另一方面还是很讨厌好莱坞动不动就“拿来”,想当然耳地改掉,为己所用。过去就听说有人管Disney的动画片叫文化帝国主义(cultural imperialism)。到底是起了教育普及还是混淆视听的作用?如果不想好好地,严肃严谨地介绍大家不懂的知识,不如干脆别去碰它,leave it alone。拿出很有权威的样子胡说八道,比什么都不说还可怕些,根本误导别人。
Hollywood's Faulty 'Memoirs'
Experts on Japanese Tradition Are Bedeviled by Film's Details
By Sarah Kaufman
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, December 15, 2005; C01
Shizumi Manale is kneeling in a sea of brilliant silk. Yards and yards of costly hand-tinted and embroidered kimonos are spread before her on tatami mats. She has been unfolding them with devotional care; a flick of her wrists sends the fabric flowing across the floor. Even to an inexpert eye, the craftsmanship is obvious: One kimono of subtly textured ink-black is bursting with bright chrysanthemums edged in gold thread. Others in pastel shades feature patterns with delicately blurred outlines, as if the images were rising up from under water.
Shizumi picks up a corner, fondling its rose-petal softness. "You see -- this is art," she says quietly. "It really is like a living thing. It's what we call the power of kimono.
"This is what Rob Marshall does not understand."
The quality and style of the kimono is just one element of Japanese culture that Marshall overlooks in his film "Memoirs of a Geisha," Shizumi says. The Osaka-raised dancer also faults the director for including inaccurate versions of traditional geisha dancing and for failing to convey the studied artistry that geisha embodied in the 1930s and '40s, when the film is set.
The movie "has nothing to do with geisha in Kyoto," where Arthur Golden's best-selling novel of the same name was set, Shizumi says. "It's very rude to us. To us, the world of geisha is our culture."
Of course, this isn't the first time complaints have been raised about Hollywood's portrayal of a specific culture or time period. The industry's track record of faltering on historical, political, ethnic and other levels is long and varied. But for Shizumi and two Japanese artists who worked on the film, the disappointment at seeing their culture mishandled registers on a personal level. For those who carry that heritage close to their hearts, "Memoirs of a Geisha" is a missed opportunity.
Geisha life cuts close to the bone for Shizumi. When she was 15, she discovered a photo of her father and a geisha he had taken as his mistress. In a fit of shame and anger, she says, she tore it up. Shizumi says her attitude toward geisha changed when she found out that the mother of a beloved great-aunt had been a geisha. Her curiosity piqued, Shizumi immersed herself in geisha history, eventually producing a documentary on the elusive women.
Geisha have been grievously misconstrued in the West, she says. They were never prostitutes, though love affairs did happen. Above all, geisha were artists and entertainers, valued for their ability "to make the atmosphere softer, not so tense" at the teahouses where the wealthiest businessmen went to unwind after work. In the age before karaoke, teahouses were the after-hours hot spots for the corporate elite. "Men dreamed about it, to have a geisha pouring their sake," Shizumi says.
Shizumi has devoted herself to geisha arts, particularly traditional dance, which she has performed throughout the Washington area for years, and the tea ceremony. She has dedicated a room overlooking the back yard of her Silver Spring house to the meditative tea ritual. The room is peaceful and spare, like a temple; so quiet you can hear the gurgling of a little waterfall spilling into a pond outside. It is here, after sipping bowls of frothy green tea with a visitor, that Shizumi is taking some of her best kimonos out of their rice-paper wrapping. These are what a geisha would wear, she says; some of them are signed by their creators and cost more than $10,000. The one she is wearing is what she calls her "casual" kimono, for hanging around the house. She has kimonos for many occasions, including ones to wear for a dance rehearsal.
"Practice is respect; it's sacred," she says. "Even in practice you wear a nice cotton kimono. It's very important."
In his novel, Golden did a fine job of capturing the details and rituals of geisha life, she says. But though Shizumi praises the handsome settings of the film, she says it misses several key points. In a scene of the geisha rehearsing a dance, the actors are wearing loose garments "like a bathrobe." And many of the formal kimonos look too flimsy, lacking heft and luxurious details.
