Synchronicity of form with the content has been an undeniable goal of art since it's conception. In film, that is where real magic starts and there is no master of medium that hasn't mastered this essence. That is visible here as well. Unfortunately, content, if we mean intriguing story, never made it in. What we have is a sorry collection of characters unable to think, act or express themselves - (shall I be guessing) oppressed by their culture? And this is where synchronicity starts: because all the form is just equally inept, unable, clumsy, luke warm, unwilling, closed-off, just as the world it portrays. Credits to the master whose work in its success leaves me nauseated. Shame to the west, whose taste is ignorant to all above, unbearably fake ingredients, cheesy pathos of music - final signature of the Imamura's baton. Not to mention insulting ethics that disturb even a sworn anti-feminist. Thank you very much.