The film version of Aurthur Golden’s masterpiece novel Memoirs of a Geisha reflects the characteristics of geisha themselves: aesthetically and visually stunning, without any emotional intensity.
            In structure, the film follows the general plotline of the novel moderately well, with the exception of its overall demonstrative depth.  Apart from the cinematography, many internal aspects of the film – including character development, and general conflict, were severely minimized in the big screen version.
            The memoirs are reflections of a geisha named Chiyo, played by Ziya Zhang, who unveils her turbulent path, from smelly fishing girl to most desired woman in Japan.  When she and her sister are sold from their family, she is sent to the Nitta Okiya, a home for training geishas, while her sister is sent to be a prostitute.  Through setbacks which are the fault of the leading geisha of the Okiya, Hatsumomo, played by Li Gong – Chiyo lives as a servant for many years.  Finally, she is “adopted” by the only geisha who is more desired than the evil Hatsumomo, Mameha, played by Michelle Yeoh.  Mameha then selflessly trains Chiyo to become a legendary and unforgettably influential geisha, renamed Sayuri.
            In the novel, the character of Hatsumomo is the most fascinatingly dynamic and wonderfully wicked of the bunch – a true villain who could give Othello’s Iago a run for his money.  I admit that I was disappointed when the film version downplayed her viciousness into a mere spoiled brat.
            The character of Chiyo, however, was wonderfully recreated by Zhang, with a sweet simplicity which I was worried would be over-complicated on film.
            The cinematography in Memoirs iswhere the film excels to Oscar level.  Vivid colors, stunning costumes, and breathtaking framed shots of the architecture and inspiration of Kyoto, Japan quickly made me forget how much of the depth of the story was forgotten.  Intriguing and reflective shots were created to heighten the story, which revealed the beauty and peace of Japanese tradition and culture.
            Although I enjoyed how dazzling the film was visually, it sacrificed the story’s heart for some impressive eye candy.  This story is a period piece, which allows complex sets and props, but the story itself is so dynamic that it really could be performed onstage without any of the hub-bub, and be equally as beautiful. 
            I would suggest seeing the film before reading the novel, if you have the choice.  You’ll be able to be enchanted and memorized by its visual majesty, without knowing that it is a rich eastern story poisoned by Westernized, Hollywood fluff.