jonr-3

I watched the first cut version of "Clerks." I was prepared to be mildly amused and not much impressed. I ended up enthralled, deeply moved, and with a ton of admiration for Kevin Smith's direction.

I tend to like low-budget movies more than polished, expensive ones, in part because my tastes are classical, and simplicity attracts me. I also admire the inventiveness needed to make a good film with simple means and not much money.

This film, for me, succeeds 100% in meeting those goals. Yes, there are moments, several of them, that are contrived, but there is no indication, from the first scene, that the film is intended to be naturalistic. The director later had misgivings about Dante falling out of a closet, presumably because he had to sleep there due to the dog taking up the bed. I think it was a stroke of genius, for it "warns" the viewer that strange things are apt to happen in the film. They certainly do--abundantly.

SPOILER FOLLOWS:

When it came to the last scene, I had a sudden sense of foreboding, and then came the awful ending to the film. I felt shattered and yet I felt that this was exactly right--in keeping with what city life really is. Is it still a comedy? Yes and no. I will be reflecting on the contrast between the body of the film and its horrific ending for a long time, and don't expect to find any easy answers.

The friendship between Randal and Dante, who can neither stand each other nor do without each other, is so well portrayed with such simple means that I marvel at the psychological perception required, and used. Randal really is a guy who genuinely wants to help others, and this is slowly revealed through the film. He's clumsy, he's rude, he can be obscene, but he basically has compassion that wins out. I think this is one of the best characterizations I've seen anywhere.

I rated this a ten. Before I watched it, I figured it would deserve maybe a four, from what I'd heard of it. I will be watching this one again.

The first time I watched "Lisbon Story" I was disappointed and rather annoyed at what seemed a pretentious and self-indulgent experiment.

Then several months later, I watched it again, and was captivated by it, enjoyed it thoroughly, and found it to be a good-hearted, affectionate salute to motion pictures and by extension to art in general. Though the film's humor frequently borders on being downright corny, I couldn't help enjoying even that aspect because of the obvious good will with which it was presented. It feels refreshing to have a film-maker work so hard to amuse the audience! That in itself is a token of respect.

Wenders has made here a film that's slippery, puzzling, and that eludes the mind's grasp at every turn, yet in the end delivers a powerful and even joyful message. It takes a certain amount of courage to send a positive message to an audience these days--or even in 1994, when the film was released. I applaud Mr. Wenders and I applaud this film. I'm very glad I thought to watch it again--I will definitely see it again in future, too.

...and then only in regard to the atrocious VHS presentation of this film. It's a good thing I understand a fair amount of German and of French, for fully 2/3 of the subtitles are illegible, and the dialog is presented about 50-50 in those two languages. Why on earth did they use white lettering for subtitles--when this film takes place in winter, with snow all about? For that matter, why do they ever use white subtitles at all? It has always been possible to use either white characters bordered by black, or vice-versa, rendering subtitles legible against any background. This technical incompetence is inexcusable and an insult to a very fine film.

I was completely caught off guard, not having read Ms. Yourcenar's novel, by the plot twist near the end. Let me warn you: there is not one bright spot in this whole movie, nor should there be, set as it is in the most horrific, chaotic days of World War I. It is gripping, the character development is splendid, the characters are three-dimensional and complex, and the plot presents enough moral and ethical dilemmas to occupy a thinking person's idle moments for months.

Acting is uniformly excellent to superb--and the character of the aunt is one that may haunt your dreams, or nightmares, forever after.

I voted an eight and am not sure this film doesn't deserve a ten.

Clint Eastwood's one of my favorite actors and one of my favorite directors; I can't think of any other film figure who fits in both categories of favorites.

Even so, I could only give this film a "five," and even then felt I was being a bit over-generous. The plot has logical potholes in it; the acting is often really bad; some scenes are so sentimental they made me cringe and want to hit the DVD fast-forward button (but I restrained myself).

On the plus side, the film has that "Eastwood look" that I love; it can't just be the California sunlight--so many films are made there. (Besides, the night scenes have that trademark look to them, too. He has a masterful eye, I believe.)

