Okay, settle in, grab your preferred beverage, and let’s dim the lights. Tonight, we’re pulling a rather unique tape off the shelf, one that likely sat in the “Art House” or perhaps even the slightly intimidating “Director Spotlight” section of the old video store: Peter Greenaway’s 1999 film, 8 ½ Women. This isn't your typical Friday night rental fare from the era, but for those of us who occasionally craved something visually meticulous and intellectually thorny, Greenaway was a name that promised… well, something unforgettable, if not always comfortable.
### A Most Unusual Inheritance
What lingers first from 8 ½ Women isn't necessarily a plot point, but the feeling of cool, detached observation. We're invited into the opulent, grief-stricken world of wealthy businessman Philip Emmenthal (John Standing) and his son, Storey (Matthew Delamere). Following the death of Philip’s wife (and Storey’s mother), the two inherit a string of eight (and eventually, a half) pachinko parlors in Japan. This windfall, combined with Storey’s cinephilia – particularly his obsession with Federico Fellini's 8 ½ – sparks a truly bizarre coping mechanism: the creation of a private harem within their Geneva mansion. It’s a premise that, even on paper, feels quintessentially Greenaway: structured, conceptual, and dancing right on the edge of provocative absurdity.
### The Greenaway Aesthetic
If you’ve encountered Greenaway before – perhaps through the lush, dangerous visuals of The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover (1989) or the intricate games of The Draughtsman's Contract (1982) – you’ll recognise the fingerprints immediately. 8 ½ Women is a film composed, not merely shot. Each frame feels deliberate, often symmetrical, with characters positioned like figures in a Renaissance painting or architectural models within elaborate sets. There’s a fascination here with lists, with systems, with the attempt to impose order on the chaos of human desire and grief. The visual language borrows overtly from Fellini, yes, but also feels indebted to Japanese masters like Ozu in its static, considered compositions, particularly in the scenes depicting the newly acquired pachinko business – a detail offering unexpected visual texture. The contrast between the sterile, almost clinical European settings and the vibrant, noisy world of pachinko is striking. Filming took place primarily in Luxembourg and Japan, adding another layer to this interplay of cultures and aesthetics.
### Figures in a Landscape
The performances serve Greenaway’s vision, often feeling intentionally stylized rather than purely naturalistic. John Standing brings a weary gravitas to Philip, a man adrift in loss and perhaps too willing to indulge his son’s outlandish scheme as a distraction. Matthew Delamere’s Storey is harder to pin down – is he a grief-stricken eccentric, a manipulative puppet master, or simply a bored rich kid playing with human lives? The ambiguity feels intentional. Among the titular women, Vivian Wu as Kito, the knowing madam figure seemingly procured alongside the pachinko parlors, and Annie Shizuka Inoh as the perpetually pregnant, mute Simato offer memorable presence, though the film deliberately keeps us at arm's length from truly knowing any of them. They often function more as elements within Greenaway's elaborate visual and thematic structure than as fully fleshed-out individuals. This isn't a criticism, necessarily, but an observation of the director's particular approach to character.
### More Than Just a Fellini Nod?
The explicit homage to Fellini is central, obviously, right down to the title. Storey actively screens 8 ½ for his father, using it as a blueprint for their 'project'. But what is Greenaway doing here? Is it a straightforward tribute, a critique of male fantasy filtered through cinematic obsession, or perhaps a commentary on the inability of art (even great art like Fellini's) to truly capture or satisfy human complexity? The film raises these questions without offering easy answers. It explores themes of objectification, the transactional nature of relationships under capitalism (literally buying companionship), and the strange ways grief can manifest. Doesn't the sterile, almost contractual way the 'harem' is assembled feel like a pointed commentary on the emptiness of pursuing fantasy without genuine connection?
### Late 90s Art House Curiosity
Released in 1999, 8 ½ Women arrived at a time when independent and art-house cinema had a certain cachet, but Greenaway’s demanding style always placed him slightly outside the mainstream indie darlings. Finding this on VHS might have felt like unearthing a hidden, perhaps slightly forbidden, text. Reviews at the time were, predictably, mixed. Some lauded the visual artistry and intellectual rigor; others found it cold, overly schematic, and emotionally vacant. It certainly didn’t set the box office alight. Yet, watching it now evokes that specific late-90s feeling of cinema pushing boundaries, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes brilliantly. It reminds me of browsing those less-visited aisles in the video store, wondering what strange worlds lay hidden inside those slightly imposing VHS boxes. It wasn't a film discussed around the water cooler, but for the adventurous viewer, it offered a distinct, if challenging, experience.
### The Final Reel
8 ½ Women is undeniably a Peter Greenaway film, for better or worse depending on your tolerance for his unique brand of cinema. It's visually precise, intellectually stimulating, and intentionally provocative. However, it lacks the raw emotional power or visceral impact of some of his earlier work. The conceptual framework occasionally threatens to overwhelm the human element, leaving the viewer impressed but perhaps unmoved. It’s a film that demands attention and thought, rewarding viewers patient enough to engage with its intricate design and challenging ideas, even if it doesn't offer conventional emotional catharsis.
Rating: 6/10
Justification: The score reflects the film's undeniable artistic merit in its visual construction and thematic ambition (pushing it above average), balanced against its deliberate emotional distance and arguably niche appeal, which might leave many viewers cold. It's a fascinating, meticulously crafted object, but perhaps more intellectually stimulating than emotionally resonant.
Final Thought: A challenging, sometimes frustrating, but visually distinct late-90s artifact that reminds us how bold – and sometimes bafflingly cerebral – art-house cinema could be as the VHS era waned. It asks more questions than it answers, leaving you to ponder the strange intersection of grief, wealth, and cinematic fantasy long after the credits roll.