Un viaggio attraverso H

A Walk Through H is a pretty typical example of an early Peter Greenaway film. Like others he made from the 70's it's a narrative free experimental work that explores the possibilities of what film as a medium can be. Unsurprisingly, it contains both the strengths and weaknesses these other films share. The idea of it is essentially a walk through a gallery which exhibits 92 drawings of maps. The film is a graphical journey through these maps, where we zoom in and pan across them looking at them in some detail, while following a red 'road' which is the channel in which we navigate these strange landscapes. All the while, a narrator explains about how he came to possess the maps and tells anecdotes about the things we encounter within them.

This is another experimental film from Greenaway which showcases his highly personal and bizarre fascinations. There is the adherence to cataloguing, many references to ornithology and footage of various birds, the appearance of elusive Greenaway characters Tulse Luper and Van Hoyten and relentless narration full of strange humour. It also features once more the distinctive minimalist music of Michael Nyman. I felt the film was at its strongest latterly when this impressive soundtrack took centre stage at the expense of the narration by Colin Cantlie. It may just be me but I do find Cantlie's voice fairly annoying, especially when recounting Greenaway's script. I have always found Greenaway films to be consistently visually interesting but hampered somewhat when people open their mouths to recite his words. I find him a fairly poor writer but impressive visual artist and A Walk Through H is no exception on that front for me, as I did find the narration to become hard to bear after a while. It's possibly because the ideas in this film, while interesting to an extent, probably need a slightly more expansive approach to engage the viewer more, such as the approach he took in the earlier Vertical Features Remake (1978). This is certainly another uncompromisingly experimental bit of work from Greenaway though, so if you like his unique style this will surely not disappoint.

well previous comments that suggest that this is merely a catalogue or showcase for Greenaway's graphic work are entirely mistaken. This is easily one of the most thrilling and totally enjoyable films I've ever seen. When discussing I would compare this to feature films as - aside from its length - this short film feels as complete and expansive in scope as any epic out there. Certainly a lot of this is due to Greenaway's encyclopedic approach to things. There is a lot to take in here.

A mention should also be given to its technical competence - certainly some of the loveliest rostrum photography you'll see anywhere (Bert Walker) and the seamless camera movements at the film's beginning and end are admirable for such an early project.

critics know greenaway as a visual artist; here, his canvasses betray how good. lines stand by themselves, routes in the tale on which this is hung, somehow uninterpretable because of the unevenness of the line, the paint, the medium. the conceit would have been better supported by 50 rather than the 92 maps numerology imposes (the number of maps in a found book).

clever, ok, clever vehicle, catalogue for his graphic work.

I've been reviewing some of what I think Greenaway is all about: multi-layered imagery and deep narrative games ("Prospero's Books", "The Pillow Book") and humorous, out-of-this world funny and witty explorations of film as a visual medium ("The Falls"). This film falls to the latter category, and I'm more and more falling in love with the latter films as well.

Bearing in mind that I was so hooked on Greenaway some ten years ago, at the time of the "Tulse Luper Suitcases" projects, that is to say, to his newer fare. This and "The Falls" were the two early films that struck a chord with me, but now, after having been away from them for a very long time, it's these two films I feel like coming home to. That which is missing in "later" Greenaway, say, from "Prospero's Books" (1991) onward, is here in abundance.

Not only visually satisfying, narratively ambitious and laugh-out-loud funny, "A Walk Through H" is a remarkably cohesive and entertaining film. This is like moving to another country and realizing one has learnt a new language without trying. It's an eye-opener in terms of everything Greenaway means to me, and also what I think he means to himself, or at least wishes us to believe. While his theses concerning what film should be can lose their glitter after a while, the ideas he presents in his films are remarkable and radical. Whether it be an introduction, another bus stop or the final destination in terms of all Greenaway, "A Walk Through H" earns my highest recommendations.

I honestly do not know of a more engaging film. This early work was greatly expanded in vision and changed from birth to death in the later (also early) `The Falls.' But to plumb that film you must fight tedium. Not so here.

This is multilevel tour: of a museum, of the 92 drawings displayed therein, of the experiences in collecting the drawings. Each drawing is a map, so the tour is also of the journey taken. The narrator discusses the acquisitions and the journey as assisted by a Tulse Luper. But we learn that the purpose of the journey is for the narrator to be reborn as the ornathologist Tulse Luper.

The maps, the avian companions, the music, and the narrated story meld perfectly. The 92 appears later in `The Falls,' also associated with birds, and in `ZOO' (4x23).

The most important map comes from a birdcounter in the Amsterdam Zoo named Van Hoyten. It is from this person that the soul is stolen. He appears later in `ZOO' as now manager of that Zoo with no legs and a strange bias against black and white animals.

At this writing, Greenaway is making a complex multimedia project called Tulse Luper's Suitcase, seemingly quite dense. The 92 appears there as well. It is a personal history of Uranium, whose atomic number is 92. > I highly recommend that you seek out this film. I saw it on a compilation tape which included `Phones' and `Water Wrackets,' both clearly minor exercises.