Even more problematic when subtitled, the ins and outs of others’ sociopolitical currents often do not translate well. Nevertheless, one need not understand the voiceover choral commentary or be familiar with changing China of half a century ago to follow the tale and some of the implications of Two Stage Sisters/Wutai jiemei.

Made in 1964 on the eve of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, this hundred-seven-minutes film seems on the face of it romantically pro-revolution and –feminist. Thus its inclusion in Asia Society’s Goddess: Chinese Woman on Screen, nine “major classics highlighting [their] strength, resilience, beauty, love, and desire,” all projected in stirring 35mm. Director Jin Xie was among his country’s most successful, but this his first from his own (co-written) screenplay was initially denied domestic exhibition. The reasons take one afield into Socialist Realism as well as individual political agendas, though it may be mentioned that definite black-and-white characterization was state prescribed and so the film’s shading off into grey areas and its lack of punishment for one title character, errant if soon repentant, were displeasing to censors.

If the arguably gratuitous introduction and influence of journalist Jiang Bo (Ai-sheng Gao) were edited out, the result would be close to Western melodrama of rural women striving to realize a dream of artistic success in the big city, with hardship, opposition, sin, venality, decline and ultimate redemption into the mix.

Cultural background that amplifies the implications -- mostly or entirely female musical troupes, the Shaoxing opera tradition, the 1935-50 international and then internal civil wars, a nascent feminist movement -- is a bonus but not sine qua non and, in any case, can be extrapolated enough to enlarge the stakes of unadorned story.

Escaping from abusive in-laws, widowed Chunhua Zhu (Fang Xie) hides in the backstage trunk of a regional folk opera group. Traveling the small towns, such roaming performers were not uncommon, eking out a bare living and, though popular, considered as low as their Elizabethan counterparts had been, that is, as lowlifes, rogues, bawds and easy women. Yuehong Xing (Yindi Cao), who sings male rôles in falsetto, convinces her father and their company manager “Uncle” A Xin (Nan Deng) to accept the runaway and, become “sisters,” the two young women evolve as stars and fast friends.

SPOILER ALERT

On the death of that kind father, their contracts are transferred to greedy Tang (Wei Li), director of a Shanghai opera theater, to replace his sad, fading star Shuihua Shang (Yunzhu Shangguan). Whereas Chunhua refuses to prostitute herself to wealthy Lord Ni, Yuehong in effect sells herself to Tang, marrying him (she thinks) to free herself from stage drudgery and live the high life.

Politicized, awakened by Jiang, Chunhua puts on plays critical of corruption and reaction, is attacked by an underling of Tang, himself pressured by KMT Commissioner Pan (Ran Ding), and confronted in court by unwilling accuser Yuehong.

The concept of itinerant players informs the narrative, allowing for some questionable (if informative) digressions and, importantly, echoing the old concept of real and stage life as mirroring one another. Blatant revolutionary platitudes take over the ending, but otherwise the “sisters’” paths shed light on little known but crucial aspects of this period in the emergence of modern China.

(Released by Shanghai Film Studios; not rated by MPAA.)