Memoirs of a Geisha

Yesterday I wrote about Rome, tonight I write about Japan...hardly.

While in high school I took four years of Japanese as my foreign language. Unfortunately, I remember very little besides a few basic statements, the classroom experiences, and the occasional dream in which the floodgates of repressed subconscious are released in a torrent bilingual bliss.

Nearly ten years removed from the initial learning experience, I have to say, there is still a place in my heart for the Japanese language and culture--the ethnic pride, the commitment to progression at every level, and the fastidious love for the rich history and tradition that set this people group apart.

Tonight I watched the movie Memoirs of a Geisha. Skeptical before the first scene graced the screen, within a few moments I was hooked. The story, the setting, the historical representation, the character, the cast...all made this a great experience. For a disinterested pop culture bystander, this was Hollyweird at its best. As the cliche love story came to a close the tears in the aspiring Geisha's eyes seemed more than legit.

At one point in the movie the Geisha is taught to use sexual persuasion to boost her popularity, enticing her companion with her sexuality by subtly exposing the her wrist--flashing some skin. Man, I wish that was today's standard for sexual temptation. The movie itself depended on story telling rather than boob shots, death, or overused actors.

So, if you are going to rent a movie from the movie machine in your local supermarket like my wife did, check Memoirs of a Geisha out.