The Double (2024) First Impressions Episodes 1-9

The show opens with Xue Fangfei (Wu Jinyan) the daughter of a noble family caught in a scandalous moment. She’s fallen prey to a frame up job by her mother and sister-in-law to ruin her reputation as a married woman. They’ve been acting on the instructions of the emperor’s sister who has set her sights on Fangfei’s scholarly husband Shen Yurong (Liang Yongqi) hence the smear tactics. To make the best of an evil vs less evil situation, the newly appointed court official, buries the broken-hearted Fangfei, nickname: A’Li, alive, not before sobbing through tears that he had really no choice because the person behind it all could crush them all as if they were mere ants. The princess Wan Ning is a curious figure. She seems to be quite drunk in most of her appearances or mentally unhinged. Even the otherwise sensible emperor is beholden to take her proddings seriously. Apparently she brokered an important treaty some time ago so she could well be drunk on a power trip. Beneath the cavalier facade is a ruthless schemer. No doubt she’s got a game going and is fairly confident of being on the winning side.

A’Li survives the unceremonious burial and bemoans her fate with flashbacks of happier days. As she’s about to do herself in for her stupidity, a young lady late of Zhen Nv Hall (a nunnery of sorts) makes an appearance and comes to the rescue. After a series of tragic and salacious events, A’Li impersonates said young lady Jiang Li and enters the prime minister’s household as the titular double. The only thing on her mind is revenge — for herself and the pitiful deceased girl. There she cleverly navigates through a snake-infested pit comprising of a cunning stepmother (Chen Qiao’en), spiteful half-sisters and a father who is very much a man of his time, dancing to the tune of the wily stepmother.

The imposter trope is a staple in C dramas although more often deployed in favour of villains. Still it’s a joy to root for the imposter to succeed especially if she’s on the right side, highly adept at the gameplay and the baddies are deliciously… despicable. Comparisons with The Princess Weiyoung are inevitable because those familiar beats are all present. Despite not scoring high in originality, The Double is a satisfying feast so far not only because revenge is on the menu but because the tight storytelling is the not-so-secret sauce.

A case in point is the introduction of the show’s supposed male lead. It’s calculated to make the viewer sit up and take notice. The place is pouring cats and dogs. He strolls confidently towards a warehouse of sorts with an umbrella. Inside there are labourers making haste overtime. Then the double doors collapse dramatically. A chair is dragged to the entrance. Our male lead does a bit of a spin in a mid-air dance and lands on the chair with flair. At this point, the audience has no idea who he is but his confidence is catching. More importantly the response to his entry is telling. On seeing him, the supervisor of the warehouse is quaking in his boots, mutters the name of the night time intruder with a look of terror. He tells his lads to attack. Instead they cower behind. Then he takes off in the opposite direction only to face the might of Duke Su’s men in a Guy Ritchie or Matthew Vaughn inspired action sequence complete with slo-mo. Even the music has got Sherlock Holmes resonances. The message is clear: Duke Su aka Xiao Heng is not someone that mere mortals should tangle with. Although he has very little screen presence up to Episode 8, all his appearances are memorable. It’s not just the duds or the ubiquitous fan or even Wang Xingyue’s natural charisma oozing through celluloid. To further cement his status, he has not one but two sidekicks — one taciturn, the other garrulous. The garrulous one is always looking for a bit action (signal “comic relief”) and the quiet one is far more in sync with his master although the trio seem more like brothers than master and servants. In those few minutes the show quickly establishes Xiao Heng as the emperor’s chief enforcer and he hardly has to lift a finger to dirty his hands.

As I’ve said in the most recent podcast, Xiao Heng is the kind of fictional male lead that I am eager to root for. Intelligence and strategic thinking are welcomed traits always but it’s also the ability to see beyond the surface that matters particularly in a dog-eat-dog environment like the one he’s a part of. At the start he’s on the trail of salt smugglers which will no doubt lead to some kind of much bigger conspiracy involving the Li family who seem to have an insatiable need for money. Xiao Heng is one of a handful of people who know the woman posing as Jiang Li is Xue Fangfei but for reasons known only to him, he’s keeping mum. My guess is that he’s always been… at the very least… fascinated by her when she was known as Xue Fangfei, the talented daughter of Duke Xue. There are these flashbacks where he’s on his happy perch (a rooftop seat of a popular restaurant) surveying the main street noticing A’Li with a penetrating stare. No doubt we’re meant to think that Heaven has given him a second chance to get the girl.

