作者：中国民主党英国总部党员 程敏
时间：2025.11.7
前两天看了《南京照相馆》，平心而论，这是一部不错的电影，即便在中国这些年多如牛毛的抗日战争电影中，也足以留下一席之地，叙事流畅，层次分明，通过多个不同职业的小人物视角展现了日寇的残暴与狡诈，并没有使用过多的血腥镜头，却很好的达到了效果，与我很喜欢的《南京！南京！》在很多地方上都有相似之处。但是这部电影并没有摆脱中式战争片的一贯“特点”，那就是打着“勿忘历史”的名义灌输仇恨思维，却对战争背后的深层原因避而不谈，从头看到尾，其实可以概括为两句话，第一句话是显性的，日本人天生邪恶，表面的礼貌和友善只是伪装，本质上是充满兽性的妖魔，我们要永远牢记这段血海深仇，第二句比较隐晦，即片中的经典台词——来自主角对反派日本摄影师所说的”我们不是朋友，绝对不是”。这是中式战争片一贯的套路，通过给民众灌输对日本人这个族群的仇恨来加固对今天“强大祖国”的崇拜，对今天来之不易的“幸福生活”的珍惜，将国内严峻的各类社会矛盾转化为民族仇恨，“感恩我党，让中国人从此站起来了，我们和日本不共戴天，迟早必报此仇，如果没有我党，我们还会遭受同样的惨痛遭遇”。大概就这么个逻辑。下面我就单从片中的反派——日本摄影师伊藤秀夫这个人来谈一谈。
伊藤甫一出场，给人的感觉就是清秀，文质彬彬，他与任何人说话都轻声细语。他会用糖果来安慰受惊的儿童，会在目睹日军强奸妇女的暴行时摇头叹息，会现学中文向为自己办事的中国人说“加油，我的朋友”，并保护安全与提供相对丰厚的食物，看起来似乎是个很正常的受战争裹挟的普通人。但就是这样的人，片中却莫名其妙地开始展现出一种不合逻辑的残忍与冷漠。片中并没有为他的转变提供任何心理铺垫——没有现实与理想的冲突、没有军纪威逼，也没有内心挣扎。转折几乎一夜之间发生：昨天还在同情中国人的伊藤，今天就能举起相机，为行刑队拍下中国人被枪决的瞬间，昨天还在给孩子糖摸头安抚，今天就能对着被摔死的婴儿冷漠以对。这种转变，不是人物弧光，而是一种叙事策略。影片需要一个“披着人皮的魔鬼”，来告诉观众：即便最“文明”的日本人，也不过是披着人类的外衣，也终究会露出兽性。它不是在刻画人性，而是在传达一个政治理念——“敌人不是人，而是一种彻底邪恶的，必须被彻底消灭的存在”。这种理念正是当年日本军国主义的一大特征，中国作为日本军国主义的最大受害者，整个民族承受了巨大的伤痛与屈辱，而几十年后的今天，为了巩固政权的稳定，加强对民众的洗脑，中共大肆使用日本曾经的军国主义宣传，而民众也对此甘之如饴，可谓是极为讽刺。
这种人物塑造方式，正是中式战争片的宿命。中国的导演受限于审查制度的日益严苛，已经无法去触碰战争的复杂性、历史的多维度，害怕观众看到“日本人也有人的一面”，于是宁愿牺牲人物的真实，也要维护“民族仇恨的纯粹性”。结果便是：战争的悲剧被简化为善恶对立，仇恨被合法化，思考被替代。而“战争片的内核是反战”，估计他们就更不敢提了，而中国人被多年洗脑后已经彻底接受了这种叙事逻辑，他们也乐于为这种宣扬仇恨的电影买单。所以我觉得在以后的很多年里，中国人依然只能在电影院里看到一次接一次的“日本禽兽施以暴行，我国人民承受了巨大伤痛，不报此仇誓不为人”的中式战争片，哭得泪流满面，恨得咬牙切齿，却不会有任何对于战争本身的深层反思与排斥，不过这也正是中共想要的结果不是吗？
Reflections on The Nanjing Photo Studio: The Tragedy of Chinese-Style War Films
By Cheng Min, Member of the UK Headquarters of China Democracy Party
Written on November 7, 2025
A few days ago, I watched The Nanjing Photo Studio. To be fair, it’s a well-made film. Even among the countless Chinese war films produced in recent years, it stands out — its storytelling is coherent, its structure clear. Through the perspectives of several ordinary people from different professions, it vividly portrays the cruelty and deceit of the Japanese army. It doesn’t rely on excessive gore yet achieves a powerful emotional impact, much like one of my favourite films, City of Life and Death (Nanjing! Nanjing!).
However, The Nanjing Photo Studio still fails to escape the recurring traits of the “Chinese-style war movie.” Under the banner of “Never forget history,” it continues to instil hatred while avoiding any exploration of the deeper causes of war. From beginning to end, the film can be summarised in two lines.
The first is explicit: “The Japanese are born evil; their politeness and civility are only a mask for their bestial nature. We must never forget this blood debt.”
The second, subtler one is encapsulated in the protagonist’s remark to the Japanese photographer: “We are not friends — never will be.”
This, again, is the formulaic moral of Chinese war cinema — cultivating ethnic hatred against the Japanese to reinforce worship of today’s “strong motherland.” It redirects anger over domestic social conflicts toward an external enemy: “Be grateful to the Party — without it, China would still suffer humiliation at Japan’s hands.” That’s the logic.
Let’s focus on the film’s antagonist, the Japanese photographer Ito Hideo.
When Ito first appears, he seems gentle, refined, soft-spoken. He comforts frightened children with candy, frowns at the sight of soldiers assaulting women, learns a few Chinese words like “Jiayou, my friend,” and offers safety and food to Chinese workers. He seems like a decent man, just another soul trapped in wartime.
Yet, without any psychological buildup, Ito abruptly transforms into a cold-blooded monster. There’s no inner conflict, no pressure from superiors, no moral struggle — nothing. The change happens overnight. The same man who yesterday pitied Chinese victims, today calmly photographs executions; the same man who offered sweets to children now looks indifferently at a murdered baby.
This isn’t character development — it’s a narrative device. The film needs a “civilised devil” to hammer home its message: even the gentlest Japanese are, at heart, inhuman beasts. The goal isn’t to explore humanity, but to deliver a political lesson — “The enemy is not human; it is an evil that must be destroyed.”
Ironically, this very mindset — dehumanising the enemy — was a hallmark of Japan’s wartime militarism. China, once its greatest victim, now uses the same propaganda logic to maintain internal control. To consolidate its power, the Chinese Communist Party repackages that old militaristic rhetoric — and the public, long conditioned to accept such hatred, embraces it willingly.
This is the tragedy of Chinese-style war films. Under an increasingly suffocating censorship system, directors can no longer touch the complexity of war or the multidimensional nature of history. They dare not show “the human side of the Japanese,” fearing backlash for diluting national hatred. So they sacrifice truth for ideology, turning moral reflection into political loyalty.
As a result, war’s tragedy is reduced to a simplistic battle of good versus evil. Hatred becomes legitimate; thought is replaced by emotion. The universal anti-war message — that war itself is the enemy — has long vanished from Chinese screens.
After decades of indoctrination, audiences have fully internalised this pattern. They willingly pay to see films that rekindle hatred, weep over victims, curse “Japanese devils,” and leave the cinema feeling patriotic — yet never questioning the deeper causes of war, authoritarianism, or human suffering.
Perhaps that is exactly what the regime wants.
