神女

There is something really quite poignant about this story of a young Chinese mother who finds herself trapped in a scenario that offers her little chance of liberation. She (Ruan Lingyu) is trying to bring up her baby son by working in a brothel. When the police raid that one evening, she darts down an alleyway and seeks shelter in what she doesn’t appreciate is the home of “Zhang” (Zhang Zhizhi). He’s a bully and an opportunist gambler who allows her the sanctuary of his home for a few seconds, but boy does she pay for that over the next few years as he avails himself of her body and her money, whilst ensuring her cooperation by threatening to sell her baby. As he grows up though, she determines that his must be a better life and so she scrimps and saves to get him into a private school. Initially that all goes well as the principal (Junpan Li) takes to this enthusiastic learner. Then the gossip mongers start to spread rumours about how she earns her cash, and soon the school is investigating whether it wants her “sort” or her son. It’s this scenario that finally forces her hand as she realises that things cannot go on as they are. The thing is, is anyone around her prepared to help or even allow her to change? With only sparing use of inter-titles as a guide, this story is delicately conveyed by a really powerful effort from a captivating Ruan Lingyu and from the intimidating Zhang Zhizhi as well as the benevolent Junpan Li and it illustrates just how tough life for was for just about anyone in 1930s China, let alone for an uneducated single mother at the mercy of an heartless pimp. Like many films of it’s day, it also makes great play on the importance of education as a tool to escape the poverty trap that ensnared so many for lack of opportunity. The presentation is subtle, there is little violence - per se - but the extent to which this woman is controlled by circumstance and by “Zhang” is never in doubt, nor is her devotion to a son (Keng Li) whose doe-eyed and affectionate glances at his mother are quite touching, too. It’s delicately paced, photographed and packs a lot of story into eighty minutes.