act123

I never heard of Wonder Showzen until the other night, when I randomly found it on the shelf at the local rental place. A quick glance at its description on the back of the cover sold me instantly. What I didn't expect was how funny it was. Sickly funny. I've never seen a show so blatantly and brilliantly awful. It's anarchy at its finest, packaged neatly in a vintage Sesame Street vibe that only kids born between 1969-1979 can really understand. Watching this brought back memories of watching The Electric Company and Sesame Street through the mind of someone mentally ill tripping on acid. LOVE IT. I don't think anyone could top the genius of Wonder Showzen. In a way I'm glad there were only 2 seasons of it, because it would have been a shame to see it go downhill and lose its sense of vitriol and vim. Highlights include "Beat Kids!" and educational films with kid commentary (saying gems like "DADDY!" when a slaughtered pig appears on screen) and Muppet-ish puppets in pornographic situations - it's everything a cynical adult secretly thinks about kids' TV, but manifested with unabashed glee. GET IT.

I really wanted to like The Pillow Book. Intriguing story, interesting character outlines, Ewan Macgregor in the utterly glorious altogether. Unfortunately, I hated every minute of it. Greenaway got so enamoured with presenting the movie uniquely, and not to the film's benefit. I won't even get into Vivian Wu's abysmal acting.

You get distracted from the story with 4 billion teeny windows and calligraphy that rolls on the bottom of the screen displaying the lyrics of the music that's playing. It seems he lost sight of presenting the actual story and developing the plot, and got entangled with foo-foo embellishments that have nothing to do with anything. It's a bit like presenting a John Singer Sargeant portrait in a chintzy Hallmark frame that says "GRANDMA LOVES ME!" in big sparkly letters.

This movie seems to be a casualty of the director auteur's ego instead of what it could have been - disturbingly and horrifyingly beautiful. In another director's hands (Jeunet? Coppola?), it could have been a masterpiece. In Greenaway's hands, it's best relegated to fine arts classes that also take themselves too seriously.