Two films were made in very different parts of the world in very different time periods. It is hardly likely that either of them would be seen or discussed together at all, and yet this essay will connect the two in many ways, despite their superficial differences. These two films - Alfred Hitchcock’s 1940 film, Rebecca, and Yimou Zhang’s 1991 drama, Raise the Red Lantern - cover a lot of similar ground symbolically. They both center around situations where a young woman gets in over her head when brought into a man’s world. What is most interesting, though, is how different Hitchcock’s film appears when viewed through the directorial lense of Zhang’s picture.
In Yimou Zhang’s epic realization of a young woman’s struggle with her role in society in 1920’s China, Songlian is a woman out of time and out of place. She is brought into a situation where she is forced to marry the lord of a powerful family. Not only that, but she will be his fourth wife. Not only is she removed from her old life, but she can no longer return to that way of living, either. Once she has passed through the walls and into the seemingly labyrinthian corridors of the master’s grand palace, it becomes evident that she can never leave, even if she wants to. There are new rules here. The estate is world all its own, with its own laws and antiquated rituals.
In Hitchcock’s thrilling psychological drama, the female protagonist is very much in the same way. She is first introduced as a “paid companion” for Mrs. Van Hopper. She is without a father figure, essentially working day-to-day as a convenience for her boss. She is eventually brought into the life Maxim De Winter. Once married, they go away to Manderlay, a grand estate by the sea, and she becomes his second wife. The film only departs from this setting once during the film, and only briefly. Both of these films share similar motifs, but it goes much deeper than what can be seen on the surface.
When the audience is first introduced to Songlian, she comes across as any woman of modern society might. She is headstrong and independent, taking it upon herself to make her way down the road so many miles with her bags without any assistance. It could be reasoned that the implication of this scene is to show how, while is not lost, she has been essentially “forgotten” by the modern world as she travels the road alone. With her father gone, she has only herself to rely on, and she embraces this notion early on. That is, until she arrives at the master’s palace.
The female protagonist of Rebecca is also lacking identity during the film’s first act. She seems to be nearly opposite that of Songlian, going and doing whatever she is told. She comes across as a character which lacks ambition and any sense of personality. That is, until she meets Maxim. She is not identified by any name until they are married and she becomes Mrs. De Winter, or rather, “The Second Mrs. De Winter.” The same goes for Songlian, as she doesn’t have any identity in the film besides that of “The Fourth Mistress.”
One thing that is instantly noticeable in Raise the Red Lantern - if the viewer has a sharp eye - is that once the camera enters the master’s estate with Songlian, it never again leaves the walls. It never gives the audience a view of the outside world. Even if it is never made apparent at the outset, this visual dynamic becomes clear by the end of the film and its final shot. Still, it is striking how the director and the cinematographer are able to convey emotional context through color cues in the environment. Everything within the estate walls is very bleak and grey, with no flourishes to speak of, save for the red lanterns that are used to show favor and represent all positive energy within this isolated society. It becomes evident very quickly that there is very little of it. This is very close to mirroring a similar visual choice in Rebecca, as well. After the opening half-hour, the film remains set at Manderlay, only taking brief excursions to the edge of the estate, but never beyond it, until the film’s conclusion. In both films, the female protagonist is brought into a man’s world, under his supervision and his rules. In assuming their newfound titles of “Fourth Mistress,” and “Mrs. De Winter,” they threaten to lose their original identities in the realm of male power and control.
Another striking thing about the look of Red Lantern is its unwavering use of symmetry. Most of the shots in the film are composed in such a way that they could be split down the middle and look nearly identical on either side. This is an interesting visual aspect to the film, because while the film is quite complex in terms of plot and character, the film is composed on a very simplistic level. It makes sense to interpret the constant use of visual symmetry as implicating an overwhelming idea of order and control in Songlian’s new environment. While she herself is obviously of a less orderly upbringing, she must conform to this new situation in order to thrive. The conflict between free will and bending to societal norms is the true conflict of the film, and Songlian’s sanity ends up paying the price for her struggles and irresponsible ways. The final shot of the film puts this idea into context perfectly, as she paces in circles all disheveled and broken from the realization of her predicament, and the life she will be forced to live out for the rest of her days. Rebecca reinforces these themes of symmetry, as well. In the film’s opening sequence, Mrs. De Winter’s voice speaks the line, “Time could not wither away the symmetry of these walls.” Now, on initial viewing, this might strike viewers as a nostalgic view. However, by the end of the film, it gains more sinister interpretations. That idealized view of symmetry is soon proved to be poorly founded, as the nightmare of Manderlay is revealed. It takes on a similar quality to the master’s estate in Raise the Red Lantern. They both represent the power and control over the weak.