Nor does the dancing reflect the stillness and subtlety of traditional geisha dance, she says, particularly the solo for the central character Sayuri, an apprentice geisha who dons eight-inch high zori -- think lacquered platform flip-flops -- and a thin white gown and whips herself into a frenzied expressionistic dance under a cascade of confetti.
Marshall, who directed "Chicago" to a best picture Oscar -- and, for good or ill, pioneered making movie musicals without serious dancers in the lead roles -- makes no apologies for his unorthodox approach in "Geisha." "It was never my intention to do a documentary version of the book," he says by phone on his way to Rome for the film's premiere there. "What was interesting was doing an impression of this world."
He says his research was extensive. "I could write a thesis about the geisha world in great detail." And armed with the facts, he felt free to break a few rules. As in, for example, Sayuri's solo dance.
"I serve the story," Marshall says. "That's my job. So dance needs to do more than it does in the book." Sayuri's solo "needed to be an emotional dance and reflect her pain at not being able to express her love. I needed to create a dance that will make us feel for her. That's how it works."
Choreographer John DeLuca, who worked with Marshall on "Chicago," says it was those precarious wooden shoes, worn by courtesans (already a detail sure to inflame geisha purists), that inspired the dance: "I thought, 'God, I've got to use those shoes.' " Though based on kabuki, the solo sprang largely from his imagination.
"We had our experts on the set applauding every step of the way," DeLuca says. "They knew what we were going for. We tried to honor their culture as best we could."
Shizumi was approached, in fact, to be one of those experts. She flew to California for an interview as a dance consultant, and was asked to audition for a dancing part. She wore her best summer-weight kimono to the audition and carried herself, she says, with the self-effacing grace that a true geisha might possess. But she was alarmed by the speeded-up tempo of the music and the Broadway-style movement demands. Can you throw the fan higher? she was asked.
"We Japanese don't do it that way," she replied. Welcome to Hollywood, she was told.
Eventually, she says, she was offered a part, but her mother fell ill and she felt she had to go to Japan.
Shizumi is not alone in thinking the film takes needless liberties. Los Angeles-based musician Masakazu Yoshizawa is a veteran of the movie industry, having worked on the soundtracks of dozens of films, including "The Last Samurai" and "Jurassic Park." Working on "Memoirs of a Geisha," he said, amounted to a series of arguments with Marshall, culminating in failed efforts to talk the director out of using aggressive, choppy music from northern Japan to set the tone for the cultured city of Kyoto, home of the most exclusive geisha.
But the film does not take place in Kyoto, Yoshizawa says Marshall told him.
This is not Kyoto? the musician asked.
This is an imaginary city, he says Marshall replied.
Yoshizawa says he was dumbfounded by the choice to remove the story from its origins in Kyoto, for 1,200 years the Japanese capital, as famed for the elegance of its shamizen music as it is for the refinement of its geisha.
The artistry of the time period is largely absent from the film, says Yoshiko Wada, a Berkeley, Calif.,-based textile expert who was an assistant to costume designer Colleen Atwood.
The geisha world "had so much to do with music, dance and textiles," says Wada, who attended the Kyoto City University of Arts and curated a kimono exhibit at the Textile Museum here some years ago. The kimono and the obi -- the extraordinarily long, wide sash used to tie it -- "was one of the most important things, showing their taste, their status in society, their age, everything. . . . This film could have been made very opulent and meshed with that." But instead, she says, "they have kind of trashed it."
Wada describes the brocade on an obi worn by Sayuri at a key moment in the film. There was a waterfall and rocks -- so far so good. But there were also irises. "The iris is stretching it," Wada says. "We don't see the iris growing by a waterfall. It grows in still water."
The wave pattern for the water was wrong, too. It was a copy of a typical Japanese pattern used for ocean waves, says Wada, not for the kind of splashy action you would see around a cascade.
Not in a million years would a Western eye notice these things. So what's the big deal?
Wada laughs in acknowledgment. Yet that's why she was dismayed that her advice was not heeded. "All these things are important," she says. "We look at them and think it just looks strange." Atwood was not available for comment.
These may seem like minor matters, involving more bruised feelings than gross violations. But when it is your own heritage on the screen, the hurt cuts deeper.
