All About the Back

You walk two miles and what do you get? Clashing crazies.

Walking over to the VMFA for the Tattoo Arts and Film Festival, I saw the anti-abortion nuts picketing on Grove Avenue first. A guy walking toward me began yelling at them from across the street.

"You're as misguided as those guys!" he hollered, gesturing at the supporters of the Confederate flag, two of whom had set up camp directly in front of my favorite museum entrance on the Boulevard, sitting in chairs with two large flagpoles mounted to the curb behind them flying the stars and bars.

Once the guy got to the corner, he directed his ire at the Confederates, yelling, "Boo!" at them ten or twelve times to make his point. The rebels just gave him a thumbs up and grinned.

Ignoring all of them, I headed into the museum, a guard saying good morning and holding the door open for me, to get a ticket for the 1946 Japanese movie, "Utamaro and His Five Women."

The crowd was small, probably due to the ungodly hour (10:30 on a Saturday morning, although maybe also because it was in black and white and subtitled) and about evenly made up of white hairs - my guess was long-time members - and tattooed people.

Making my way to my favorite row, I heard a man mention a film about WPA art and stopped to ask him when that was happening since that's a period I'm fascinated by. "I just saw it on the screen," he said, gesturing, meaning he hadn't noticed any details.

Once seated, I gave the screen my full attention, only to be shocked and flattered when it said, "VMFA Film Events thanks..." and listed my name and blog along with heavy hitters such as Style Weekly. It's not like anyone in the auditorium noticed or cared, but it was some kind of cool for me.

Meanwhile, Japanese pop and punk music was playing overhead to set the mood for what we were about to see. Takahiro Kitamura, curator of the Japanese tattoo exhibit upstairs, spoke first, explaining that the movie had been made in occupied Japan at a time when the Allied Forces preferred that they not make films about Japanese history.

The film was based on the life of Utamaro, an 18th century woodblock printmaker who took his inspiration from beautiful women without loving any particular one. The iconic scene has him painting an image on a woman's back so that it can be tattooed by a tattoo artist who didn't feel he was capable of doing the woman's beauty justice.

In another, one of the court-appointed artists challenges him to a duel after he writes on one of his prints that his art is more life-like than theirs. Instead of swords, he and Utamaro have a drawing contest and it's immediately obvious who's the better artist.

Mizoguchi's directing style was striking for the absence of closeups, making it tough sometimes to identify the large cast of characters from a distance, but the atmospheric black and white scenes contributed to a classic, timeless feel.

Not 45 minutes into the movie, the woman beside me whispered to her husband, "What is this movie about?" and not long after, the woman behind me who'd spent far too much time annoyingly crinkling candy wrappers for half an hour fell asleep and began rhythmically snoring.

As a VMFA member myself, I had no compunction about clearing my throat loudly to wake her up.

The film ends satisfyingly with a bunch of Utamaro's drawings being tossed on the ground, giving the audience its first glimpse of the man's talent. I could see what all the fuss was about: his depictions of women were exquisite.

Walking out afterwards, I heard my name called and a gallerist with a tattoo artist daughter caught up to me to find out how I'd liked the film. Turns out she'd seen it years ago and had been so impressed by its beauty and storytelling that she'd come back for a second chance to see it.

I'm not that cool, but it was worth a 4+ mile walk to see my first Mizoguchi, even with two contingents of crazies along the way.

Cue whistling, then carry me back to ole Jackson Ward, where we don't have this kind of nonsense going on.