Silk (2007)
Directed by François Girard
***1/2
Lush
The first few seconds show you all you need to know. The sound of water, lilting. The tangible feel of steam, separating over the surface. A woman, waiting, half submerged. The skin of her back and the turn of her head.
This is the story of Hervé Joncour, and the gently inexorable tale of marriage, infidelity, and the profound love between a man and his wife. It's an adaptation of the novel by Alessandro Baricco, rich enough that it could fill 300 pages; suggestive enough that it only needs a hundred. Both works of art choose to evoke rather than tell us everything. Both leave plenty of room for the story to breathe, ease into the white space. And here, with the sway of lush images, the story wins us by slow intoxication, lulling us into its inevitable denouement.
Spare
Hervé is only a soldier when the local silk merchant approaches him. The silk worms are diseased, and someone must travel to find pristine replacements. First it is Egypt, but eventually, year after year, Japan.
Hervé's job is simple — travel for weeks to reach the village, stay silent among his Japanese suppliers, and retrace his journey back home. Soon he and his wife Hélène are wealthy, living on a lush estate. But they are also childless. And soon Hervé becomes entranced by the alluring mistress of his Japanese vendor.
Affecting
Director François Girard hasn't worked in this space before. 32 Conversations with Glenn Gould (1993) inhabited rooms and concert halls. The Red Violin danced in and out of doors and leaped across eras. But with Silk, he finally feels at home out of doors and sunk into time.
The cinematography is vivid and sedate, using light like air. The score, by Ryuichi Sakamoto, feels timeless in its simplicity. The story wins you with its voluptuous images, its sense of rhythm, and then slowly tightens its grip on you. Michael Pitt, Keira Knightley, Alfred Molina, Kôji Yakusho, Sei Ashina settle into their characters, feel comfortable with quietness, make silence as meaningful as sound.
Imperfect
I do have complaints about the film. Hervé's appearance changes from scene to scene, which is honest to the realities of long travel, but distracting from the narrative. As with any art dealing in the unsaid, there are moments of melodrama. And, in a strange but unaddressed turn, Girard sets the story in the France of the novella while his characters speak English.
It's not a perfect film, and it's not trying to be. This is the kind of film that demands some surrender, some patience, and rewards it with soul breathing, a respite from the humdrum, and a heightened sense of the life in smallest movements.
[Note: As you might suspect, the film includes some sexuality. It may not be appropriate for all viewers.]
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