A Touch of Sin (2013) Review

“A Touch of Sin” Theatrical Poster

Director: Jia Zhang-Ke
Cast: Jiang Wu, Wang Bao-Qiang, Zhao Tao, Luo Lan-Shan, Zhang Jia-Yi, Vivien Li Meng
Running Time: 130 min.

By Henry McKeand

At its most extreme, cinematic violence can serve either as a satisfying catharsis or a stark reminder of real-world suffering. The bloodshed in Jia Zhangke’s A Touch of Sin accomplishes each, sometimes simultaneously. The film is both a seething commentary on exploitation in present-day China and an uncharacteristically bloody exercise in tension from a director who isn’t known for high body counts.

A Touch of Sin is one of Zhangke’s most acclaimed films in the West, and it was selected as one of the top 25 films of the decade according to The New York Times. It also happens to contain several “genre” elements, although it would be a mistake to brand it a thriller or action film. At its core, this is an honest piece of filmmaking from a director who has long been interested in stories of China’s current reality. 

The film is comprised of four loosely connected stories about everyday people pushed to acts of violence, each one inspired by true events. These are disaffected, lost characters struggling with the weight of modern life, and the market economy looms large over each narrative. Zhangke is particularly interested in how ideas and images from the past work their way into the present. This interest manifests itself visually throughout, such as a small moment when women dressed in traditional, bright attire walk past a group of people wearing dark modern clothing. Zhangke and cinematographer Lu Lik-wai also find incredible beauty in China’s natural countryside, and the majestic landscape stands in sharp contrast to the machinery and technology that often exist in the same frame.

In none of the four stories are these dichotomies–capitalism versus communism, the 20th versus the 21st century–more extreme than in the first vignette, which concerns a disgruntled man (played by Jiang Wu) working at a privatized coal mine. He is fed up with corrupt owners and village leaders becoming rich while the workers struggle to get by. His attempts to air his grievances through the proper channels only receive dismissal and intimidation. The frustration bubbles until it has nowhere to go but outward, and the result is an expression of anger that’s painful to watch but even more cathartic. 

The other three tales play with the same themes, but Zhangke’s execution changes with each. The second story centers around a young family man (Wang Baoqiang) who has resorted to violent crime in order to support his wife and son. The third tells the story of a spa worker (played by Zhangke’s wife and muse, the extraordinary Zhao Tao) who is having an affair with a married man. The final story is the most reserved, giving viewers a glimpse into the life of a young man (Luo Lanshan) who searches for employment and human connection after being held responsible for a workplace accident.

While each story explores the concept of sin in some shape or form, none of the segments reach the vengeful catharsis of the first. This is intentional. As the film goes on, the violence loses its appeal, growing hollower with each death. Zhangke recognizes the escapist nature of cinematic killing, but he also understands that it’s an ineffective method of dealing with real-world pain. 

Still, Zhangke’s ability to make the viewer feel the unrest and disappointment of his characters means that there’s an incredible potential for the catharsis he ultimately rejects. We care about the people who inhabit this tapestry, meaning that we are especially invested whenever someone is harmed. This can lead to uncomfortably thrilling scenes, such as the blood-soaked finale of the first story, but it also creates moments where the on-screen destruction of the human body feels sad and empty. 

Few filmmakers can walk such a tight rope, but Zhangke’s humanism and directorial precision turn A Touch of Sin into a completely engrossing film. The narrative jumps and tonal shifts could have been disastrous, but they instead work to capture the full range of the human experience. The tenderness elevates the tragedy, and the excitement never undermines the emotional truth of the vignettes. While it is possible that the genre touches helped the film stand out from Zhangke’s earlier work, it has the same blend of gentleness and hard-hitting truth as something like Mountains May Depart, which was Zhangke’s next film. By the time the credits roll, viewers are left thinking about the structural realities of the stories more so than their violent outcomes. This makes A Touch of Sin required viewing for anyone interested in Chinese cinema or culture.

Henry McKeand’s Rating: 9/10