The NC-17 thing isn’t that big of a deal.
Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution is largely being discussed because of
its NC-17 rating, which is too bad. But yes, let’s get that out of the
way: Thanks to a slew of bad reasons—an outdated ratings system,
theater chains’ fear of protests and boycotts, mass
marketability—not a whole lot of NC-17-rated films get wide
release in America. (I think the last big one
was—wince—Showgirls.) But Universal
Studios—albeit through their Focus Features imprint—is
releasing Lust, Caution with an NC-17 rating, no doubt hoping
that if the controversy around Lee’s Brokeback Mountain didn’t
deter art house crowds, neither will an NC-17.
(The reason for the NC-17? You see some pubic hair. And a glimpse of
a scrotum. Annnnd… that’s about it. Cool? Cool.)
ANYWAY. Moving on to the things that matter: A story of desperation,
dependence, and the sometimes brutal consequences of emotion, Lust,
Caution will probably be heralded as one of the best of the year,
and for good reason. It’s a slow film—one that patiently builds,
with Lee’s shots lingering on details, meditating on the briefest of
nuances and shadows. Beautiful and impressive is Tang Wei, who plays
Wang Jiazhi, a young student in Shanghai. World War II is on, Japan
occupies the city, and soon, Wang is caught up with a few naïve
friends who fancy themselves rebels. Aiming to assassinate Mr.
Yee—a government official who’s cooperating with the
Japanese—the group soon uses Wang as part of a scheme to seduce
and kill him.
Mr. Yee is played by Chinese superstar Tony Leung, and along with
Wei, he makes Lust, Caution a wrenching story. Newcomer Wei’s
features convey a shocking sincerity, while the consistently remarkable
Leung conjures up an imposing intensity in his performance as the
sometimes terrifying, sometimes seductive Mr. Yee. Based on Eileen
Chang’s short story, the screenplay, by Wang Hui-Ling and frequent Lee
collaborator James Schamus, takes great advantage of the emotive power
of the leads: Nearly every scene is laden with an undercurrent of
desire and pathos, with the film’s tone uneasily, constantly hovering
near crisis. (This is truer of the last half of the film more than the
first—perhaps my only major criticism of the nearly
three-hour-long film is that the first act feels too long.)
Lust, Caution is as much of a thriller as it is a painful,
disturbing romance, its story as dependent on its characters’ secrets
as much as their sex. And when Ang Lee does inevitably delve into
violence—physical, sexual, psychological—it’s with a
jarring, visceral intensity. For a film in which one feels as if they
can’t help but know the characters intimately, Lust, Caution is
relentlessly unpredictable in its story of people caught in
circumstances they can never entirely control. And as Wang and Mr. Yee
desperately scheme, hope, and fuck, their bodies far more honest than
their words, it becomes evident that Lust, Caution‘s audience is
also giving up control. Luckily, the one who’s in charge is Ang Lee,
and he knows what he’s doing.