"What if you saw an American flag that only had 42 stars? It's that important," says Sheridan Prasso, an Asia scholar and author of "The Asian Mystique: Dragon Ladies, Geisha Girls, & Our Fantasies of the Exotic Orient." Prasso also faults the casting of two Chinese actresses, Ziyi Zhang and Gong Li, and a Malaysian-born actress who has made her career in Chinese films, Michelle Yeoh, as the main Japanese characters. "It's only one step up from the use of Hollywood actors in yellowface that Hollywood used to do 50 years ago."
The casting has roused some degree of Chinese ire as well. Japan's English-language Mainichi Daily News reports that in a climate of ongoing Chinese-Japanese tension, the Chinese actors have been criticized in their homeland for portraying "an outlet for Japanese desires," as one observer put it.
In Japan, the film debuted last weekend as the fourth most popular nationwide. Criticisms seemed largely muted from filmgoers and critics.
"My concern before I saw the film was whether or not it would end up as a visual guidebook of Japan for foreign tourists; you know, all shots of Mount Fuji and geisha," said Yukichi Shinada, the noted Japanese film critic. "But the film did not go in that direction. I enjoyed the beautiful images and scenes for their cinematic pleasure. The fact that the Chinese actresses were there wasn't particularly troubling -- especially because they mostly spoke English."
Yet, as when Golden's book became a worldwide hit, a certain level of disgruntlement could be heard from Japan's geisha. A handful of current geisha offered widely quoted criticisms to the local and foreign press, expressing distaste for the movie's lack of precision, particularly regarding the dance scenes and kimonos.
To all but a small percentage of Japanese people, the world of the geisha is as unknown as it is to most foreigners. Many seem to view "Memoirs of a Geisha" as a sort of movie version of a California roll -- an American take on Japanese tradition that, while hardly authentic, doesn't taste all that bad.
To be sure, Hollywood has an especially bad record in terms of casting foreigners, says David Thomson, the author of several books about moviemaking, including "The Whole Equation: A History of Hollywood." Take Anthony Quinn, of Irish and Mexican descent, who over his career played Arabs, Eskimos, Spaniards and Greeks. Or Omar Sharif, an Egyptian, who played a Russian in "Doctor Zhivago."
"In the old days, if you were a foreigner you could play any foreign part, but it's scandalous today," says Thomson. "What it means is that we haven't bothered to think about this character seriously."
However, Marshall sees himself as carrying on Hollywood's practice of "nontraditional" casting.
The examples he cites, coincidentally, are the same ones that Thomson brought up as representing an outmoded all-foreigners-are-alike approach: Quinn as "Zorba." And Sharif as a Russian.
"I cast the best actors for the roles," he says. "It's a very simple philosophy." Defending his hiring of Zhang to star as Sayuri, he says she has done "a whole hair campaign in Japan -- a big shampoo ad -- and that's nice, but honestly I only think about who can bring this character to life."
Marshall says he used a similar approach to pre- and post-World War II Japan as he did with the 1920s setting for "Chicago." "Certainly in Chicago, women didn't dance like that and didn't dress like that," he said.
By the same token, "Geisha" "is an impressionistic painting of the geisha world," Marshall says. "We took it a step further. As an artist, that's what I do."
Shizumi says she doesn't mind that Marshall chose to construe a fictional geisha district. The error, she says, is in not making that clear to an audience who will likely walk away from the film thinking they have just seen how real geisha lived.
"My concern is, if they want to create an imaginary world they should have done it completely," she says. Instead, the kimonos are almost traditional, but not quite. And the dancing is also almost-but-not-quite right. "To me, it's just sloppy," she says.
"The spirit of geisha is not there," she says. "In 'The Last Samurai,' many things were not accurate, but the spirit of the samurai was there. So I can appreciate it. But here you don't get the spirit of the high-class geisha -- the pride and elegance and . . . " She pauses, searching for the words. She reflects on her lovely kimonos. What was missing from the film, she says, was "the tranquillity of subtlety with beauty."
Staff writer Anthony Faiola in Tokyo contributed to this article.
© 2005 The Washington Post Company