sovay | My library was dukedom large enough

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My library was dukedom large enough

It is perhaps not possible for me to be sensible about Prospero's Books (1991), since I have dreamed of things like Prospero's library all my life—its antique books that do not exist on waking, that echoing architecture full of water and time—so I'll note mostly that it's one of the most beautiful films I've ever had inside my head and I do not understand why it took me nineteen years to see it. (Or why it doesn't exist on DVD. Seriously, Criterion, get your act together.) It is an adaptation of The Tempest, but it's not Shakespeare's; it is the play Prospero is writing in exile, the last and greatest piece of his magic that will free him from itself if he can pull it off, beginning so abstractly it might be impossible to identify the play if not for the names, ending with the bare stage's epilogue. Let your indulgence set me free. The longer the play goes on, the more real it becomes, the more like the Tempest we know, until finally the characters can speak in their own voices (no longer doubled or puppeted by Prospero) and the magician can break his staff, drown his books, and step offstage at last—or maybe, at last, step on, no longer stage-manager of the world around him (which is gotten entirely out of his twenty-four books) but a man who can live in it like anyone else. Story has written itself into history. I'd seen this in fiction before, but never on film. And it's dazzlingly, rich and strangely done. I love the physicality of its world, constantly in motion with the bodies of magic. I love its books, each of which is precisely what it needs to be, a wonder and a terror. I love that its Caliban is beautiful. You should all join me in persuading

rushthatspeaks to write "The Ninety-Two Conceits of the Minotaur." Julie Taymor has a hell of a shadow to cross.

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Wow, that sounds amazing.

The Ninety-Two Conceits of the Minotaur

*ears perk up* Oh?

Wow, that sounds amazing.

It has become instantly one of my favorite films, right up there with A Canterbury Tale and The Seventh Seal; I can imagine watching it again and again and I might never discover all its secrets. What I don't understand is why it seems to be so obscure.

nineweaving has recommended it to me,

rushthatspeaks screened it for me yesterday: otherwise it was basically off my radar, even though I loved The Draughtsman's Contract (1982) when I saw it at the Brattle last year and The Cook, the Thief, His Wife, & Her Lover (1989) is up next. The Coolidge Corner Theatre should be showing this as regularly as Lawrence of Arabia. It's just an astonishing piece of art.

*ears perk up* Oh?

It's one of the twenty-four books: A Book of Water, A Book of Mythologies, An Atlas Belonging to Orpheus, An Alphabetical Inventory of the Dead, The Ninety-Two Conceits of the Minotaur, A Book of Motion, The Autobiographies of Semiramis and Pasiphaë . . . Look, just find a VHS. You need to see this film.

Right. Hm. I wonder whose got one...?

A wonderful review; thank you. I do recall recommending it to you with caveats some weeks ago, but I can't recall now where I wrote of it; but not at such length. Your exuberance recommends it to me again, and perhaps I will watch it again sooner rather than later. One thing that struck me was that, right from the beginning, Miranda is speaking in unison with Prospero, that she alone has voice from the start, even if he is speaking with and possibly for her. But Ariel -- Ariel sings in his own voice, and Prospero always and only speaks Ariel's words after him, always behind him, never in unison with him. For the longest time I could not tell if Caliban spoke in unison with Prospero, but I finally decided he did not, though I'm still not sure! And must watch it again to test the no doubt changeful happenstances. For all other characters, Prospero alone speaks, until the final scene, as you say, when they free their voices from hiss thrall or he frees them or both. Perhaps he is only freeing himself. Well. A film to re-watch, to be sure. Did you not find it to be at times claustrophobic?

Have you seen The Pillow Book? I think that may remain my favorite of the two films, but it too I've only seen once and it seems that it too is a film likely to change greatly with each subsequent viewing.

Caliban does speak in unison with Prospero.

There's one moment, even before the spells start breaking, where Prospero doesn't shadow Ariel's voice at all, and that's after Prospero has asked Ariel about the condition of his enemies: there are three main persons of Ariel, three dressed the same way but various ages, and you hear them mutter over and over the words "Your charm so strongly works 'em / That if you now beheld them, your affections / would become tender." All the while all three writing on a parchment, passing it around.

