When THE COOK, THE THIEF, HIS WIFE AND HER LOVER
was released in the U.S. in the Spring of 1990, it created
more controversy than any film since Pasolini¡¯s SALO. It¡¯s
outrageous treatment and subject matter divided the critics;
they either praised it, labeling it art house masterpiece, or
dismissed it as pretentious rubbish. After revisiting it a
decade later, this viewer believes that perhaps it is a little
of both. Like the Jean Paul Gaultier costumes its
heroine parades around in, THE COOK is a combination of New
Wave Art and street trash, so brilliantly interwoven that it¡¯s
hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. And for its
duration, the film trades in tandem circus like mayhem and
traditional art house beauty. It¡¯s a blend suited for acquired
tastes. Art or Trash? Now that Anchor Bay has released it for
the first time on DVD, viewers can decide for themselves which
view is closer to their own. One thing is certain: a
decade later, THE COOK has lost none of its power to enthrall,
offend, and entertain.
THE COOK seems
particularly potent when compared to the current art house crop,
which seems to gear itself towards mainstream audiences. Nothing
about THE COOK plays into mainstream sensibilities. Those
looking to laugh and cry and are still having orgasms over LIFE IS
BEAUTIFUL or CINEMA PARADISO should probably pass. But for those who
still believe film can be art, that Ingmar Bergman is more important
to the film world than Ron Howard, that film can do more than simply
entertain, and that it is important to expand the existing
boundaries of film, THE COOK is required viewing. That is not
to say it¡¯s going to be any easy viewing.
Most of THE COOK takes place at Le Hollandais, a lush, gourmet
restaurant. The restaurant¡¯s serenity is shattered when Albert
Spica, a vicious gangster (played brilliantly by Michael Gambon) decides to makes the dining spot his nightly hangout.
The lavish room becomes an arena in which he slays without any
regard for humanity. No one seems to suffer more than his wife
Georgina, (played by the stunning Helen Mirren.) She only
seems to escape his wrath when he¡¯s busy terrorizing others.
But eventually, his focus is back to her, even to the point
where he monitors her bathroom privileges. Ironically,
it is on one of her visits to the loo she finds a temporary
escape from his tyrannical reign by becoming involved with a
man she fancies from across the restaurant. They love
secretly, but it isn¡¯t long before Albert is on to them, and
seeks revenge for Georgina¡¯s infidelity.
His acts of revenge are so vividly depicted that one could
argue that they border on exploitation. But the term exploitation
would indicate that the viewer is to seek some cheap thrill from
this violence. The violence is unpleasant as it is meant to be, as
is the violence in SALO, which received similar criticism years
earlier. If one were to get off on this violence, this would speak
volumes about the viewer rather than the work he¡¯s interpreting.
As chaotic as THE COOK gets, Peter Greenway never seems
to loose control of his three-ring circus. He also never
forgets that, no matter how elaborate his vision is, film is a
collaborative art, and he surrounds himself with talents that
are best suited to bring his work to life. His screenplay,
which at times brings with it the lyricalness of the theater,
never becomes kitschy and stagy mainly because of Sacha Viery¡¯
s camera work. Where in LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD, his slowly
camera guided the viewer thought an almost impenetrable text,
his panning camera here serves as an objective viewer, slowly
taken in the mayhem from a distance, rarely allowing
the viewer to get close to its subjects.
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