And there's just the presence of Eastwood himself to enjoy. I agree with another commenter that he should have had a somewhat more mature film wife by that stage in his career! But I understand he's devoting himself solely to directing from now on, so that's an issue in the past.

Just to witness that special brand of toughness that his characters invariably display, is reason enough to watch any Eastwood film. I wonder if it doesn't speak to something, often repressed, inside many of us. I know I often find myself thinking, "Damn. That's just what I would have liked to say under the circumstances." And then, naturally, feeling grateful that I don't find myself under the circumstances of his characters!

There's a British expression, "Too clever by half," that came to my mind about an hour and twenty minutes into this film--a film which could have been exceptionally good, but manages only somewhat-above-average status because of its excessive artiness.

There's no lack of drama, and, rare for American films, there's moral content aplenty. All the more shame that a movie that contains not only those elements but some of the most beautiful images I've ever seen on a screen, ultimately falls flat because of self-indulgent, confusing, and downright silly "artistic" overflow.

I voted "7" but dearly wish I could give this film a ten because after all it does take either guts or considerable financial risk-taking to make an American film that requires its audience actually to think, and to think about serious matters of life, death, and human relationships and responsibilities. I wholeheartedly commend the backers of this film for taking that big risk, and I just as wholeheartedly regret the missed opportunities in the final product.

-----WARNING: (minor, early-plot) SPOILER FOLLOWS-----------------------

It was interesting to watch the scene in which the sheriff has to carry out the painful task of delivering the death message to Mrs. Heine. It's virtually a replay, and obviously a homage, to the scene in Ingmar Bergman's "Winter Light" (1963) in which the pastor (played by Gunnar Björnstrand) must drive to the home of Max von Sydow's character to tell his widow of his suicide. The very next scene in "Snow Falling on Cedars" takes place in the courtroom -- with Max von Sydow in a sterling performance as the defense attorney. I found this reference touching and beautiful.

Last night, I watched "Faithless," and I've thought about it almost constantly since. A magnificent, heart-rending film. Surely this is Bergman's finest script. It's absolutely uncompromising in its unsentimental, clinical, story-telling, and filled with that compassion devoid of hope that is Bergman's trademark, and his own world view.

Hopelessness as the key to dignified human life, day by day, would seem to be an apt description of Bergman's philosophy.

I won't give away the dénouement of the story, in case you are fortunate enough not to have seen it yet, and to be able to see it. Let me just say that I was completely surprised by the plot twist near the end--it caught me entirely off-guard, and later I felt that I should have seen it coming, but I didn't. That's the mark of a master writer, to be able to take the reader (or viewer) unaware. Ingmar Bergman could have had a career as a mystery/suspense writer if he'd wanted to. (I'm glad he didn't.)

The story of "Faithless" is that of a marriage plunged into chaos by the aftermath of one chance phrase, uttered by a close friend of the married couple to the wife after a late-night supper. With a dazzling propensity for making wrong choices, which, if we're honest, we'll all recognize existing in our own lives, the protagonists rush headlong into a hell of their own making. At the center of the story, like a small, still, silent observer, resides Isabelle, the nine-year-old daughter. The effect of the grown-ups' actions on this poor child renders the story all the more poignant and horrifying.

But what I've sketched here (omitting the surprise towards the last) is only half the story. And in a sense it's not even the real story.

For Marianne and Markus (the married couple), David (the mutual friend), Isabelle, and the other main characters don't, in a sense, even exist.

The film opens in the study of an elderly film director (played by Erland Josephson, close friend and colleague of Bergman, and the actor who played Joseph, the husband, in "Scenes from a Marriage"--where his character's wife's name, Marianne, matches that of the character played in this film by Lena Endre, in an unforgettable tour-de-force amounting to a two-and-a-half-hour monologue; Marianne, in the earlier film, reminiscent of this one in many ways, was played with similar bravado by this film's director, Liv Ullman, long-time associate of Bergman and for some years his lover).

