Directed by: Peter Greenaway; Screenplay by: Peter Greenaway, based on William Shakespeare’s play, “The Tempest”; Produced by: Philippe Carcassonne, Masato Hara, Kees Kasander, Michel Seydoux, Denis Wigman, Roland Wigman; Music by: Michael Nyman; Cinematography by: Sacha Vierny; Film Editing by: Marina Bodbijl; Production Design by: Ben van Os, Jan Roelfs; Costume Design by: Ellen Lens; Starring: John Gielgud, Michael Clark, Isabelle Pasco; Runtime: 124 minutes
Do you like 17th century art? Do you like (physical) books, in general? Did you ever fantasize what it would be like if those paintings came to life? Do you like relatively abstract interpretations of Shakespeare? If the answer to all of these questions is yes, then this movie is for you. Otherwise, I’m not really sure you’ll enjoy it.
If you don’t know the story of The Tempest, the 1611 Shakespeare play, I’ll repeat the summary I wrote in my other Tempest review (Derek Jarman’s version). Prospero, “the rightful Duke of Milan,” was betrayed twelve years ago by his brother, Antonio (helped by Alonso, the king of Naples), thus being forced to find refuge on a deserted island, together with his young daughter, Miranda, now a teenager. Using his great magical knowledge, Prospero rescued the “airy spirit” Ariel from his entrapment by the now dead witch Sycorax (the former master of the island). Ariel now serves Prospero together with Caliban, the “savage and deformed” son of Sycorax. Currently, Prospero has conjured a tempest that would bring Antonio and his co-conspirators to the island to face the vengeance of the wronged Duke. However, Miranda falls in love with Ferdinand (son of the king of Naples), who was also stranded on the island with his father. In the end, Prospero learns to forgive, allowing the two youths to marry, destroying his magical books and staff, and freeing Ariel and all the other spirits that served him. (You can also read the entire play here.)
For those who are not familiar with Peter Greenaway’s works, he does not construct traditional, linear narratives. With this kind of films, one can only describe what happens in it, as the actual film is open to individual interpretation. I won’t describe everything here, because I don’t want to spoil the spectacle for you (and it would take way too much time). Thus, I will only talk about my subjective feelings about the film.
Like many of Greenaway’s movies, it feels like a filmed live stage performance or performance art (or installation art, even video installation). Greenaway invented his own conventions and constraints and he sticks to them religiously: his films are composed of many static shots, at the same time having an abundance of insert shots, split-screen, frame within frame within frame, or trucking and tracking shots that can go for miles.
I think it’s the only version (as far as I know) that properly puts the viewer into the mind of Prospero – his mind is filled with knowledge from books, he sees the world through his beloved books (and through his very high education). Considering that John Gielgud (Prospero) speaks all the other characters’ lines (until the last act), one could interpret it as being all in his head. At the end, he becomes the creator, writing the actual play – the embodiment of a Renaissance man.
The other actors are good, but this is the John Gielgud show, a veteran Shakespearean actor, who had previously played Prospero in four stage productions. Perhaps the other memorable role/actor is Caliban, played by Michael Clark; the others didn’t really stand out to me (not even a very young Mark Rylance as Ferdinand).
There are over 100 references in the first 4 minutes to mostly fictional characters (and you can see an explanation here). There are also numerous visual references throughout the film to art and books from that era (and before).
The play’s lines are interrupted by descriptions of his books (various types of books – pop-up book etc.), such as a book of water, a book of mirrors, a Memoria Technica called Architecture and Other Music, an Alphabetical inventory of the dead, a book of colors, a harsh book of geometry, an atlas belonging to Orpheus, Vesalius’ lost Anatomy of Birth, a primer of the small stars, a book of universal cosmologies, and many others. The story is also told in flashbacks – Prospero’s memories, and everywhere there are books present – even only as torn pages. To me, it was a sort of visual representation of the literary stream of consciousness technique – a visual stream of consciousness, if you will, which makes sense, since it’s called Prospero’s Books.
The film is very cerebral, very detached, yet very energetic: there’s always motion on screen. Greenaway also manages to instill a tactile sensation in the viewer – you can almost feel the textures of the books. The beautiful costumes, set designs and choreography gives the production an operatic feel.
I would say this is one of Greenaway’s tamest films – not as shocking or controversial as other films of his, probably because of the source material. In most of his movies, Greenaway seems to be attacking the audience with his ideas, subjects and visuals; here, this attack is quite mild (except maybe in some Caliban scenes). The (extensive) nudity is very pure, child-like, innocent; it is not obscene or vulgar (except maybe when Caliban is concerned).
Speaking of detached, in this version of the play, you don’t really feel anything for any character – and you’re not supposed to: it’s all a spectacle, it’s an art book with sound. Which reminds me, this the only version whose music (by Michael Nyman) stayed with me for a longer time.
In short, this is a bibliophile’s wet dream. It would make a good double feature with Greenaway’s other book-centered (or rather writing-centered) film,The Pillow Book.
A Synonym For "Rambling" 
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