Then they hand it to Prospero and it has the line in three handwritings. And Prospero doesn't echo the line, just says "And mine shall." It comes across as the first time anyone else speaks, and certainly the first time Prospero listens to anybody.

I vacillate wildly as to whether The Pillow Book or Prospero's Books is my favorite. I own them both, have seen them about the same number of times, and despite the obvious and giant differences there are ways in which I think of them as facets of the same movie.

Thank you for correcting me, and for clarifying. I'm not surprised I got it wrong -- the film is like a perceptual storm, so full and fine-grained at every moment that as much as I was getting I was also constantly aware that I was missing a lot. It's almost as if Greenaway is mimicking the very sensory profusion of lived experience itself, but because of the unavoidability of the film's outermost frame, and the way he constantly frames and unframes and reframes multiply and singularly everything within it, it's impossible to apply anything like the number and kind of filters and interpretive scrims that we automatically [automagically] apply every waking moment to the on-going sum of all living sensory input, scrims that have so thoroughly dissolved into our lived experience that we mostly forget they're there, and so confronted with Greenaway's unfamiliar yet highly coherent profusion, we feel perceptually unmoored, as if the film's very order and structure is such as to produce an experience of sensory chaos which very slowly, almost in the manner of a processional, a long slow reveal where what is being revealed is part and parcel of what has been before our senses from the very beginning, resolves itself into highly nuanced, elegant clarity: teaching us, perhaps, below thought or conscious choosing or even at first recognition, how to filter, how to adapt and adopt the film's palimpsestic scrims and interweave them with our own.

The preceding riff being an attempt to capture something of what watching the movie felt like to me; but I'm not at all sure it scans.

As for Caliban and Prospero in unison, I suppose I must have decided they hadn't been only after they had stopped speaking so, or could there have been earlier cases where they didn't?

I think I've only seen those two films by Greenaway; are any of his others similar in the use of frames within frames and screen splittings etc.? Twenty-four are Prospero's Books, and The Pillow is a twenty-fifth Book, and thus Greenaway's library grows. Until I test it with further viewings, my memories of the two films (seen a decade apart) suggest that The Pillow Book is the more spacious, embodies a greater equipoise, deploys its (re-/un-)framings with greater finesse and restraint, somehow manages to balance extraordinary sensory and intellectual profusion with the grace and brevity of haiku, opes doors of wonder in long draughts of silence. If not adjacent facets, then perhaps, pace Engine Summer, crystals of a single telling's stream.

There's one moment, even before the spells start breaking, where Prospero doesn't shadow Ariel's voice at all, and that's after Prospero has asked Ariel about the condition of his enemies: there are three main persons of Ariel, three dressed the same way but various ages, and you hear them mutter over and over the words "Your charm so strongly works 'em / That if you now beheld them, your affections / would become tender." All the while all three writing on a parchment, passing it around.

Then they hand it to Prospero and it has the line in three handwritings. And Prospero doesn't echo the line, just says "And mine shall." It comes across as the first time anyone else speaks, and certainly the first time Prospero listens to anybody.

Thank you for that! At first I didn't get the moment you were indicating, my beginner's grasp and memory of film and play being less than sure; but when I did it bowled me over. You show me that Greenaway deepens and broadens the pivotal lines of The Tempest to an extraordinary degree. It seems the threefold Ariel casts the spell on Prospero and not the other way around, a spell of dispelling, a kind of awakening. (But why Ariel as trinity?) I wonder if Ariel learned or gleaned some part of the dispelling from Prospero, turned it to new account, thereby giving Prospero the gift of his own humanity re-met, freeing him to free himself and others. So much to look for on subsequent viewings! A lovely chain you send me following; thank you.

Prospero's Books is one of my favorite movies, ever since

rushthatspeaks showed it to me years ago. It's brilliant and beautiful and I should really see it again.

