On Silk
by Lauren Truscott
31st January, 2008

It's been years since I read the Alessandro Barrico novella this film was based off, but what I do remember is its slight weight – the book is 91 pages long, the pages being not much bigger than your average Japanese paperback and a good many of them only half-inscribed...

The book is minimalist and quite heavily stylised in its language. Translating such a book onto celluloid would be a tough ask for anyone.
'Silk', like its namesake, certainly looks the part. The entire film has been beautifully shot, and landscapes that depict the main character, Herve's, crossing of Eurasia are particularly breathtaking. Costumes, sets, every visual has been executed with an eye to even the smallest detail. 'Silk' is sumptuous to look upon. Unfortunately, that's about all the film has to recommend itself.
Plotwise, the film narrative follows the book adequately. Herve Joncour (Michael Pitt), on leave from the French Army in 1862, returns to the small French village where his father is mayor and falls in love with the local school teacher, Helene (Keira Knightley); he's promised a helping hand in marrying her by the entrepreneur, Baldabiou (Alfred Molina), if he agrees to fetch silkworm eggs to replenish the town's disease-ridden stocks. Herve of course agrees, gets to marry Helene, and soon enough is on his way to Japan, where he becomes infatuated with the village headman's beautiful, silent concubine. The rest of the film is concerned with the results of this infatuation over the course of the next decade or so. Coming as it does from such a skeletal book, stretching the film out to two hours was a mistake. The action crawls at a pace that would put a snail to shame, and most of the plot developments are predictable (barring the final denouement, which even in the book I thought was ridiculous).
This was a script that relied heavily on its actors to bring fresh life to characters and stories that audiences these days are all too familiar with. And therein lies my biggest gripe with 'Silk'. In the hands of a charismatic or capable lead actor, the film may have overcome its stilted pacing, but whoever decided to cast Michael Pitt in the lead role might have been better off casting two planks of wood. There's very little connection with the character and no attempts made to connect with the audience; Pitt has, if I might borrow a phrase from Hermione Granger, the emotional range of a teaspoon. Every line (including endless voiceovers) is delivered in the same unremarkable, three note, Romeo-in-the-tenth-grade-play mumble. Pitt looks throughout the entire film either half-asleep, stoned, or suffering the after-effects of a stroke. As a lead actor in a romantic drama about unrequited love and passionate obsession, his is possibly one of the worst performances in recent memory.
It's only Keira Knightley's performance as the faithful Helene that rescues this film from complete frigidity. Known mostly to me in roles where the adjectives 'exaggerated', 'extroverted' or 'spirited' are simply bywords for 'annoying as all buggery', Knightley shows surprising restraint in her portrayal of Helene as the childless wife, growing more weary and heartsore as the years pass, knowing full well her husband's heart is (supposed to be) possessed by another. Despite her dearth of screen time, in the end it is Helene's anguish and turmoil that provides the only real emotional connection within the film.
A side note, but I was disappointed with the film's rather stereotypical portrayal of Japan as the Inscrutable Orient. The village headman is kindness and generosity itself until he ('inevitably', 'inexplicably') turns on Herve. The nameless women are presented as subservient to the point of mutability; the headman's concubine disappears into the onsen waters as though her existence were nothing more than a wisp of smoke. Japanese women here are basically reduced to sexual objects, so much so the only one permitted to speak is a prostitute, plying her trade in France. Incredibly disappointing.
Overall, 'Silk' is a beautiful looking film that is seriously hampered with issues of pacing and a lead actor who couldn't act his way out of a mime's imaginary box. Devotees of landscapes, cinematography, or Keira Knightley might get something out of it, but for the general populace… do yourself a favour and just read the book (it'll take less time).