There is an underlying sense that A’Li married the wrong man. Not because Shen Yurong is a outright scoundrel as such but because when push comes to shove he cannot protect her. He’s reneged on his promise to her father when he kowtowed to ask for her hand. Perhaps it is the case that a man who can’t even protect the woman he loves is worse than a scoundrel. Not just because he’s incapable of holding steadfast to his vows but a man who can’t manage his household can’t be trusted to stand firm in “larger” matters of state. Already the cracks are showing. The upright scholar who bowed to the whims of the princess can’t hold his ground when she insists that the up and coming academic competition be conducted in mixed company. To be fair, it’s not just him but the emperor too who is obligated to acquiesce. So it does beg the question… why does the princess have an inordinate amount of power?

I imagine that the husband Shen Yurong is depicted differently in the screen adaptation because there’s a deliberate reverse harem in operation if not a love triangle at some level. The husband and the would-be co-conspirator are being contrasted for didactic purposes. Good intentions aren’t enough. Apparently being virtuous isn’t either. Perhaps Shen Yurong was always out of his league marrying a duke’s daughter. Her father certainly thought so. To marry into a aristocratic family one needs a lot more than good will and feelings, one needs political savvy. And clout. Good people without mental agility tend to die. And they die miserably.

Wu Jinyan has made a career of playing astute and resourceful female characters. My favourite role of her is the pragmatic Hao Lan. I went into it not knowing what to expect but that turned out to be a highly addictive experience. (It doesn’t hurt that the male lead played by Mao Zijun was a fantastic calculating character) I have the same expectations here. Wu Jinyan is just much better in dramatic roles where she’s conniving and not entirely the paragon of maidenly virtue.

Stepmother played by Joe Chen is my favourite type of female antagonist. She often spots a green robe and I don’t think it’s accidental. She’s the quintessential 绿茶 Green Tea. Outwardly charming but in fact full of schemes. She’s got her husband, one of the most powerful men in the land, wrapped around her finger. Long before girl bosses, the pinnacle of a female villain was the far more intriguing master manipulator. The mistress of the Jiang residence is utterly self-possessed and is an old hand at the game of verbal duelling. She knows better than to express outright disapproval or point her guns overtly against A’Li. Her actions are always calculated. On some level it seems like she’s being considerate but what it actually is… is a trap. A social faux pas. This is the show’s other strong suit — subtle power plays through dialogue with multiple layers of meaning, depending on who’s hearing and how what’s said could be interpreted. There’s some quite sophisticated writing going on here even if the tropes are fairly commonplace features of Cinderella stories.

For instance, at Jiang Li’s homecoming, A’Li’s been gifted a spanking new set of clothes. She doesn’t wear them and father demands to know why. She comments that they’re nice enough and she’s grateful but because she’s been away so long and no one’s been to visit for a decade, stepmother doesn’t know her measurements. On the surface it seems like an innocuous enough comment. But it’s an obvious dig at the neglect Jiang Li’s suffered calculated to cause more some measure of discomfort among the adults. It’s also a direct hit at the step-mother and her lady-in-waiting saying that she knows what they’re really up to. Moreover, it puts her in good stead with the grandmother who hates ostentatious dressing. All this is achieved under the nose of the patriarch who feels a little guilty.

I can’t tell you how many C dramas fail the “show not tell” test. It’s particularly egregious in the short dramas where there are characters present just to echo and explain everything that just transpired. Not to mention exposition by dialogue dump. Yes, it’s a principle not set in stone but on screen it is near sacrosanct advice for a reason. The audience should be allowed to experience the ambiguities and chew through the multiple layers on their own. It’s insipid storytelling to insist that the viewer interpret a scene in one particular way. It’s the height of hackery. That crucial difference between telling a good story well and outright propaganda.

Thankfully… so far… there’s none of that here. Sure, the director loves close-ups of the leads especially Wang Xingyue’s Xiao Heng but I’m not complaining. Flashbacks are used sparingly to complement the main plotline to show context, backstory and explain character motivations which is what they are designed to do anyway.

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