Raise the Red Lantern

In the sweltering summer of 1920s Republican China, a sprawling countryside manor becomes a micro‑cosm of rigid tradition and concealed power. The Chen family, wealthy and isolated, runs its household with a choreography that feels both ceremonial and suffocating: every night a single lantern is lit, signaling the master’s fleeting attention to one of his wives, while the others wait in quiet reverence. This ritual turns the home into a stage where status is measured not by wealth alone but by the fickle glow of that red light.

Songlian, a nineteen‑year‑old educated woman, is ushered into this world after her father’s death leaves her family destitute. She is installed as the Fourth Mistress, a title that promises prestige yet immediately binds her to a hierarchy dominated by three senior wives. The First Mistress, a stern matriarch who has already secured her place, exerts an unyielding authority; the Second Mistress offers a softer, more nurturing contrast; and the Third Mistress, once a celebrated opera singer, clings to the remnants of her former favor. Together they weave a delicate balance of alliance and rivalry, each maneuvering within the confines of prescribed rituals and unspoken expectations.

The film’s tone is a muted, haunting elegy to a world where a woman’s value is measured by the master’s gaze and the timing of a lantern’s flame. The courtyard’s lingering heat, the soft rustle of silk, and the ever‑present silence of the master’s unseen presence create an atmosphere thick with anticipation. As Songlian navigates the labyrinth of customs, whispered conversations, and the ever‑shifting favor of the household, the audience feels the weight of a society that both dazzles and oppresses, leaving her—and the viewer—wondering how one can survive when attention itself is a scarce, controlled commodity.

Last Updated: November 29, 2025 at 04:45