I racconti del cuscino

I think Greenaway makes very smart films, and I'm really glad he's around. His intellect is always tuned to ideas about the visual, so we get a double measure: his images and his commentary on those same images. You should see this film if you think about communicating by image -- you won't find more beauty and recursive visual depth anywhere else.

There are a few flaws in my mind, notable only because the film is so remarkable and because Greenaway shoots so high. A central dance here is the art of the writing (its appearance) and how that relates to the art the writing points to (its semantic meaning). So much elaboration of this works so well that I wonder why Greenaway went to such trouble to make the storyline so comprehensible. It is almost as if he is pandering to critics of his less accessible work. This greatly dilutes the impact for me, takes away from the point that the immediacy and fluidity and directness of the presentation by sense at least trumps the recoil by the mind. Perhaps is wholly substitutes. So why make so much sense? So that people will watch who wouldn't otherwise get it?

I wish Greenaway played more with contrasting ritual with spontaneity, especially since the Japan/Hong Kong cultural contrast, the publishing versus modeling contrast (permanent versus faddish), and the promiscuous lovers versus the honored parents all set things up so well. In particular, the soluble temporary nature of the writing turned into permanent tattoos at the end. What of that? It looked decorative only. Her breasts her new pillowbook?

If you liked this film, you'll like the book: `Life: a User's Manual' (Perec) which works the same territory but has a better sense of how to come to an end. The hero spends a decade traveling to paint watercolors. These are turned into jigsaw puzzles which he spends a decade reassembling, rebinding the paper, and bleaching out the image. Each puzzle reflects on a story associated with a room or person in the Paris apartment building he has maintained and populated with unwitting tenants.

Just because a movie looks good, it does not mean it is good. Just because it is filled with erudition, it does not mean it has any cultural or artistic value. It must have something to say, and say it in a consistent manner. That is what distinguishes great art from phony art. "The pillow book" is not great art, it is not art at all. Its main subject is about writing on people's bodies. It insists on having a plot, although it seems to constantly remind us that it is not a conventional melodrama, but a pictorial essay. In fact it does not work either as a melodrama or as an abstract construction. Its meretricious efforts are a sad evidence of a certain "anything goes" quality that pervades much of the noncommercial post-60s cinema that bloomed amidst the disillusionment with the increasing infantilization of the Hollywood mainstream films. Madness, it is known, begets madness.

This is a beautiful movie visually, but you need to keep concentrating on what is happening. Don't ask why too much with this - the effect of actions is reason enough to take them. Vivan Wu is very good, as is Ewan McGregor, in a different role for him. It reminds you also of what are some of the best things about Japan, and what are some of the worst things about men. Well worth buying the DVD and watching over and over.

Anything by Greenaway is bound to be cinematic Art, but this effort is particularly brilliant.

It has full-frontal nudity, male and female -- not presented necessarily in sexual context, but you might want to pick your audience carefully. The nudity and homosexuality in the film are handled offhandedly and without prejudice, thus removing any hint of perversion or pornography. I know that sounds odd, but believe me, I'm a very conservative individual/artist.

But that's not The Film -- the plot is intriguing, the Art is breathtaking, and the calligraphy, ahhhhhhh, is astoundingly beautiful, especially when transcribed on human form. The vessel and the content are one -- how sublime of author and director.

My criticism? Sometimes Greenaway seems to think that we can simultaneously process all five lanes of the highway that run in his head. I, for one, am willing to watch his films twice. (Well, maybe not "The Falls").

Greenaway offers food for my soul -- I kiss both his eyes.

First of all, let me make one thing clear:

This is not a "movie," not in the normal sense of the word. This is FILM ART. There is a massive difference between the two, and it effects the review of this film.

If viewed as a movie, this film is pretentious, over-visualized, non-plotted...and VERY slow and boring. Nagiko is not a character to be sympathized with (at least not until the very, very, VERY last moments in the film), and all the other characters have no history or background to make them indentifyable by the viewer. Jerome is eye-catching, but not extremely interesting, despite the fine acting of Ewan MacGregor. The fault is not in the actors--it is the script. The viewer is given no reasons to feel anything besides erotisism for the two characters and their plotting together. One is merely thrown into their story, and who can really care for a nit-wit of a girl with a fettish for body art, or a man who is overly vain, sells himself for what he wants, and basically plays games with the people he loves? Alright, there is some sort of interest in the morbid or perverse sense, but beyond that base type of curiousity, there is nothing more involving. In terms of storywritting, this film is absolutely terrible. In many moments, one feels like one is watching glorified porn.

HOWEVER...

As film art, "The Pillow Book" was stunning. The visuals are AMAZING. There is so much beauty in the making of this film, running from the sound of running water to the wonder of the human form. The non-linear aspect of the film gives it a dreamy and surreal quality, as well as a suprising sense of wonder.

There is a sheer erotisism to the film, but it is conveyed (for the most part) in a beautiful and "clean" sort of way. It makes even the minute detail, such as a caligraphy brush or a button, a sensual work of art. Mere "scribbling" becomes astounding and moving--such as the Lord's Prayer written upon Nagiko's body.

The film also includes a cold sense of revenge by way of the Publisher. One can't but feel gleefully satisfied that the man gets what he rightly deserves. And one can almost touch the peace that Nagiko gains for herself in the end.

Now, there are many other messages to be garnered from the film, such as the woman's liberation aspect portrayed, but in this I believe that such musings come almost totally from the mind of the viewer and the associations thereof...many could totally miss such messages in the overwhelming depth of sensuality displayed. Sometimes, a film is just a film; don't give it credit for messages that don't exist. It may be that the director had nothing of the sort in mind. If anything, give it credit for evoking the thoughts from your own mind.

All in all, visually stunning and emotionally evoking...as a work of art. As a story however...it is a dismal failure.

But it is at least worth seeing. Once.