The film zeros in not on the expensive girlie "barber shops" of the big cities, but on the more forthright establishments in the small fishing villages along the Taiwan coast. Under the control of a "mama-san," a collection of young women lives in a brick house, from the outside just like any other dwelling around. But inside, each is assigned to a cubicle furnished with a double bed, and with not much room for anything else. This is where the girl sleeps and, more importantly, where she works. Because the story takes place during the summer months, the girls spend most of the daylight hours fanning themselves on the front porch.
But with the coming of night, the fishermen return from the sea, and many tack toward this particular street, lined on both sides with houses of prostitution. The girls have now put up their hair, laid on heavy make-up, and barely covered themselves in mini-skirts or skimpy dresses.
The competition is fierce among the houses, where the experienced but still pretty inmates get the most business; the too young or too old get what's left over. The customers come and go every few minutes, and this hustle and bustle continues into the wee hours or the morning. Exhausted, the girls finally go to sleep; they don't get up until nearly noon the next day, and the daily cycle begins again.
The star of A Flower in the Rainy Night is not a priest, social worker, or even the special customer who used to pop up in such movies to save misguided girls from their "evil ways," but one of the girls, a prostitute named Pai-mei (Lu Hsiao-fen).
Born to a poverty-stricken farm family that subsists on sweet potatoes, Pai-mei is given to a somewhat more well-to-do family at a very young age. This family already has quite a few children and feels the need for funds, and Pai-mei, on becoming a teenager, is sold to a house of prostitution, a practice, according to the film, that was once not uncommon. There's a scene in which several prostitutes nonchalantly watch as just-arrived Pai-mei weeps in a corner; several comment that they did "the same" when they were sold here years ago. "She'll get over it."
Under the guidance of the mama-san, Pai-mei not only gains experience, but soon becomes one of the most asked-for girls in the house. Actress Lu Hsiao-fen portrays with sensitivity this unusual heroine.
The film begins with Pai-mei taking time off from work to return to her foster home. The man who led her to the house of prostitution many years ago—her foster father—has just passed away. With mixed emotions, Pai-mei now takes the long train ride back to pay her ritual respects. The train trip, occupying approximately half the film's running time, is filled with flashbacks into her past, most of which, of course, take the viewer for an inside look at the world of small town prostitution.
A Flower in the Rainy Night, however, is not a peep show; it does not offer lurid sex scenes or pose nude girls everywhere. It is more an exposition of the psychological states these women pass through within the confines of their ancient profession....In a single day, they may be abused by customers, by the mama-san, and by coworkers. Within a few minutes, for example, Pai-mei has had to ward off a drunk, comfort a crying "younger sister," and offer sexual delights in bed.
When she finally arrives at her foster home, she finds that the mourning ceremonies scheduled for the morrow have been moved up a day; relatives gathering there hope the change will find Pai-mei arriving late, so they won't have to mingle with such a "shameless woman." However, she arrives in the midst of the proceedings, and her foster mother (Shih Yueh-niang) immediately takes her aside to a smaller altar, where she's instructed to burn incense and pay her respects. Immediately after the official ceremony, the other relatives gather their belongings prior to leaving, all trying their best, at the same time, to avoid Pai-mei. When she tries to hold a baby, the mother quickly makes an excuse ("time to change diapers") and takes it away.
In the end, Pai-mei is left alone with her foster mother and two of her children. With the two children listening outside, the two adults prepare dinner in the kitchen and talk—one of the most emotionally wrenching scenes in the film. The masks of propriety are removed, and in a flood of tears and straightforward discourse, Pai-mei exposes the pain and suffering she has endured for so many years. But of all this burden, what she finds hardest to accept is the disdain the family has shown toward her. Without the money the parents received for selling her into prostitution, their grown children would not have received sufficient education to achieve their present degrees of success. She accuses the family of being without conscience. Then, though the two reach some degree of reconciliation, Pai-mei realizes that this is not "home," and she leaves.
A part of this film's tragic aura derives from the characters' inability to escape the bonds of prostitution. Pai-mei, after her very unhappy visit home, moves on to a new town, to another house of prostitution that also caters mostly to fishermen, here to realize a dream that's been deeply rooted in her mind for a long, long time: The wish to have her own baby consumes her everytime she sees a mother carrying an infant, even a child playing nearby. Her need becomes so great that she puts aside all other concerns, deliberately getting pregnant by an unknowing customer (Ma Ju-feng).
Then she packs her bags and heads for her original home, which she has not seen since she was sent off as a child.
This homecoming marks the beginning of the film's sole emotionally-satisfying section. One is now more inclined to believe that home, after all is said and done, is the best place to be. The welcome Pai-mei now receives is open-armed and sincere. Though many family members and neighbors in this farming village don't recognize her anymore, their smiles and deportment make Pai-mei feel as if she belongs.
The most believable and attractive character of this family is Pai-mei's real mother (Yin-yin)—who is petite and wrinkled, but still very strong. She worked in the fields with her husband while he was alive and now works even harder—carrying heavy loads, planting and harvesting the all important sweet potato. When Pai-mei reveals she is pregnant and her elderly mother sternly scolds her for "being so dumb," one can see that this demonstration of anger comes from a genuine caring for Pai-mei, and not from a selfish concern for loss of face.
The villagers come to see Pai-mei as a good omen since she, by chance, has come up with a plan to make more money from the potatoes they grow. It is a small community, and soon all the villagers know that Pai-mei is expecting. And they all feel that a "good woman" like her should be rewarded with a son. Her mother burns incense daily, praying for a grandson. This period of waiting at home is among the happiest times Pai-mei has known.
The film's subsequent treatment of Pai-mei giving birth, is an agonizingly long ordeal for both the character and the viewer. Director Wang, perhaps, wants to be sure the audience experiences with the mother-to-be, the pain, anguish, and determination required to have this child.
A Flower in the Rainy Night (the title for local Chinese moviegoers is Days of Viewing the Sea) ends with Pai-mei and her baby son taking the train back to the fishing village where his unknowing father lives. She doesn't know if he'll still be there, or even what she'll say if they meet. She doesn't know where she will be in the days ahead. She faces her son towards the train window, now overlooking the sea, and tells him stories of beautiful waters and colored fishes.
This film may well leave the viewer depressed and hopeful at the same time. It is disheartening to dissect the tumor of prostitution, even sadder to inspect the psychological scars left on these girls. The societal stigma is, perhaps, the most insufferable scar of all.
A Flower in the Rainy Night is a serious attempt to deal with a difficult subject. It is no easy task to portray prostitution from an unbiased point of view—to delve deeply into the lives of those involved and yet not sentimentalize the incidents and relationships.
Though we sympathize with Pai-mei, she does not become a superhero. A human being at the film's conclusion, she still nurses fears, doubts, and naive hopes for the future. She, like the rest of us, marches, stumbles, or crawls into the unknown...again and again and again.