
A brief synopsis might explain that the film deals with three generations of women in a single family (all named identically) who become empowered to correct their marriages by murder most foul. However, that is merely the armature from which the most interesting flesh of the story hangs. A lascivious yet kind Coroner and his bravely precocious son find themselves protective of the three women as battle lines are drawn among the denizens of their small beach village. Somewhere amongst this action are unearthed numbered clues, mementos, incidentals and layers of games. Each game more complex and odder than its predecessor, eventually taking on the prize of mortality itself.
DROWNING BY NUMBERS, though planted in a wickedly perverse universe, is a pleasure to watch. None of the dour Germanic overtones infect Peter Greenaway's almost mythical tale, complete with its surreal and symbolic visions. Instead, his artistic eye and immovable subjective faith in enigmas are given almost total freedom, for which we are entirely glad. From the rowdy carnality and hedonism of the film's chosen family I continually found the story buoyed by the bemused character of the eldest Cissy, played by Joan Plowright. She is the perfect antipode to any comedic stereotype, carrying a sincere grace about her even when confronted by the process of retribution which runs down through her daughter and grand-daughter. She acquaints herself almost regally with the considerations which are raised about family, marriage, love, sex, aging, loyalty. The camaraderie of these sensitive and sensual women is a joy to watch, though you would not want to cross them. Juliet Stevenson and Joely Richarson are the younger of the women, each bringing a professional tact and commitment to their parts. I say commitment, because like the equally famous Greenaway film, THE COOK, THE THIEF, HIS WIFE AND HER LOVER, total nudity and erotic situations are numerous and compromising. Bernard Hill as the Coroner is the hedonistic erstwhile lover of all the women, if only in his inescapable desire. He's an actor with a large range and plays his lusty country gentleman in a perfect pitch.

Peter Greenaway is a smart man, a literate man, and an auteur who arguably stands with only Derek Jarman atop the list of indispensable British "art movie" directors. It is something of a head-scratcher if the viewer approaches it looking for traditional sets of surface narrative and meaning, but let yourself be swept along by the shenanigans in this world of numbers and you're in for a pleasure.
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