“Raise the Red Lantern” is a flat-out masterpiece, though I suspect this is the first time you’re even hearing of it.

Let me clarify the “you” in that statement: if you’re an enthusiast of 20th-century Chinese history or if you’re old enough to remember the year 1991 at the movies, then your heart probably leapt at the mention of Zhang Yimou’s Oscar-nominee for Best Foreign Film (it lost, of course, to an Italian film that hasn’t enjoyed nearly as great a legacy).

However, most of you will be better acquainted with Yimou as the director of such 21st century martial arts hits as “Hero” and “House of Flying Daggers.” But before the acclaimed Chinese director achieved this overseas success in a post-“Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” Hollywood, he established himself on the world cinema circuit with a series of stellar dramas starring his now-longtime collaborator Gong Li.

“Raise the Red Lantern,” his second such drama, tells the story of Songlian (Li), a bright and beautiful university student in 1920s China who decides to leave school and become a concubine in the wealthy Chen household to provide for her bankrupted family.

The film opens with a piercing close-up of Songlian casting her gaze downwards at her off-screen mother, as she explains with steely resolve her decision to abort her educational career: “It’s a woman’s fate,” she argues unconvincingly, so why should she bother putting it off any longer? Songlian’s severe exterior dissolves into tears before this scene dissolves into the next one. This opening shot of Songlian is one of a handful of powerful close-ups in a film that prefers to keep somewhat of a distance from its subjects, who come to resemble a flock of imprisoned birds with clipped wings who find inventive ways of sharpening their talons whilst trapped in their master’s cage.

The birds in question are mistresses one through three and their servants, longtime residents of the Chen palace. The First Mistress is a weathered old soul with barely any interest in giving Songlian the time of day. The Second Mistress is a motherly figure who attempts to assuage Songlian’s discomfort in her new surroundings with smiles and gifts. The Third Mistress, a former opera singer who is closest in age to Songlian, is a conniving drama queen who almost instantly finds herself at odds with her new sister.

Having made the acquaintance of the palace’s inhabitants, Songlian quickly learns the rules and rituals keeping everyone in line: every evening, the master orders red lanterns to be raised at the apartment of the concubine with whom he wishes to spend the night. The lucky woman also earns a foot massage and the privilege of setting the following day’s lunch menu. Before long Songlian finds out the hard way how her fellow sisters exploit these daily rites in a passive-aggressive power struggle with both one another and the servants who frequently cast jealous eyes their way.

The supremely stylish Yimou uses color and composition to effectively convey the dichotomous nature of the Chen household and the gamut of emotions simmering underneath his protagonist’s pampered skin. Oppressively symmetric medium- and wide-angle shots of the palace constantly remind us of the obscene wealth of the Chen family, the lack of escape routes for the concubines therein, and the cold detachment with which Chinese society as a whole regarded these women at that time. The reds that pervade the early scenes of the film gradually cool to embers of orange and chilly blues in accordance with the passage of time from summer to winter and the evolution of Songlian’s attitude towards her predicament.

The film’s visual grandeur is complemented by Zhao Jiping’s score, a cacophonous mixture of chorus, cymbals and rattles that heightens moments of intense drama and pathos. To top everything off, the writing is sharp and the acting is searing; Yimou has invited Gong Li back for future projects with excellent reason.

Based on the novel Wives and Concubines, Raise the Red Lantern is unafraid to explore some rather unsavory territory; adultery, faked pregnancies, underhanded voodoo, ear-severing and murder legends all appear the story at some point or another. The film does not end on a pleasant note either, with its final scene simultaneously corroborating Songlian’s conception of a “woman’s fate” while indicting the culture and hierarchy that allowed such fates to transpire.

Banned in its home country for years after its initial theatrical release, “Raise the Red Lantern” today suffers an almost worse fate in the US: unavailable on Netflix, Hulu, iTunes and Amazon, and out of print on DVD (though Lau has a solitary copy with terrible subtitling and poor picture quality), Yimou’s chef d’œuvre is a nearly forgotten gem awaiting a much-deserved rediscovery.

Tim Markatos is a senior in the College. The Cinema Files appears every other Friday in the guide.