Geisha is an artist of the floating world. She dances.
She sings. She entertains you, whatever you want.
The rest is shadows. The rest is secret.
Supposedly Geishas are not prostitutes, but how do you call selling your virginity for 15,000 Yen? I’d say it’s prostitution in one of its purest forms. But, apparently, there is a difference between the two. It’s subtle, sometimes blurred, but it would be a grave insult to call Geisha a prostitute. Are they or are they not? That is the question you have to answer for yourself. Maybe watching this movie will help. Maybe.
Geisha are not courtesans, and we’re not wives.
We sell our skills, not our bodies. We create another
secret world, a place only of beauty. The very word
Geisha means artist, and to be a Geisha is
to be judged as a moving work of art.
Sad truth is, American movies about Japan are much better than the Japanese ones. Such was the case with The Last Samurai, and so it is with Memoirs of a Geisha. Hollywood has mastered to perfection the art of entertainment. This one is a perfect example to support this thesis. Easy to follow story with lots of twist and turns, stunning visuals, memorable music, sweet ending and the most fitted cast you could imagine. Divinely gorgeous Zhang Ziyi, devilishly beautiful Gong Li and deadly handsome Ken Watanabe. What more could one ask for? It’s not me complaining that the movie is sometimes far off from the historical truth (The Last Samurai, once again). I mean, it’s entertainment. The sole meaning of this word is to have a good time and I, personally, had a really great time.
The only flaw I could name in Memoirs of a Geisha is the use of English as a main movie language with occasional Japanese terms here and there. Other than that, it is, yes, breathtaking from the very first scene till the end.