Review of Raise the Red Lantern (1991) by Jake R — 22 Nov 2008

Zhang Yimou, renown for his high-flying, wafer thin swordplay melodramas with production opulence that makes Baz Luhrmann look like Tim Burton, here manages to bring to life a sharp novel with such assured coolness you wonder why he gave it up to become an Eastern version of Tony Scott.

His trademark gaudy extravagance is on display here, but toned down in favour of more symbolic, and sinister, meaning. Only the clothes and a few interiors are splashed with vibrant colours; the rest relies on subtle camerawork and the icy depth of night time. Whatever fault you find, one can never say Yimou is not an expert at dazzling the eye.

Married to this visual exquisiteness is a story worth the effort put in. Dissecting just over a year in the lives of four concubines in early 1920s China this is an elegant portrayal of the blind imprisonment of women. Though the 'Master' essentially seems to bow to the various whims of his dissatisfied wives it is they who are the victims, forced to adhere to rigid customs and with little to do but plot against each other for their husband's affections. There can only be one outcome, but even so it's still a sad one.

This is due to the quality of acting on show. Rarely do audiences outside East Asia learn of the ability of Chinese actors but it is our loss. The graceful Gong Li makes a solid name for herself with the emotionally conflicted Song Li An, visibly screaming to speak out against the injustices she witnesses and participates in. Cao Cuifen as the Second Mistress impressively switches from her tricksy innocence to ice-hearted viper, and the absolutely gorgeous He Caifei makes for arousing cinema whatever she's doing. Mention must also go to Lin Kong as 'Yang', the jealous but pitiful housemaid who suffers cruelly, a bleak foreshadow of all the women's fate. And even Xiao Chu as the eldest son 'Feipu' manages to dot the film with a few rays of hope and warmth, though only to break expectations he may offer a way out for Song Li An.

Much more than a good-looking bitchfest this is a powerful indictment against the repression of women in China. This is a deeply pro-feminist film, though we've come to expect that from Yimou nowadays. The parallels with the repression in modern China are obvious to Western audiences, who have a freedom unimagineable by the Chinese under their paranoid government. Just as the Master is never properly shown, neither is the shadowy form of silencing the Communists enforce on their overwhelmed populace. Whether Yimou denies political metaphors is irrelevant; the fact is his work can be interpreted by Western audiences in favour of his humanist leanings, and they're all the more potent for it. The image of Song Li An wandering her ghostly blue quarters whilst an angelic chorus echoes ethereally and anonymously is beautiful, spiritual and disturbing all at once. Rarely is such primal powerfully convincingly evoked.

A slow and meditative film, and not without small doses of humour, this is saved from melodrama by its bravura acting and the stark, bleak truth in its convictions. A devastating piece of art.