Raise the Red Lantern

Zhang Yimou’s Raise the Red Lantern, set in 1920s China, follows Songlian, a university student, who sells herself as a concubine to a powerful lord following the death of her father which left her family bankrupt. When married, Songlian is made aware that she is the fourth such concubine on the estate (referred to as Fourth Mistress (Sì Tàitai)) and that there is a competition to have red lanterns raised outside of each mistress’s residence, symbolising the attention given by the lord of the estate.

A central theme in Raise the Red Lantern is the adherence to, and absurdity of, tradition. When Songlian first arrives, she is the favoured concubine (through tradition) and – following the theme of absurdity – her preferential treatment was having lanterns lit around her compound and getting a foot massage. Although the lanterns themselves hold no meaning, they become the central point of contention between the characters here due to it acting as a symbolic proxy for value. As the plot progresses, this monolith of tradition is valued more than the real opinion of those in the present – even when it is against their best interests.

The plot progresses at a restrained pace, with the other mistresses being introduced: the first mistress (the eldest) serves to represent, and almost apathetically enforce, the traditional rules in the context of the mistresses. She rarely receives a"ection from the lord yet is loyal nonetheless in this repeating cycle of rituals; her internalisation of these rules (essentially the misogyny of the time) makes the idea of a ‘rebellion’ against them an abstract and impossible thought. Her character is presented as a symbol which is important in two ways: that even being negatively a"ected by (a victim of) an oppressive system does not detach the ability to be complicit within it and this internal accommodation of patriarchy results in the hollow characterisation of the first mistress.

The second mistress is a character who seeks so strongly the a"ection and potential of power from the lord, that in her envy she tries to sabotage the other mistresses to have lanterns raised outside her chambers. She is summarised well by the quote ‘she has the face of Buddha and the heart of a scorpion’, where her e"ort is spent so strongly on belittling the other ‘prisoners’ on the estate rather than her oppressor.

The third mistress was a famous opera singer yet became the lord’s concubine. Initially presented as Songlian’s antagonist, she remains outwardly obedient and polite to the master and – in a contrived way – territorial to the other mistresses. Her approach is to seemingly play the game of what is expected of her in both hierarchies (subservience to the lord, competition with the wives and superiority over her servants) as that is what is expected in this system. However, this approach is only superficial as, in discretion, she has been having an ongoing a"air with the lord’s doctor.

The cinematography of the film – wide, static, repetitive shots – serves to reinforce this stale opulence that Songlian is now a part of, with the only two major sets within the entirety of the unnamed lord’s estate being Songlian’s chambers, the outside of Songlian’s chambers and the dining room. The lighting of the scenes tended to have a realistic, desaturated hue with vibrant expressionism only appearing when the lanterns were lit there existed only artificial beauty and colour through these symbols of light. These acts served as an e"ective masquerade, concealing the mundanity of these prisoners’ lives through spectacle. In this same vein, it also means that visual beauty is only represented through this symbol and reinforces the staleness of the life on the compound.

The film – through Songlian’s own search for meaning – confronts the absence of it from the lives of the mistresses, and how this vague, patriarchal ‘tradition’ successfully su"ocates the qualities of these women. Songlian tries to fake a pregnancy to continually receive special treatment but is found out (by the second mistress), and has her lanterns covered to not again be lit up. In her anger at being found out (by Yan’er, in her jealousy, going through her clothes), she reveals Yan’er’s hidden collection of lit red lanterns that she keeps in her room to roleplay being one of the mistresses each night. Her punishment for this is being left out in the cold until all the lanterns have been burnt and as a result, unintentionally on behalf of Songlian, Yan’er dies from exposure.

In this perfect and artificial hell, where there was no possibility of leaving; what was the meaning of continuing?

This question was implicitly and repeatedly asked by Songlian, with each of the responses presenting an acceptance of this fate – the small acts of defiance that do not result in any form of real power, influence or freedom. In this fatalistic view, where all roads lead to the first mistress, what is there to do?

In Raise the Red Lantern, each of the sins of the women who desired some semblance of humanity were atoned for as the film concludes. The third mistress – having her adultery revealed – is hung. Songlian’s punishment is prolonged through further isolation until gradually she replaced in every characteristic but name by the new ‘fifth mistress’, with her repeating pacings in the final shot presenting her in a distant and catatonic state, driven insane by the condescending confines of this compound.

The lack of any meaningful resolution made the film quite bleak, but nonetheless interesting. Although the social structure of the mistresses and servants changed drastically from start to finish, the haunting void of tradition persists. As if nothing happened