The setting might well be Bergman's own study in his house on the remote Swedish island where he's lived in isolation for the past several years. The desk is slightly more cluttered than Bergman's own (which is adorned only with a clock and a photograph of his wife, with whom, he admits, he still has conversations, years after her death, which devastated him and helped drive him into "exile"). The room is almost bare otherwise, immaculately kept, furnished with a stereo, an armchair, a couple of lamps, a few photographs on the wall.

The exterior scenes were undoubtedly shot on location on the actual island.

The "director" is seated at his desk, talking aloud to an empty room, but addressing "Marianne." First as a shadow behind him, then fully visible seated on a window-seat, Marianne appears at his bidding. The movie goes on from there--sessions of talk in the director's study, the director mainly asking pointed questions, Marianne, and later David, sometimes hesitant or afraid to answer, but gradually revealing the painful facts of their excruciating misconduct.

Significantly, at a crucial point the director comforts each of these "imaginary" (but in the film very real) creatures by a caress to the cheek-as if wiping away a child's tears.

At the end of the turbulent story, he's left alone with his manuscript--and the dark, rolling sea. He walks slowly, awkwardly along the pebbly beach, lost in thought, just as Bergman does every day.

I believe that, thanks to the incalculable combined talent of Bergman and Ullman, this film offers the viewer catharsis, as in the Greek tragedies. I certainly have felt very different in the hours since viewing it. If "religious" leaders had the courage and honesty to offer their faithful the same hopeless but compassionate view of life as this film, and Bergman's own outlook, afford, then I think the world would be a much better place.

Ironically, Bergman's point of view is largely the result of a childhood spent under the heavy hand of Protestantism. (His father was a stern pastor.) But the result has been Protestantism with a twist: in a godless world, we doom ourselves to shame and horror, yet we can, somehow, still find the dignity to go on living one day at a time, doing the best we can with our pathetic lives.

And that's the best we can do. There is no redemption, not even in art: but there may be some clarification, if we're lucky.

In the end, all we had was ourselves and one another. And we did what we thought we had to do.

My first viewing of "Fahrenheit 451" since its initial relase ca. 1966 was last night, via DVD. I highly recommend this DVD version--it includes excellent bonus material, including a moving account of composer Bernard Herrman's role in making the film.

I rated the film a "9" despite not being a big Truffaut fan; there's something about the "feel" of his movies that makes me fidgety and leaves me dissatisfied. But that same feel seems just right in this atypical piece of his--he felt he had failed to make the movie right, and he had difficulties with it that are explained in the bonus material. I think what resulted was an unsuspected and unintended success, instead.

Now more than ever in recent history, we face problems with individual liberties that are uncannily reflected in this film. Watch it as a cautionary tale, as a visually stunning experience, and as an example of some of the best film music ever composed: but watch it. I think you'll be glad you did.

This film is tied with "Aparajito" (part two of the "Apu Trilogy") for my favorite film ever. Part three, "The World of Apu," seems a bit flawed by sentimentality and overly melodramatic qualities, but is still a masterpiece, if a more minor one. "Pather Panchali" is visual and moral poetry, and provides enough thought-provoking material to last a lifetime--or more. Meditation on the human truths exposed in these three films can be a very salutary thing. Satyajit Ray was one of the very great moral-centered filmmakers--which is not to say he's preachy or condescending, just the opposite: he does what great dramatists have always done from the Greeks through Shakespeare and onward, which is to search the human soul, compassionately revealing its weaknesses and strengths so that each member of the audience, if attentive, may learn more about himself or herself.

What nobler purpose could drama, or film, serve? It's a joy to see this done, and a privilege to witness the work of such a master.

How memory plays tricks on us. I first saw "Alexander Nevsky" when a student at the University of Kansas, around 1960. Forty-some years later I find myself watching it again on DVD and almost unable to believe what my eyes are seeing: one of the most amateurish films I've ever viewed, and with by far the worst subtitles I've had to bear with--it's hard to believe these subtitles were produced, according to the message at the beginning of the film, in 1982.