It's on my new list of movies for B. as he's never seen any Greenaway, so I am certain to be showing it to him at some point and I can arrange to do that sometime down there, if you would like me to.

I also have to show B. The Pillow Book-- and

sovay, too, come to think of it. Do you remember the time that came into my room through the ventilation ducts back at college? Not a movie one should ever be forced to try to sleep during...

I also have to show B. The Pillow Book-- and sovay, too, come to think of it.

I would like that: you said it involved text.

AAAAAH you haven't seen The Pillow Book?

Well, there's your life mission sorted for the foreseeable future.

Well, there's your life mission sorted for the foreseeable future.

Fortunately,

rushthatspeaks owns the VHS.

Apparently that one -- unlike Prospero's Books -- is also on Netflix.

I'm sorry I wasn't able to join both of you for the movie, but I'd already had other plans anyway.

Sometime you and rush and sei and I need to sit down and have a weeklong movie-fest.

Sometime you and rush and sei and I need to sit down and have a weeklong movie-fest.

I'd be good with that.

I would like that: you said it involved text.

I have come to think of it, thanks to the reflections inspired by this thread, as Prospero's 25th book.

Prospero's library all my life—its antique books that do not exist on waking

I want a Library card for there...

I want a Library card for there...

I suspect this is why Neil Gaiman created the library of the Dreaming, which contains every book that has ever been dreamed of, but much good that does me.

I had not realised this was considered obscure; I certainly saw it on what appeared to be a thoughly mainstream rather than arthouse cinematic release. (Having a bit of a "was it really that long ago" moment, I would quite like to see it again, but am not at all sure how much of the experience would come through seeing it on a small screen.)

I've never seen it on a screen more than sixteen inches square, and I've never seen it letterboxed.

It is still magnificent.

Having a bit of a "was it really that long ago" moment, I would quite like to see it again, but am not at all sure how much of the experience would come through seeing it on a small screen.

I saw it fullscreen on a television and see above; it still works. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't camp outside a theater to see it on the big screen!

Harvard Film Archive previewed it and I am sure it has shown around your area several times since then. It turns up in Greenaway festivals and Shakespeare festivals.

just at a priced-to-rent (http://www.amazon.com/Prosperos-Books-John-Gielgud/dp/B000XR49VQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=dvd&qid=1273176269&sr=8-1) level.

It was almost the perfect confluence: NHK wanted a full-length film made with their new cameras, and Peter Greenaway wanted to make an expensive visually-complicated movie.

The offering on Amazon is an expensive DVD-R, and a number of customer reviews complain of inferior reproductive quality.

It was almost the perfect confluence: NHK wanted a full-length film made with their new cameras, and Peter Greenaway wanted to make an expensive visually-complicated movie.

I just wish it would be revived in theaters . . .

I loved that movie.
This reminds me of when Patrick Stewart, pre-TNG, came to my college acting class and for the 20-odd of us in a small room did Prospero's farewell. I'd forgotten about that. Thinking about his "let your indulgence set us free" give me shivers right now.

This reminds me of when Patrick Stewart, pre-TNG, came to my college acting class and for the 20-odd of us in a small room did Prospero's farewell.

Oh, nice.

Thinking about his "let your indulgence set us free" give me shivers right now.

If you have not seen the RSC's Hamlet with David Tennant and Patrick Stewart that recently aired on PBS, I recommend it very highly; I am still thinking about Stewart's Claudius in ways that I should probably write about. But John Woodvine as the Player King—an old man in street clothes, his sleeves rolled up, speaking Priam and Pyrrhus and Hecuba to a half-circle of fellow actors and one antic prince—blew the doors off the rest of the play. No tricks of light or staging, just a voice and words: they have that much power.

I have not seen it -- another reason to join netflix!

Goodness, that's a beautiful description.*

I'm 'mazed you never had seen it before--it struck me as being just your sort of film, and I'm delighted to be correct. I'm also surprised it's not on DVD.

I need to see it again someday.

*And better, I have to admit, than my dearest friend from high school's "It's an art movie, so practically everyone is naked, but there's no sex."

