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1992-08-28
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CINEMA, Page 66Princesses in a Pretty Prison
By RICHARD CORLISS
RAISE THE RED LANTERN
Directed by Zhang Yimou
Screenplay by Ni Zhen
Beauty is suspect these days. Any movie that luxuriates in
decor and landscape will be seen to dawdle (Aren't these the
passages we all skipped over in the novels our English teachers
demanded we read?). A pretty face in a pretty picture stirs all
sorts of righteous suspicions about artists who wallow in
nostalgia for the glamorous artifacts of a despotic past.
So the physical splendor of Zhang Yimou's Raise the Red
Lantern can seem at best anachronistic, at worst reactionary.
Even the film's nomination for this year's foreign-language
Academy Award might attest to the bland gentility of its
virtues, if only because Red Lantern reprises the dour theme and
visual extravagance of 1988's big winner, The Last Emperor. But
this obscures the point of a brave, passionate and highly
entertaining work of art. In the best movies, style reflects
substance. And in this story of a wealthy man in 1920s China and
the four women he keeps in pampered imprisonment, the decor
underlines the sad fable of Woman as ornament. As the heroine
says, "I'm just one of the master's robes. He can wear it or
take it off."
Her name is Songlian (Gong Li), and she has just come to
be the fourth concubine of the master (Ma Jingwu). The first
mistress is old and irrelevant; the second is ingratiating,
lethal, with "a Buddha's face and a scorpion's heart"; the third
a saucily imperious opera singer. Each day the chamberlain will
raise the red lantern in front of one of their houses, and that
woman will be blessed with the master's favors. His strategy,
supported by millenniums of male domination, is divide and
conquer. So the caged princesses must play power games, with
their rivals as opponents and their servants as pawns. Subtly,
sullenly, the women flaunt their femininity -- and in doing so
destroy any chance for their sisterhood to flower. Songlian, the
youngest, is the first to rebel against this system. A tragic
comeuppance awaits her.
The emotional anchor for all Zhang's films is Gong Li --
her face a map of cool insurrection, her figure proud and
voluptuously Western. But Red Lantern offers other, more exalted
orders of ogling. As it plays out its melodrama, it radiates a
ravishing color scheme; it delights in the symmetrical framing
of gorgeous objects, human and architectural. For the Westerner,
it offers a tour of exotic lands and customs: China in its last
imperial gasp. How very sumptuous, you will say of the visual
style -- though Red Lantern was made for an impossibly thrifty
$1 million.
And how very Chinese -- though this film, like Zhang's
earlier Ju Dou, has yet to be shown on the mainland. The
authorities see that both pictures, about rebellious young
people crushed by mean old men, abound in dangerous political
implications. And so, to their eternal discredit, the old men
who run China have deprived their nation of the profound and
pertinent pleasures that China's best filmmaker has provided for
the rest of the world. Zhang is one in a billion. When will the
billion get to see his work?