But even without subtitles this film would fall flat, in my judgment. I admire someone with generous enough a spirit to be able to enjoy the film for its visual aspect, as at least one commenter did. I'm just not able to share that enthusiasm. I dearly wish I could, for I found both "Battleship Potemkin" and (especially) "Ivan the Terrible: Part I" to be excellent--of their type. Sorry, but for me "Alexander Nevsky" is just not excellent by any standard. I wonder what Prokofiev thought of it. His music is superb, but needs to be heard on its own, not in the context of this embarrassingly bad film.

"Magnolia" was recommended to me by a young Buddhist friend. I can see why, having seen it now twice (and enjoying it far more the second time, though I liked it a lot the first).

"Magnolia" amounts to a goofy three-hour meditation on coincidence and compassion. It also has the feel of a great labor of love, as though Mr. Anderson had been contemplating this project long and deeply. There are many experimental aspects to the film, and most of them work. The acting is nothing short of superb throughout, with the possible exception of Tom Cruise's work, which seemed to me merely better than usual for one of my least favorite performers.

The drugstore scene and many others are painful to watch, the emotions portrayed are so believable--and it's possible for a viewer of any breadth of life experience to identify painfully with many, if not most, of the characters, too. For this film is also a long meditation on human frailty.

I vote "ten." I don't see how a movie could be much better than "Magnolia," and I feel grateful to everybody involved in its making--even Mr. Cruise.

I was motivated to rent both Parts I and II of "Ivan the Terrible" after listening again after a few years to Prokofiev's very moving score on CD. For whatever reason (probably matured judgment!) I was astonished at the power of the music, where it had merely entertained me in the past. Likewise, I was captivated by the film itself, while I remember seeing it mainly as a historical curiosity when I first viewed it, forty years ago now, in college (University of Kansas).

I am frankly dismayed by the numerous attacks in these comments on the acting. Has nobody heard of "stylized" performance, or of satire? I've heard it said that irony is lost on the American audience; perhaps most of the commenters who object to the seeming histrionics are simply American.

Well, so am I, but I have an appreciation for many different styles of acting and of movie-making. I feel sorry for those with a severely limited perspective. Perhaps a few more years will broaden it.

By the way, I am not going to comment on "Part II," which I found vastly inferior to Part I. It's almost as though it had been a separate project, and one in which the inspiration flagged to the point of sometimes being lost.

I rate "Part I" a ten; I would rate "Part II" a six or seven.

Well, this film is visually interesting until the chaotic finale, which abounds in cheap effects. Even then, the comic-book look is not without interest. And Rufus Sewell is certainly handsome.

So much for the positive aspect.

This film is burdened with one of the most trite stories I've ever had the misfortune to have to sit through. Well, I didn't HAVE to sit through it, of course, but I kept hoping it would get better.

Instead, it got worse.

I can't imagine what possessed actors of the caliber of Ian Richardson and William Hurt to take part in this dismal venture.

I voted a "three" for "Dark City" and only because of visual appeal.

An OK movie, entertaining in its black-humoresque way--but what made it worth watching, for me, was the astonishing performance by Kathy Bates. I've known people exactly like this character, and I'll bet so has she, and her portrayal was so right-on-the-money it couldn't be better. Wow. The movie only gets a vote of "six" but her contribution deserves "ten."

I never know whether to be annoyed or not that Jack Nicholson always seems basically to play...himself. My feeling is that he never actually inhabits a role. Unquestionably he's a fine actor, but I never expect any surprises from a movie starring Mr. Nicholson, and I haven't been surprised yet. I dunno...

Apart from Ms. Bates's extraordinary performance, what I enjoyed most in this film was the text, and especially the conclusion, of the first letter to Schmidt's foster child. Tasteless and priceless!

This, to my mind, is how a documentary should be. The filmmaker makes no direct appeal for sympathy, he doesn't try to explain things, he just shows what is and lets the involved parties state their versions of what happened. In short, he documents: he does not propagandize.

Rarely have two and a half hours of viewing slipped by so rapidly for me. I was near tears at the end of it--not because my emotions had been "tweaked" or played with by the film's creator, but simply out of a feeling of despair for our miserable human condition. This superb film lays a lot of truths about humanity pitilessly bare.

I cannot recommend it highly enough.