The film’s other heavy-handed use of visual design is in the use of the red lanterns. They are a simple of positivity and hope and compassion. They represent all that is good in the world. And yet, they can be snuffed out with a single word from the master’s mouth. The mistress’ servant, Yan’er, lives a poor and unfulfilling life at the estate. Her place there is to be at their very beck and call, and she grows jealous of Songlian’s presence. In stealing the red lanterns and placing them in her own home, she defies the recognized status on these grounds, and sees herself as having a chance at being a mistress herself, so that she can get revenge on the ladies who push her around and treat her like dirt. When Songlian finds out her secret, she takes pity on her, and allows her to keep the lanterns. This comes back with a vengeance later on in the film, and Yan’er dies for her belief in the power of what the red lanterns represent. It was all she had to hold on to in the cold and cruel world of the master’s estate. This character motif is also reflected in Rebecca, as the creepy servant Mrs. Danvers. Though she comes across as villainous at first, her story becomes tragic as she goes mad trying to ensure the legacy of the original Mrs. De Winter. When she can no longer hold on to her version of the truth, she burns herself alive along with the Manderlay estate. This is an interesting dichotomy, because while one chooses to be engulfed by flames, the other freezes to death in the cold.
Another interesting visual choice made by director Yimou Zhang is to constantly keep the master’s face hidden from view. This could be seen as one of the most important aspects of the film, and what it in turn conveys about the choice of setting and the roles of the women within this culture. Even though the film takes place in the twentieth century, all evidence of this falls away within the walls of the estate. There are cars and color and life outside, but not here in this place. Nowhere is this implication more threatening than when the master is present within the frame. His face is always either veiled or facing away from the camera, so as not to give a clear idea of who the man is, merely that he is a man in power with control over everything that goes on. He is an almost omnipotent force in the film, because he is rarely present, but the mention of his presence is enough to keep everyone in line. All of the rules and laws and structure put in place by this man is meant to keep himself in that position of power, and to keep the people in fear of what he might do, should he be defied.
Nowhere is this sinister implication more present than in the series of incidents with Songlian’s pregnancy and the Third Mistress’s affair with the doctor. Songlian’s pregnancy is a power play amongst the other mistresses of the estate, to show that she has value and control over her master’s will. Her plan falls apart, however, when it is revealed that her pregnancy is indeed a false one, and she is severely shamed and punished for it. Her lanterns are covered, and the light of hope in the world is essentially snuffed out. The master’s longing for a son to carry on his power and legacy takes precedent over any well-being for these woman that he keeps in his company. They are only a means to an end, and any favor they win with is only temporary in the grand scheme of things.
It becomes clear to Songlian that her life in this place is a futile one, once the Third Mistress is murdered for committing adultery with Dr. Gao. It is also somewhat evident that her punishment is for leaving the premises, not just the affair. These dual offenses are for some reason grounds for murder, and it is in this moment that Songlian’s sanity begins to fade. She is indirectly responsible for the fate of another, and the guilt of the situation is too much for her mind to bear. Although it is stated by the other mistresses that he has gone mad, it is made apparent that Songlian is a perfectly sane young woman living in a cruel and insane world. It is no place for a woman such as herself, and she cannot leave, no matter how much she wants to. This tragic ending could be seen as an exposure and indictment of China’s outdated culture in a forward-moving world.
While Zhang’s film chooses to hide the master’s face as an indictment of men’s power and authority in China, Hitchcock’s film takes a more sympathetic view towards its male protagonist. While Maxim remains a figure of strength, he also is viewed as very culpable due to his relationship with Rebecca. He shares many of the same traits with the Master in Red Lantern, but in giving him a more human side, he becomes easier to forgive. This is where the two films show their strongest differences - in their portrayal of men.
The reason for this most likely lies in the time period and cultures in which they were produced. They are a reflection of their times and society. Rebecca is the more sympathetic of the two, being produced near the end of the Golden Age of cinema. Although the woman is indeed to main protagonist, there is still a sense of sympathy and tragedy for her love interest, despite his emotionally antagonistic ways. Raise the Red Lantern was produced in the postmodern time of the 1990s, so it is two generations beyond that of Hitchcock’s classic. As such, it has taken on a much more cynical view of the world and the injustices in it, and makes no excuses when it comes to its realistic portrayals of people. Although both films are very different in their views on societal norms and gender roles and how they are interpreted by audiences, they share a lot of similar motifs and themes.
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