Subtlety, Hidden
I realized several things in afterthoughts about “Lust, Caution” after my previous post.
First, there were not two, but three times when Jiazhi’s movie experience is disrupted. If I remember correctly, in the first instance (which I had forgotten to mention before), the show is interrupted by a boorish nationalist public announcement. When the rest of the audience stirs and begins to leave in disgust, Jiazhi’s expression is inscrutable; she is as if in a trance, watching as if the original thread had not been broken.
Second, at the quarry, Kuang gives Jiazhi a final look. In this moment, a thousand emotions are communicated. I realized that I hadn’t understood the look. At first, I sensed the pain of betrayal. But then as I thought more, I felt it communicated a recognition of just deserts, almost inevitable eventuality, and regret for his role in it. Because without Kuang’s fateful decisions along the way, the tragic end would not have been possible.
What was Kuang’s greatest fault? This brings me to my third realization: how thematically, the aspect of Kuang fits in perfectly alongside Li Mubai in “Crouching Tiger” and the father-daughter dynamic in “Eat Drink Man Woman”. Ang’s great insight is into the unspoken. Sometimes, things left unsaid can be a powerful force, and are best left unsaid (or, as might be more appropriate for this context, “in the dark”). But sometimes the lack of expression causes only suffering, unrequited longings, and misunderstanding. Such pent up feelings are unleashed with a fury, but often too late; they are contained in Mubai’s dying breath; and Jiazhi is already hopelessly entangled when Kuang declares the obvious. Thus at the quarry, his look also conveys sad apology.
Jiazhi’s reply to his outburst sounds so simple at first, but is a fractal of emotion in itself. “Why didn’t you do this three years ago? You could have.” It is a non-judgmental indictment. It is as if she says, the void you left then was filled by Yee. I would have been glad if it had been you, I would have been perfectly happy. Things are the way they are now because you made them so.
Ultimately, Jiazhi epitomizes the proverbial tipping point. She does not take the initiative in anything; in every case (but one) she does what she is told, albeit with an effortlessness that eludes other players. Her fate is engineered by the intentioned juggernauts of her world: the national condition, Yee, Kuang, and the resistance movement, to whom she is but a utilitarian object. Where pushed, she will flow. What is her loyalty? Does she herself know?
Ang leaves this question to us, using our own understanding of life. He hints, though, that there is no answer.