A straightforward, generally fast-moving, recounting of a gripping social struggle, portrayed without any special effects for special effects' sake (though I think there was plenty of unobtrusive special effects), with the emphasis always on the dramatic line; good acting by all concerned; generally plain, clear photography that served the story-telling and not some "artsy" vision--all these added up, for me, to an enthuasiastic vote of "ten." Cannot praise this film enough. No, it's not some summit of art, but it's a textbook example of how to tell a story, keep the audience's attention, and honor the dramatic basis of the project instead of indulging in "artistic" whims and triviliaties that will appear dated in five or six years.

I'll be watching this one again. (By the way, I found the distant shot of the striking workers marching across the plain especially moving. And I had the feeling throughout the film that this was how things really looked at that terrible period of French, and European, history.)

What is it about endings that makes it seemingly almost impossible for filmmakers to get a strong, satisfying one?

I loved this film up till the last three or four minutes.

(SPOILER now follows) Having the deaths of the two main characters coincide almost instant-for-instant seemed a bit hokey, but I was willing to accept that, as such things are far from unheard of in real life. But what followed ruined the film for me--ruined its overall quality that is; I will gladly watch the movie again, and probably more than once, for the excellence that permeates the other 85 minutes.

This was a realistic, or even naturalistic, story treatment. To turn it into some metaphysical puzzle at the end was, if not cheating, at least a kind of dereliction of duty. A glance at the message board will reveal the confusion that resides in spectators as to the outcome of the story. Did the men "come back to life?" Come on. Did they enter some kind of alternate world where their lives would be essentially swapped? (The tagline for the film suggests this interpretation.)

The viewer should not have to wonder. I thought this kind of weak-kneed wrap-up was a Hollywood speciality. Apparently it's spread at least to France, and more's the pity.

For looks, acting, superb script, and even better-than-average subtitling, I was hoping to give this one a "ten." Even with one of the worst endings I've ever seen, I still vote "eight."

I wish the film would come out in a "director's cut" version where, for once, instead of tacking on extra material that was wisely left out of the distributed version (typically what "director's cut" turns out to mean), the film actually WOULD be cut--by about four minutes, at the very end.

Then I could give it a ten, and watch it all the way through several more times with greatest pleasure.

At first I thought this was going to be one of those surprise "great" films. The beginning was gripping and taut, and even the first hour seemed full of promise, but frankly I started to feel a bit let down as the story got into "the sixties" (it's divided up by decades). There were also a few too many moments that were akin to soap opera for my taste.

But on the other hand I got to watch that magnificent photography that seems to be one of Zhang Yimou's hallmarks. When I watched "Red Sorghum" several months ago, I marvelled at the scene where the camera tracks a man running at breakneck speed through a field of sorghum. "How in the world did they film that?" I wondered, and still do. Little did I realize that the cinematographer was--Zhang Yimou!

His extraordinary talent as a cameraman certainly shows in every film of his I've seen, especially this one, which has a succession of absolutely breathtaking scenes, notably two panoramic views of a battlefield that are fully worthy of Kurosawa. Every frame in this movie seems to be composed with careful attention to detail and dynamic composition. For its visual aspect, I'd rate it eleven! As it is, due to the tedium the story eventually induced in me--and I admit it's mainly a question of my own taste here--I rated it an eight.

I still think this man must be one of the great cinema geniuses of all time. He can't produce enough films to suit me--occasional narrative tedium and sentimentalism notwithstanding.

Whew. I felt emotionally drained after watching "Not One Less." I've enjoyed all the films by Zhang Yimou that I've been able to see so far, and I hope I can eventually see all his work.

Two or three minutes that seemed uncharacteristically sentimental are all that kept me from voting "ten" rather than "nine" on this beautiful movie. In view of the enormous merit of the film otherwise this is a minor quibble, still I wish the editing could have been just a bit tighter.

I don't know why it never occurred to me till the closing credits that these were (obviously, now that I think of it) not professional actors, but "real people" playing, for the most part, roles that they would be comfortable with from their own lives. Maybe that's one reason that the film is so believable.

What moved me to tears several times during the film was the focus on human values, chief among them, as other commenters have pointed out, determination. This is about as upbeat a film as anybody could possibly desire, yet without ever being preachy or trite.

