China changed. Fast. Jia Zhangke noticed. While the rest of the world watched the 2008 Beijing Olympics and marveled at the shimmering skyscrapers of Shanghai, a different, bloodier reality was brewing in the provinces. That’s essentially the DNA of the movie A Touch of Sin. It isn’t just a film; it’s a scream. Released in 2013—well, "released" is a strong word considering its complicated relationship with Chinese censors—it remains one of the most visceral depictions of social inequality ever put to screen.
Most people expect a slow, meditative art-house drama when they hear the name Jia Zhangke. He's the guy behind Still Life and Platform, after all. But this one? It’s different. It’s violent. It’s loud. It’s basically a Wuxia (martial arts) film disguised as a gritty contemporary drama. Jia takes the "heroic" violence of old-school King Hu movies and maps it onto the bodies of modern workers who have simply had enough.
The Four Stories That Shook the System
The movie is split into four distinct vignettes. They aren't random. They are based on real-life events that went viral on Chinese social media (Weibo) around 2010 and 2011. If you were following the news back then, you’d recognize these headlines instantly.
First, there’s Dahai. He’s a villager in Shanxi. He’s angry because the local coal mine was privatized, and the promised kickbacks to the villagers never materialized. He tries to blow the whistle. He tries to go to Beijing. He gets beaten with a shovel for his troubles. When he finally snaps, he wraps a shotgun in a cloth featuring a tiger—a nod to the outlaws of the classic novel Water Margin—and goes on a calculated, cold-blooded killing spree. It’s uncomfortable to watch because Dahai isn’t a "bad" guy in the traditional sense; he’s a man who found that in his world, dignity costs more than he can pay without a gun.
Then the film shifts to Zhou San. He’s a migrant worker who returns home for his wife’s birthday. But he’s bored. The quiet life of the village doesn’t suit him anymore. He finds his "purpose" in the recoil of a pistol. He’s a professional mugger and killer. Unlike Dahai, who kills for a warped sense of justice, Zhou San kills because it’s the only thing that makes him feel powerful in a world that views him as expendable labor.
The third segment is perhaps the most famous. It follows Xiaolian, a sauna receptionist played by Zhao Tao (Jia’s frequent collaborator and wife). She’s having an affair with a married man, but the real pivot happens when a wealthy client tries to "buy" her. He literally beats her with a stack of cash, demanding she sleep with him. "Money can buy anything," he shouts. Her response is a sudden, jagged burst of violence with a fruit knife. It’s a scene mirrored directly from the real-life case of Deng Yujiao, a girl who became a folk hero in China for defending herself against a corrupt official.
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Finally, we have Xiao Hui. He’s young. He moves from job to job, ending up at a massive electronics factory in Dongguan that looks suspiciously like the real-world Foxconn plants. He’s overwhelmed by debt and the sheer monotony of the assembly line. There is no grand explosion of violence here, at least not against others. His violence is turned inward. It’s a heartbreaking look at the "youth" of the New China who find themselves trapped in a cycle of production they can’t escape.
Why the Title Matters More Than You Think
The English title, movie A Touch of Sin, is a bit of a clever play on words. The Chinese title is Tian Zhu Ding, which translates roughly to "Heaven's Will" or "Destined by Fate." It implies that these acts of violence weren't just personal choices—they were inevitable outcomes of the environment.
But the English title is a direct homage to A Touch of Zen, the 1971 Wuxia classic. Jia Zhangke is making a point here. In old movies, heroes used swords to fight injustice. In the modern world, the "heroes" are miners, sauna girls, and factory kids, and their "martial arts" are desperate, messy, and tragic. Honestly, it’s a brilliant way to bridge the gap between high-brow social commentary and the raw energy of a genre flick.
The Censors and the "Invisible" Release
You can’t talk about this film without talking about why it’s so hard to find in certain places. Initially, it seemed like it might actually get a wide release in China. It won Best Screenplay at Cannes. It was praised internationally. But then, things got quiet. Very quiet.
