8 ½ Women

I went in expecting the worst and left completely turned around. 8 1/2 Women doesn't hold a candle to The Pillow Book, The Cook the Thief..., or his earlier Drowning By Numbers, but I had fun! It was almost like Peter Greenaway does Woody Allen (wanna talk about film makers who purge their sexual fantasies on screen!) With the exception of a couple of scenes, the visual style of this film is stark and simple (much like Drowning...) and relied heavily on smart dialogue, which at times got a bit over the top, intellectually speaking, but kept the film going. I never got bored with it, I never got too disgusted, and even if I can't recommend it to most of the people I know, I still feel it's a strong feature.

Now, even though this is Greenaway Lite, it still isn't for people who didn't like any of his earlier films. But even if you only liked The Cook The Thief, you should give this one a chance. Forget that you have hang ups about sex and sit back and watch the perversion unfold! Pure, sick fun!

I've heard and read much criticism about Greenaway's homage to Fellini, "8 1/2 Women", and have found it both predictable and amusing. Every Greenaway film evokes raw, often disturbing emotions in the viewer-- this is nothing new, yet is treated like a revelation with every new release. And some fans and critics of Greenaway seem to be keeping a running score of his visual/emotional offenses, even tending to get irate when he fails to shock or disturb on the level of his other films. But again, this is nothing new.

So I'm humored at the reaction to "8 1/2 Women", for it is as visually stunning/arousing/disturbing as many of its predecessors while it is actually quite tame by Greenaway's standards (for one, the cannibalism/mutilation theme is missing). Yet we have those who are disappointed at the lack of shock or those who are too easily shocked, and Greenaway has long proven that you can't make everyone happy in filmmaking and, honestly, he really doesn't care what you think. You only have to watch.

He is really very similar to Fellini in this way as he is in so many others. I'm no great fan of Fellini's, not as much as I am of his successors anyway, but the parallels are apparent. Fellini worked in absurdities the way Greenaway works in the dire or some artists work in oils. He made the most ridiculous scenarios seem beautiful, artful... even sexy. He imprinted upon film as art and future filmmakers that strange and disjointed often equals desirable, and Greenaway clearly took this to heart. But like Fellini, Greenaway films come with an automatic caveat: You will see things that we are taught to abhor and despise in our society, you will have to think about things from which humans naturally shrink away and you will bear witness to the possibility that great beauty can be found in the mire if you can manage to look long enough. Greenaway's "awfulness" and attempt to disgust you is his medium and his brilliance (and his great joke on you), and if this doesn't sit well with you then you shouldn't watch Greenaway. It's as simple as that.

So, that being said - "8 1/2 Women". Not Greenaway's best, but certainly not his worst. Again we get to share in his great love of the human form in all its beauty and imperfection-- both of body and of character. But this is his most lighthearted attempt and is thoroughly enjoyable for that alone. The relationship between the widower Philip Emmenthal and his earthshakingly prattish son Storey is genuinely touching, as are their relationships with the various women they bring into their lives to replace their lost wife/lover/mother. Equally moving is the fact that these women become much more than mere objects or possessions in their house, but rather individual character studies on the strength of femininity and the power that women have over men. While Fellini's "8 1/2" may have been semi-autobiographical, here Greenaway seems to have tapped into the fantasies and realities of the relationships between men and women everywhere, focusing on the fact that neither are as simple as they seem. And that while mere sex will inevitably falter in the face of deeper love, such meaningful relationships are elusive and fleeting. He doesn't tap very far through, which is this film's only failing; the relationships and characters, some of whom are downright silly, are often taken at surface value and the themes, especially regarding sexual dynamics, are nothing new to cinema.

Nevertheless, "8 1/2 Women" is a lovely, surprisingly sincere and often humorous account of men, women, family, self-identity and the rewards of living out your fantasies along with their tempering costs. Highly recommended for anyone who has been scared away by Greenaway's other films or for anyone else who truly enjoys the beauty found in strong women and faltering men.

Despite being hissed at Cannes this film is still well worth seeing. I purchased the DVD and the more I watch it the better I like it. For a start, as with all Greenaway's work since The Falls, the photography is ravishing. I don't think anyone makes films which look better.