One scene that will remain in my memory (among many) is the priceless one where each child writes a character on the blackboard. The words they chose are moving.

I'm so glad a handful of moviemakers, including Zhang Yimou, are still producing films that accentuate human goodness and true-to-life values.

This film was like a valuable gift, and my thanks go to the director and all his wonderful cast and crew.

***POSSIBLE SPOILER WITHIN***

Once again I find myself better off withholding my vote. I feel that my reaction to this acknowledged cinematic masterpiece must be too biased for me to vote fairly. I was unable to muster any empathy for the characters: two-bit criminals vying for the affection of a coy, flirtatious and fickle young woman in the top layer of the Paris underworld. What eventually made me give up on watching the film, though, after a little more than an hour of it, was the music, which, no matter how low I turned the volume, grated relentlessly against my nerves. I realize full well that the dance-hall and amateur music is necessary to the story, and I don't want to appear a total curmudgeon, nor do I intend in any way to condemn this film--it just isn't to my taste.

On the positive side, the opening shot, the camera languidly descending literally from the Paris rooftops to street level, with slight, sinuous detours along the way, must be one of the miracles of film. How this sight must have taken away the breath of audiences in 1930 or '31! It still has the power to do so today. Indeed, throughout the film (or the first hour or so that I endured), the photography was exquisite, in some cases unmatched by anything I've ever seen.

Maybe I'll give this one another try on another day. But there are so many films to see...

...it must be good, I guess. I usually feel reverence toward Mr. Bergman's films and I will probably always feel he's among the top two or three directors in history. But I could not find myself appreciating or admiring this film. For one thing, the continual and seemingly senseless use of red was very distracting and off-putting to me, and struck me as pretentious "artiness," a sophomoric self-indulgence completely out of character for Bergman. There seemed also to be an annoying indecision whether to present the piece as a filmed stage play or as a conventional movie. And the utterly cold emotional content didn't help make the film accessible to me.

For those reasons and because I do admire Bergman's work enormously, I decline to vote on this one. Maybe I'm just really missing something. I don't feel competent to judge this work. But I do know I'm in no hurry to see it again.

At last, a film I can unreservedly recommend--well, at least to adults.

"Bye Bye Brazil" is a film with heart, involving three-dimensional characters I was able to care about, their stories told unpretentiously in a straightforward exposition unhindered by self-conscious special effects, confusing games with the time-frame, etc. as in so many "artistic" films I've been watching lately (and in some cases ejecting from the player before they're finished).

Too bad this film is from 1979. I wish it were brand new, so I could hope for a return to these plain and honest values in film-making.

As soon as I saw that the title song was sung by Chico Buarque, one of my very favorite musicians, I suspected I was in for a pleasant evening, and I wasn't disappointed. The movie would be worth buying (apparently available on VHS only) just for that wonderful song, sung in its lengthy entirety over the closing credits, and briefly at the film's commencement. But "Bye Bye Brazil" offers much more than a pretty (and very funny) song. Time and again I was reminded of Bergman's films, as the interplay between the five chief characters developed. There's a certain visual resemblance to some of Bergman's scenes, too.

You could have a worse model.

Highly recommended--though not for kids.

I wonder if the original 265-minute version (see "trivia") will ever be released on DVD? It seems to me that out of respect for Mr. Kurosawa, arguably the greatest filmmaker who's ever lived, it should be done if at all possible. If only I were a billionaire...

I found the film very difficult to follow, probably in part because of the extensive cutting (which is obvious in a few places), but also because, to my shame, I've never read the Dostoevski novel, though I started on it many years ago.

But the film is worth watching, despite the considerable difficulties it may pose, if only for the extraordinary--I won't say acting, but perhaps PRESENCE will do--of Toshiro Mifune, and the very fine acting by virtually all the other cast members. And of course for the magnificent visual compositions by this unsurpassable master of film, Akira Kurosawa.

