practices and their long-term psychological effects.

She firmly believes that such a shift will lead to a better, more human, advanced, and creative society, and it is her profound hope that Amoeba will serve as a catalyst for these vital conversations. On a more personal note, Tan aspires for her film to inspire audiences to reflect on their own adolescence, to acknowledge the formative school experiences that may have "created shadows in our adult lives," and, crucially, to "reconnect with the pure joy of being young, being with our friends, and the reckless things we used to do." In Amoeba, Tan Siyou not only tells a compelling story but also extends an invitation: to remember, to question, and to embrace the quiet, powerful resistance of simply being oneself.