What few have picked up on is that (as well as an attempt to pick up Fellini's 8 1/2-ball and run with it), this is almost a remake of "A Zed and Two Noughts". Both films study bizarre responses to bereavement. both films play on doubling, in this case a father and son rather than two brothers. Both films touch on bestiality (with animals called Hortense!), gynecology, sex with amputees, a menagerie (in this case of women rather than animals), prostitution, uses of light, storytelling, and the colours black and white.

Where that film referenced painting, this references performance in many guises - cinema, kabuki, cross-dressing, opera, television, prostitution, as well as painting.

Contrary to at least one other user comment, there is no sexual intercourse shown in the film, although there is a quantity of nudity. It's very odd, if perhaps unsurprising, that this film has been sold as a sexy movie. SexIST? Well, confusing an ironic depiction of men's sexual fantasies with a reduction of women to the level of fantasy is 'politically correct' laziness at best. And as with most of Greenaway's films, the women are the winners in the end.

One reason this is harder work than the earlier film is the lack of Michael Nyman's ravishing music. I'm not sure why Greenaway stopped working with Nyman; possibly he felt he was stuck in a rut - perhaps he was nettled by charges that any old footage looked like Greenaway if you played Nyman's music behind it. Either way, he's yet to arrive at a truly satisfactory alternative. Here we have "Slow Boat to China" sung a capella by the two leads, rather after the manner of Morecambe and Wise. It's quite funny, but it's not the marriage of sound and image of earlier films.

The extent to which Philip Emmenthal represents Greenaway himself is perhaps worth considering. A character makes reference to Fellini having Mastroianni make love to all the women Fellini couldn't, and asks whether all directors make films to fulfil their own sexual fantasies. Emmenthal is notably the same age as Greenaway.

He may not be sweeping the art-house scene before him these days (in fact there's not much of an art-house scene left these days), but in the end, even below-par Greenaway is better than 99% of directors can even aspire to.

The 1st third of the film is densely textured with text and image overlays (as in his last few films). The effect reminds me of nothing more than the collages of Tom Wesselman and to some extent the paintings of Sigmar Polke. The interactions of the many layers is quite masterful & I especially like the way that everything, including actors dialogue and plot are treated equally as texture.

Each section of the film begins with a text overlay of the scene description from the script. The full text is never on screen long enough to be read in its entirety. This reinforces the sense of story and dialogue as texture... of text as texture.

The 2nd third of the film moves away from the visual overload mode as the theme of collecting sexual fantasies (represented by the women in the harem built by the Father and Son) comes into focus. It reminds me a bit of the collage-novels of Max Ernst in that it hangs a string of reveries on the framework of linear narrative... but the narrative is really just an excuse for manipulating images.

The 3rd third becomes a bit turgid, probably because the pattern of collecting women (1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8...) has become obvious by this time. In fact the film shows itself for what it really is.... a catalogue of desires. It is not particularly erotic though it represents a list of fantasies... whatever the subject is, it still retains the character of a list. This has the effect normalizing the erotic. One no longer questions whether the pleasures depicted are "normal" or "perverse"... they all become equal... a decorative pattern.... in much the same way that the dialogue resembles a complex pattern more than it does naturalistic speech.

In many ways it reminds me of De Sade's "120 days of Sodom" (an old Surrealist favorite) which I also find to be as un-erotic as a list. As one of the characters in the film states: (it simply) "follows the fantasies to their logical conclusion". It seems to be more of an intellectual exercise aimed at unshackling desire... it does not seem to be aimed at provoking desire (in the viewer).

There are, however, many poetic passages. During a scene in which one of the women is shaved bald the father and son pick up clumps of hair and attempt to describe the smell:

"it smells like canaries...'

"like brown sugar taken out of a damp paper bag..." &tc.

The images are also poetic. My favorite is a japanese woman clad in a very red kimono singing nasally in front of a very blue door & next to a very pink pig.

The sons (apparent) ability to invoke earthquakes (orgasms?) is also an interesting poetic touch.

Most disappointing -- Greenaway's slide continues on from the flagrantly banal "Pillow Book", which looked like a pornographic Sprint commercial and had about as much intellectual impact. The thin visual style of "Women" harkened back to "Drowning by Numbers", one of my personal favorites, but the interchangeable, glibly apathetic characters lacked the depth necessary to hold it up. As usual, some interesting discussion of the body and its trappings, but sadly, prematurely self-referential and dull on the whole. Note that Vivian Wu manages to turn in yet another openly wretched performance, this time while fully clothed; Toni Collette provides minor temporary relief with her hilarious accent.