The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover

January 28, 2013

cookthethiefPeter Greenaway, the exceedingly provocative English director of The Draughtsman’s Contract and A Zed and Two Naughts, has said of his new film that “I wanted to engage in some of the excitements of unrestricted license.”

Mm-hmm. That is an elegant way of saying that Greenaway has tipped over a number of taboos in his new movie, The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover. It’s a film that happily seeks to offend and outrage.

And, oh, it succeeds. But Greenaway is such a witty and imaginative filmmaker that he makes his outrageousness watchable. At the very least, this film is visually stunning, even when it is at its most grotesque, which might be any of a number of moments.

The title provides the basic situation. A gangster (Michael Gambon) comes every night to the lavish restaurant he owns. He has no taste whatsoever, for food or anything else, but he likes to parade around with his entourage. His wife (Helen Mirren) is at his side, apparently for the sole purpose of giving him someone to abuse.

Across the restaurant sits a lone diner (Alan Howard), who spots the unhappy wife and sneaks off for the first of a series of trysts with her, in the hidden corners of the restaurant. The head chef (Richard Bohringer) watches all this with a steady, unflappable gaze.

The film is about the wife and her lover’s attempts to come together, while the gangster tries to figure out what is afoot (Gambon, the brilliant British actor who starred in the BBC’s “Singing Detective,” must have 85 percent of the film’s dialogue, and he thunders magnificently).

But the plot does not describe Greenaway’s gallery of effects. His films are not meant to be realistic; they are theatrical, melodramatic. Costume and set design and music are main characters, and they tend to dominate the puny human concerns.

As far as the taboos are concerned, the film pays disgusting detail to torture, scatological excesses, regurgitative functions, and finally cannibalism, in a climactic scene that will probably send people either screaming or chuckling from the theater. Like him or loathe him, Greenaway completely creates his own world, and it’s like nothing else in the movies.

Incidentally, this film grossed out the MPAA ratings board to such an extent that it received an X rating. Unfortunately, the X has come to be associated with hardcore porn (which this film is not, although it contains much nudity), and some newspapers and TV stations won’t accept ads for X-rated films, regardless of content. In Seattle, the movie is being released without a rating. These sorts of problems suggest that it’s time to rethink the current ratings system.

First published in the Herald, April 8, 1990

Caused some excitement at the time, that’s for sure, and Greenaway was really on a roll at that moment. I wonder whether I’d like it as much now.

A Zed and Two Noughts

December 28, 2011

The plot is set in motion by a car hitting a swan and killing two passengers. The first real line of dialogue is, “How fast does a woman decompose?” The main characters are Siamese twins who were once joined at the ear, shoulder, hip, and ankle.

This is the world of Peter Greenaway’s A Zed and Two Noughts, a relentlessly bizarre film that is being marketed as this year’s Blue Velvet. Actually, it’s much more surreal and arch than Blue Velvet, but it shares with that film the capacity for inspiring intense arguments.

Greenaway is the British director who made a splash a few years back with The Draughtsman’s Contract, an elegantly elaborate tease. A Zed and Two Noughts—the title is a tricky way of spelling “zoo”—is even more calculated to infuriate, as it piles riddle upon enigma; there are times when the movie resembles a particularly complicated Tom Stoppard play being interpreted by Stanley Kubrick in a nasty mood.

These twins (played by Brian and Eric Deacon) have lost their wives in the car crash caused by the errant swan. Both work at the zoo (the city is unidentified, although it was filmed in Rotterdam), and both find morbid fascination in filming and then viewing the decomposition of various plants and animals.

They also remain in the company of the woman (Andréa Ferréol) who was driving the car that struck the swan. Both men become obsessed by her; she goes through the movie gradually losing her limbs, which are amputated for dubious medical reasons.

Uh…that’s enough plot. No recounting of the film’s action can convey the weird, ironic, grotesque experience of watching the film itself. Greenaway the draughtsman is building a labyrinth, a maze I found eminently provocative.

Greenaway often seems to be too clever for his own good, but he has some suggestive things to say about the way we live, not to mention the way we die and decompose. Whether it’s legitimately effective as a movie, or fundamentally a big, impressive dead-end—well, that can be a starting point for the arguments. Which is probably the way Greenaway likes it.

First published in the Herald, 1988

Still in the early blush of Greenaway’s career here. I’m not sure when this review ran, but the movie opened at the Market theater, and it really did start some arguments.