Ziyi's fragile radiant presence lights up the screen, the standout scene being her public dance performance which marks her ascension into geishadom.

Memoirs of a Geisha hurts the heart and the brain with its crushing monotony, inert, sub-human dialogue and Marshall's calculated attempt to sell us another Hollywood fairytale of prostitution.

Trying too hard to grab our attention, [Marshall] loses it. The art of the geisha prizes subtlety, stillness, grace. Why doesn't this movie?

When the initially muddled exposition finally begins to take shape and Geisha gets its blood flowing, things improve immeasurably.