And better, I have to admit, than my dearest friend from high school's "It's an art movie, so practically everyone is naked, but there's no sex."

The matter-of-fact nudity was one of the magnificent things about it.

rushthatspeaks tells me the MPAA agreed to compromise on an R rating, but it should have been PG-13; it is not sexual nudity except in the case of Michael Clark's Caliban, and then not even all the time.

The matter-of-fact nudity was one of the magnificent things about it.

Agreed. It definitely should've been PG-13. Ah, well, we could spend months cataloguing the failings of the MPAA.

Ah, well, off to collect graduation regalia, I am. Train should show in ten minutes. So, I can't spend any more time listing and ranking said failings the now.

Ah, see: I knew you'd love it.;)

Ah, see: I knew you'd love it.

Why is there no Criterion DVD?

I wish I knew! Then again, the ways of Criterion are (more than) occasionally mysterious. I think they've done one of The Draughtsman's Contract, though...not exactly a favorite film of mine, but certainly a startling film experience. And it did teach me the word "disingenuous".

I think they've done one of The Draughtsman's Contract, though...not exactly a favorite film of mine, but certainly a startling film experience. And it did teach me the word "disingenuous".

I really, really liked The Draughtsman's Contract and I didn't expect to at all—all descriptions had made it sound as though I would appreciate it intellectually and have no emotional reactions to it whatsoever. Instead I'd gladly watch it again, and I have several more films by Greenaway on my list now.

I've been thinking about that movie, which I saw when it came out and still retain images of. Sad it's not a good DVD. I shall have to see if I can scare up a tape. I'd love to see it again.

I shall have to see if I can scare up a tape. I'd love to see it again.

I would love to hear your thoughts when you do. I enjoy your theater writing.

It's my favorite serious movie. I could watch Prospero walking through his library on a loop for hours.

Gosh, I've not seen it in years. Our VHS copy's long gone, with the VHS player. I guess I should look for a laserdisc version, as I do have an LD player...

I could watch Prospero walking through his library on a loop for hours.

Word.

I guess I should look for a laserdisc version, as I do have an LD player...

If you find one, let me know its quality? It would be nice if some non-cropped version was out there; it was evident from the text that ran off the screen to either side that it was not designed for 1.33:1. And it's such a visually bursting movie, I can't imagine there wasn't something going on in those frames.

As I recall it from my big-screen viewings, the frames tend to echo the action in the center and support it, sometimes to prefigure or foreshadow, but not to supplant it. So you will see (e.g.) spirits observing, and perhaps mimicking or just holding up objects or books that are apropos. There if I recall aright moments when the frames collapse or characters cross them...

It has been quite a while, but I do not recall anything happening in an outer frame that contradicted, so to speak, the innermost part.

Greenaway uses a lot of non-digital framing tricks throughout too.

I also seem to recall that the I think masque scene is trimmed in the non-theatre version.

Have you seen The Belly of an Architect?

I also seem to recall that the I think masque scene is trimmed in the non-theatre version.

Good grief. The version we saw wasn't short.

Have you seen The Belly of an Architect?

No; The Draughtsman's Contract and Prospero's Books are my sole experience of Greenaway. What's it like?

Well, it's its own thing, but I believe you'll find it interesting and strange and like it. It's a tragedy; the central character destroys himself with the complicity of other characters; it's all avoidable yet utterly inevitable, stylized yet realistic. Themes of art, fidelity and infidelity, honesty and dishonesty, real achievement and false but visible achievement, run through it, and also a guy who removes noses from statues. You should track it down (if it is available) and watch.

The only thing I've ever seen that was anything like the masque scene, which feels like a fugue state after a while, that wasn't by Peter Greenaway, is the bit in the Mark Morris Platée where, in order to buy time, an endless receiving line of mythological figures circles around and around and around greeting Platée on the occasion of her wedding to Jove (Jove, of course, waiting and sweating, when is Juno going to show up and stop him from going through with it?). It cannot possibly have lasted twenty minutes on stage but it seemed like it.

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My library was dukedom large enough

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It is available on DVD

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