THE PILLOW BOOK
A film review by David N. Butterworth
Copyright 1997 David N. Butterworth/The Summer Pennsylvanian
Rating: *** (Maltin scale)
Let me get one thing straight from the outset.
In "The Pillow Book," eclectic British director Peter Greenaway's exotic tale of calligraphy and eroticism, you get to see Ewan McGregor's thing.
McGregor, the hot young import of "Trainspotting," "Emma," and this summer's "Brassed Off!," has proven a bankable commodity in a few short years, so "Ewan McGregor... Penis!" might seem an unusual summation of his career to date (this is how one audience member economically previewed his latest film to a fellow viewer). Penises come in all shapes and sizes, from intimidating, turkey neck monsters to little doggy do-shaped squigglers, and such is the preponderance of penises on parade in "The Pillow Book" that sitting through it feels like watching "Multiplicity" with Harvey Keitel in the lead.
While some might not find the flaccid male organ particularly attractive, Greenaway's fearlessness in displaying it so flamboyantly does satisfy a sense of equality. With all too many actresses--talented ones included--being required to bare all to secure even the leanest of parts in a mainstream movie, Greenaway provides the rare opportunity for male performers to show us what they're really made of. McGregor, if for nothing else, should be commended for his willingness to stand around naked for the sake of Art.
Or in the case of "The Pillow Book," body Art.
Challenging, irritating, but always sumptuously decadent, Greenaway's films are about as far removed from traditional cinema as you can get. He's also controversial; his "The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover," clearly the work of a truly gifted and original filmmaker, helped usher in the NC-17 rating. Another reason to get excited by a Greenaway movie is that they don't come along all that often. His last movie to open in Philadelphia was the stylish, sleepily Shakespearean "Prospero's Books" in 1991. For some reason--and it wouldn't be the first time this has happened to the filmmaker--his 1993 film "The Baby of Macon" seemed to have trouble finding a distributor.
This time around, Greenaway's elaborately ornate work draws its origins from a pillow book (diary) of a 10th Century Japanese courtier called Sei Shonagon. Her writings focus on lists of "things which make the heart beat faster"--plum blossom covered in snow or all things indigo-colored, for example. As the story switches to modern-day Japan, we find Sei Shonagon's journal being read to Nagiko (played in adulthood by Vivian Wu) by her aunt.
"God makes a clay model," her father (Ken Ogata), a renowned calligrapher, explains to the young Nagiko on her birthday while painting elaborate greetings on her face. "He paints in the eyes, the lips, and the sex. Then he paints in the owner's name lest he should ever forget it. When he approves of his creation, he signs his name in order to bring it to life." After witnessing her father involved in a sexual situation with his publisher (Yoshi Oida), Nagiko carries these teachings forward in her adult life, seeking out the ideal lover-calligrapher, one who can not only fulfill her obsession with writing on human skin, but assist her in exacting revenge on the publisher. In this way she can honor her father. McGregor's naive translator/scribbler Jerome provides Nagiko the foil she needs for both endeavors.
Greenaway constructs his story about "flesh and the writing table" with an experimental barrage of mattes, overlays, and subtitles, switching from black and white to color and back again. Words pour like rain. Excess is always a good word to describe his style, yet with "The Pillow Book," Greenaway's obsession with language, both written (the bold brushstrokes of the Japanese characters) and spoken (Wu's stilted yet effective narration) complement the visual imagery superbly.
The director has himself admitted that his process of making films is actually more rewarding than watching them. With "The Pillow Book," Peter Greenaway explores a subject that provides an ideal medium for his peerless technique. For this reason, the watching is reward enough.
-- David N. Butterworth dnb@mail.med.upenn.edu
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