Lu didn’t get in trouble for depictions of sex or violence, though. The problem? He dared to suggest that not all Japanese soldiers were brutal killing machines. One of the film’s main characters, Kadokawa, is an idealistic young Japanese soldier who, sickened by the violence, grows into a hero by the end of the movie. Seventy years after the Rape of Nanking, memories of the event are still raw in China, and Sino-Japanese relations remain tense to this day. The sympathetic portrayal of Kadokawa divided Chinese audiences: half praised Lu, the other half rose up in protest. Remembering the death threats he received, the director sighs, admitting, “It was the darkest time of my life.”
     It’s hard to imagine a Hollywood film inspiring such heated national debate. City of Life and Death isn’t like any Hollywood movie in recent memory, though part of its storyline–the part about John Rabe’s efforts to save civilians–recalls SCHINDLER’S LIST. If possible, Lu’s film is even more gut-wrenching than Spielberg’s, largely due to his aesthetic choices. Not only is the palette monochrome, but there’s also a stripped-down soundtrack which uses small sounds–flags flapping in the wind, dogs barking–to evoke a shattered city.