The film was never officially banned in a public decree, but it never got its "dragon seal" for a wide domestic theatrical run. It touched too many nerves. It pointed out the wealth gap. It highlighted corruption. It showed that the "Chinese Dream" had a dark, bloody underbelly. For a long time, the only way people in China saw it was through pirated links or imported DVDs.
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A Masterclass in Visual Storytelling
Jia Zhangke doesn't just tell you these people are miserable; he shows you through the landscape. The cinematography by Nelson Yu Lik-wai is stunning but cold. You see the massive statues of Mao and the crumbling brickwork of ancient villages sitting right next to neon-lit highways.
The pacing is deliberate. It’s not a Michael Bay movie. You spend time with these characters. You feel the dust in the air in Shanxi. You feel the humid, oppressive heat of the South. When the violence finally happens, it’s shocking because the build-up was so quiet. It’s like a rubber band being stretched for an hour until it finally snaps and hits you in the eye.
Misconceptions About the Violence
Some critics at the time complained that the film was too violent, or that it was "poverty porn" designed to win awards in the West. That’s a pretty shallow take, honestly.
If you look closer, the violence in the movie A Touch of Sin is never celebrated. It’s portrayed as a failure. Every time a character picks up a weapon, it’s because the social structures—the law, the village elders, the corporate HR departments—have failed them completely. Jia isn't saying violence is the answer; he’s saying that when people are stripped of their humanity, violence is often the only language they have left.
Real-World Impact and Legacy
Even years later, the film feels incredibly relevant. The "996" work culture (9 am to 9 pm, 6 days a week) and the "lying flat" (tang ping) movement in China today are direct descendants of the frustrations Xiao Hui feels in the final segment of the film.
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- Dahai's Story: Represents the death of the old socialist collective and the rise of the "coal bosses."
- Zhou San's Story: Represents the rootlessness of the migrant worker generation.
- Xiaolian's Story: Represents the gendered violence and the arrogance of the newly rich.
- Xiao Hui's Story: Represents the mental health crisis in the industrial heartland.
It’s a heavy film. It’s not what you’d call a "popcorn movie." But if you want to understand the complexities of 21st-century China beyond the headlines, it is essential viewing.
How to Watch and What to Look For
If you’re planning to sit down with this, don’t expect a neat conclusion where everything is tied up with a bow. The stories overlap slightly—characters from one segment might pass by characters from another—but they are mostly isolated. This reinforces the idea that these people are all suffering in their own little silos, unaware that they share the same pain.
- Pay attention to the animals. There are tigers, horses, and snakes throughout the film. They usually symbolize the primal state the characters are being pushed into.
- Watch the background. Jia loves putting posters, slogans, and TV broadcasts in the background that contrast with what’s happening on screen.
- Listen to the soundscape. The roar of trucks and the hum of factories are constant. It’s the sound of a country that never sleeps and never stops building.
Actionable Insights for Film Enthusiasts:
To truly appreciate the depth of the movie A Touch of Sin, you should watch it alongside Jia Zhangke’s earlier work, like The World. It shows his evolution from a fly-on-the-wall documentarian to a bold, operatic storyteller. If you are a student of cinema or just a fan of international drama, take note of how he uses "empty space" and long takes to build tension before a burst of action.
For those interested in the socio-political context, researching the "Deng Yujiao incident" or the Foxconn suicides of the early 2010s will provide a haunting realization of just how little Jia had to "invent" for this script. The most terrifying thing about this movie isn't the blood on screen; it's the fact that it all actually happened.
Start by finding a high-quality Blu-ray or a reputable streaming service that carries the Criterion Collection or Kino Lorber releases. Avoid low-quality rips, as the sound design and wide-angle cinematography are half the experience. Once you've watched it, look up the "Four Great Outlaws" of Chinese literature to see how Jia is modernizing ancient myths for a world that has largely forgotten them.