And perhaps most important: for the moral tone of the film. I reverence Kurosawa not only for his amazing skill, but above all for his moral preoccupation. Without being preachy, in film after film he reminds us of the things that are really important in our lives and in our relationships with others. Very few filmmakers seem, especially nowadays, to care about that. I believe Kurosawa was a master not only of film but of life itself.

This movie should win an award for Most Ironically Titled Film.

The story of this extremely dysfunctional gay couple is a moderately interesting one; it's well told, despite major distractions (see next paragraph); the acting by all concerned is extraordinarily convincing, and if I were judging acting alone I'd vote this one a "ten." But I could only vote a "four" because of the horrendously off-putting visual component.

Why, oh why, do directors, even skilled directors like Mr. Wang Kar-Wai, insist on using all the gimmicky tricks available to them, and decking out their films garishly and awkwardly so that the viewer is distracted from everything but the flashy and quickly tiresome images on the screen? It was bad enough to employ alternation of black-and-white and color, but when we are finally rewarded with color (and for some reason, though I'm a black-and-white-film fan, I felt that this entire movie should have been in color--maybe only as some relief from the drabness of the relationship depicted), the color has to be altered, saturated, the images made grainy and/or overexposed, etc.?

I feel the technical aspect of this film constitutes a severe disservice to the work of two exceptionally fine actors--three, if you count the brief appearance of Chen Chang, who is perfect as the young, bored, but very sweet and good-hearted tourist whom the protagonist may or may not see more of later.

What a missed opportunity. It's a pity that one of the strengths of film--the enormous range of technique it lays at the disposal of creators--is also all too frequently a seductive trap.

Given a choice between gratuitous nudity and gratuitous violence in films or on the stage, I would choose nudity every time. The extensive nudity in "The Pillow Book" almost didn't seem gratuitous, given the (rather feeble) premise of the plot. The minimal (by today's standards) violence in the film was justified by the plot.

But I fear Mr. Greenaway missed a the opportunity to make a really good film (given its specialized nature I think there's no way it could have been "great") by indulging in "arty" effects (the maddening inset frames; white subtitles on off-white backgrounds enough to give the viewer a headache; pointless and repetitive switching back to the thousand-year-old model for the "pillow book"--pointless in that the words of the original writer hold scarcely any relevance for the experience of the self-indulgent, spoiled modern protagonist: shared nationality alone is not enough to forge a spiritual or artistic bond).

I applaud the director's decision to thumb his nose at the absurd, puritanical (and hypocritical) taboo against total nudity, especially rife in my own nation, and apt to remain so for as long as the country itself survives. But I lament his wasting so much film and imaginative power on an ultimately weak, silly, and pretentious product.

And why, oh why, is it that in virtually every film of the past generation, including this one, there is not one likable character, nobody the viewer can empathize with or feel concern for? Such facile cynicism is simply juvenile and, to me at least, extremely repugnant. I practically shed tears of joyous relief when a filmmaker like Hirokazu Kore-Eda comes along with a story inviting a compassionate, concerned human response. Or films like "Shower," "The Son's Room," or "Mostly Martha," with their subtle and profound probing of human relationships carried out with the use of simple, honest dramatic means.

I could only give this movie a vote of "three." I wish it deserved at least a seven. By the way, I found the final sequence so tediously sentimental I had to fast-forward through the last three minutes or so.

The comments made above by "Spearin" express my own reaction to this film.

I rented it on DVD because it sounded intriguing, but fully expected to yank the disc before it fairly got underway. To my pleased surprise, I was caught up in the story and captivated by the photography from the first seconds, and thoroughly enjoyed the experience--so much so, in fact, that I immediately replayed the movie with the director's often droll narration superimposed.

Also on the DVD I rented was a short film by the same author, "The Dead Father," which is well worth watching. It, perhaps even more than "Tales from the Gimli Hospital," evokes early French surrealist film, but not in a slavish way.

Both films gave me food for thought--about film and about human relationships. I guess this "nourishment" aspect of film-viewing is my basic criterion for judgment. On that basis, I voted an "eight" for "Tales from the Gimli Hospital."

By the way, I was very interested to learn (from the director's commentary) some of the actual history of Gimli and its settlers. These were tough, courageous people.