A Tale of Cautionary Lust

Out, damned spot.

Though I've washed my hands a dozen times - even with the meagre, hesitant water supply provided by the occupying force - I doubt I'd be able to get the fetid stench of death off my fingers. Would take even longer before I'd be able to forget the sight of maimed, mutilated corpses piled up in the mortuary of what used to be the Shanghai Jewish Hospital, the numbers growing suspiciously larger by the day. Foul traitors to the cause, our Japanese liberators would claim with their endless slogans and propaganda promising the vaunted return of Asian values after the overthrow of Western Imperialism.

Calvin would certainly beg to differ. Why else would he have been conscripted to the side of the underground rebellion just to write patriotic marches? Seemed like his idealistic little ditties went over real well with the fighting peasantry.

And me, seemingly standing with one foot on either side. And neither. Offering medical services at the makeshift hospital, ill-equipped and understaffed with the little that I know. A confusing hodge-podge of Eastern and Western Medicine. Dressed in a tattered woolen overcoat that I should have thrown two years back and shoes that have walked too many miles.


Ye Shanghai!
My ISO is looking at me with some concern from across the table. Since my sudden return from Beijing, he hasn't stopped with his endless questions. Why have I lost weight? Why was there a patch on my suit? Did I need anything?

Unsurprisingly allied to our so-called Asian liberators, my sly friend has slid easily from one totalitarian regime to another without losing an inch of his panache. Still slick in his elegant bespoke, he fiddled around with the diamond ring on his hand. In the total chaos of the times, somehow or rather he has become a successful businessman with three nightclubs to his name. My ISO always knew how to bend with the wind.

And here I was with a tiny poisoned needle strapped to my wrist wondering whether my erstwhile friend had actually committed the unforgivable sin by conspiring with the Japanese while offering information on the underground. Had he changed that much in the years that I'd been gone?


And yet I doubt I'd have fallen for him if it meant betraying my country, my people, my friends. Especially if that particular turncoat pal was heavily into S&M, mistook his painful Gestapo interrogation skills for foreplay and enjoyed smacking me around some for cheap thrills.

Wang Jiazhi certainly didn't have any such nervous qualms since she slid into the role of the sexy superspy easily enough despite her seeming naivete in the beginning of Lust, Caution. To summarize Lust, Caution 色，戒 in alliterations - manipulative Matahari mistresses playing mahjong with maniacal masterminds.

Arthouse movies usually bum me out. Instead of feeling wildly entertained, I always end up feeling somewhat deflated. Somehow or rather, there's an ingrained dogma that all frou frou arthouse directors ( and high-brow literary authors ) hold dear - never ever finish with a perfectly happy ending.

That hasn't changed with the much-touted Lust, Caution. Tang Wei plays the budding patriot, Wang Jiazhi, who seems to have stumbled into the role of the uneasy spy placed as a mole in the house of a Japanese collaborator. Our beloved thespian Tony Leung shows his skill in playing the perfect bad guy that you just can't help but empathize with - though it's still hard to see how could have developed feelings for him in so short a time.


Why don't I take off my shirt dammit!!
With the talented duo showing off their acting chops in their considerably meatier roles, poor Wang Lee Hom has been relegated to being mere gorgeous eye candy. Though why hire the pretty boy only to keep his shirt on throughout the movie?

Who knows. Maybe he does bare some skin in the fifteen minutes removed by our scissor happy censorship board.