An upturned truck, its contents spilled out all over the road. A lone man on his motorcycle about to get mugged by a gang of axe-wielding thieves. A passer-by tossing a tomato into the air, before a massive explosion causes him to duck and cover. This is how A Touch Of Sin starts off, before beginning properly with the first of its four stories, with the tomato-tossing man arriving in a barren mountain village currently in the depths of an economic depression, one he believes has been caused by a corrupt mayor.
The other three stories deal with the motorcycle man trying to raise money for his wife and child, a sauna receptionist dealing with her boyfriend and his current wife, and a young man trying to make ends meet with a series of soul-destroying jobs. Reoccurring themes of money, poverty, family and sudden acts of violence lace together the tales, but an actual interlocking plot elements between them is rare, and loosely realised.
There is also the sliding slope of quality and interest as the stories go on. The first section is absolutely magnetic and fantastically paced, thanks to the gorgeous but desolate setting and searing performance from the lead actor, but things don't remain this good for long. Inescapably depressing as events continue, with each thread dragging out longer than the previous while simultaneously having less to say, culminating with a dour and seemingly pointless short story that really tests your patience.
Thankfully, the lead actors and actresses for each section all deliver great performances, and even as the movie leaves the mountain tops and delves into bland factory floors and dank city centre back alleys, director Zhangke Jia manages to keep things looking absolutely beautiful. But the frustrating feeling that these stories are supposed to connect in a more meaningful way – and fails to do so – and the fact that the film starts off so genuinely brilliantly – and fails to remain that way – you can’t help but feel that this is a decidedly average film, with only a touch of greatness.
