1995年，香港導演牟敦芾執導的《黑太陽：南京大屠殺》正式上映。這部作品作為《黑太陽731》之後的續篇，延續導演一貫以紀實風格呈現歷史暴行的手法，這一次將鏡頭對準1937年震驚世界的南京大屠殺。與一般歷史電影試圖從個人角度切入、透過人性光輝來柔化暴力不同，導演選擇極端寫實的方式，幾乎沒有明確主角，只為還原當時人民所面臨的無差別恐懼與集體性絕望。

電影使用大量手持攝影，營造出臨場感與紀錄片式的冷峻質感，服裝與場景設計極為考究，試圖忠實呈現1930年代的南京街景與軍事氛圍。影片中最具爭議的場面莫過於對日軍暴行的直接展現，諸如活埋平民、集體強姦、屠村掃蕩，甚至包括「刺刀剖孕婦」等慘絕人寰的畫面。這些內容雖是真實歷史中曾被記錄下來的殘酷細節，但在銀幕上無修飾地呈現，使得觀眾無法迴避，也無法麻木。

也正因為這種「全無遮掩」的處理手法，使得《黑太陽：南京大屠殺》上映當時遭遇極大爭議。影片在中國大陸被直接封禁，未獲得公開放映資格；在香港上映時也被標示為三級片，限制級標籤使得觀眾群大幅縮小。最終票房僅錄得約90萬港幣，遠低於製作成本。對於牟敦芾本人與出品公司而言，這是一場幾近致命的財務失敗。原計畫拍攝的「黑太陽三部曲」因此胎死腹中，導演牟敦芾也因財務壓力及創作遭打擊而黯然退出影壇，從此沉寂。

在當時，主流影評界對這部片的反應亦不友善。許多評論人批評其「只有血腥，沒有深度」，認為影片過於追求視覺衝擊，缺乏敘事層次與情感溫度。與其說是電影，更像是一段痛苦的歷史影像資料。而在那個尚未普遍接受殘酷真實影像的年代，觀眾心理也並未準備好直視這樣的歷史傷口。許多觀眾選擇避而遠之，認為這是一部令人不適、難以承受的作品。

然而，時隔三十年，在歷史題材電影再次受到關注的今日，《黑太陽：南京大屠殺》被重新評價。尤其是隨著中國國產電影如《南京！南京！》、《金陵十三釵》以及紀錄風格作品如《南京照相館》等引起話題，人們對歷史暴行的電影該如何呈現、該呈現到什麼程度，開始有更多元的討論。牟敦芾的這部作品，也因此不再只是單一地被指為「血腥」，而是被看作一種極端形式的歷史記憶保存。

在豆瓣這類中文電影評價平台上，《黑太陽：南京大屠殺》的評分逐漸回升。觀眾開始意識到，即便該片在敘事與角色塑造上略顯單薄，但它以一種毫不妥協的方式再現歷史暴行，這種「不留情面」的處理，恰恰讓觀眾無法逃避，無法遺忘。它未能讓人在觀影後產生慰藉感或釋放，但卻讓疼痛留存在觀者心中，成為對歷史殘酷性最深刻的感知體驗之一。

因此，當人們回顧《黑太陽：南京大屠殺》票房不佳的原因時，不僅是因為內容過於血腥，更是因為它過於真實，真實到讓當時的社會、審查機制與觀眾心理無法承受。它的市場失敗是時代氛圍的犧牲品，而它的藝術意義與歷史價值，卻在三十年後才真正被理解。

如今，它已成為歷史電影中一個極端但必要的參照點。它提醒我們，歷史不只存在於教科書的抽象描述中，更曾以鮮血與屈辱書寫在人類集體記憶之中。那些我們不願直視的真相，也許正是最應該被記住的。

In 1995, Hong Kong director Mou Tun-fei released Black Sun: The Nanking Massacre, a sequel to his earlier work Men Behind the Sun (1988). Continuing his signature documentary-style approach to depicting historical atrocities, Mou turned his camera this time to the 1937 Nanjing Massacre—a wartime atrocity that shocked the world. Unlike most historical films that attempt to soften violence through personal narratives or humanistic perspectives, Mou chose a starkly realistic method, presenting events without a central protagonist to emphasize the indiscriminate fear and collective despair endured by the people.

The film employed extensive handheld cinematography to create a sense of immediacy and documentary-style coldness. Its costumes and set design were meticulously crafted, aiming to faithfully recreate the street scenes and military atmosphere of 1930s Nanjing. What drew the most controversy, however, were the film’s unflinching depictions of Japanese war crimes: civilians being buried alive, mass rapes, village massacres, and most disturbingly, graphic portrayals of pregnant women being disemboweled by bayonets. While these were indeed based on historical accounts, presenting them so unfiltered on screen left audiences unable to look away—or become numb to the horror.

It was precisely this unrelenting approach that led Black Sun: The Nanking Massacre to face tremendous controversy upon release. The film was banned in Mainland China and never granted public screening approval. In Hong Kong, it was rated Category III (restricted to those 18 and over), a classification that drastically limited its audience. Ultimately, the film grossed only about HKD $900,000—far below production costs. For Mou and the production company, it was a near-fatal financial blow. The originally planned “Black Sun Trilogy” was abruptly terminated, and Mou Tun-fei, under immense financial and emotional pressure, withdrew from the film industry and fell into obscurity.

At the time, mainstream critics were largely unkind. Many derided the film as “all blood, no depth,” accusing it of prioritizing shock value over narrative complexity or emotional engagement. To some, it resembled raw historical footage more than a coherent cinematic work. In an era not yet ready to confront brutal historical imagery, many viewers avoided the film entirely, describing it as deeply disturbing and emotionally unbearable.

However, three decades later, as historical films gain renewed cultural attention, Black Sun: The Nanking Massacre has been reevaluated. Thanks in part to the emergence of domestic Chinese films such as City of Life and Death, The Flowers of War, and documentary-style works like Nanjing Photo Studio, audiences and critics have begun to engage in more nuanced discussions around how war crimes and historical trauma should be portrayed on screen. As a result, Mou’s film is no longer viewed solely as “gory exploitation,” but rather as a raw and uncompromising method of historical preservation.

On Chinese review platforms like Douban, the film’s ratings have steadily improved. Audiences now recognize that, although its narrative and character development may be thin, it delivers an unapologetic reconstruction of wartime horrors. Its refusal to provide catharsis or emotional relief is precisely what makes the pain linger—and gives the viewer one of the most visceral understandings of the cruelty embedded in history.

In retrospect, the film’s commercial failure was not merely due to its graphic content, but its overwhelming realism—so real that the era’s society, censors, and audiences simply couldn’t process it. Its box office loss was a casualty of its time. Its artistic and historical value, however, has only come to be fully appreciated thirty years later.

Today, Black Sun: The Nanking Massacre stands as an extreme—but necessary—reference point in the genre of historical cinema. It reminds us that history isn’t just abstract text in schoolbooks—it was written in blood and humiliation into our collective memory. The truths we most wish to avoid may, in fact, be the very ones we most need to remember.