ENO's La Traviata - exceeds expectations (REVIEW)

REVIEW: LA TRAVIATO, VERDI, ENO, 2006

Friday night I went to the Coliseum in London to watch the ENO's new production of Verdi's La Traviata. This timeless tale is one of my favourite operas and I have viewed numerous versions over the years. The pinnacle of all my La Traviata experiences, so far, has been an amazing, deeply moving and strongly sung performance from the Royal Opera House, whilst in exile from Covent Garden during refurbishment, at London's Albert Hall. It was a sparsely furnished production with Elena Kelessidi, mesmerising as Violetta, and Marcelo Alvaros, the famous Argentine tenor, as a buoyant Alfredo.

Friday's outing of La Traviata was a far less scintillating experience, in all departments, but having said that, this production, which was absolutely savaged by London's critics, proved to be enjoyable and competent. Musically there was much to recommend it: Emma Bell's Violetta was confident, expressive and fluent; Dwayne Jones (Alfredo) had a pleasant lyric tenor voice and James Westman as Alfredo's father Germont, was pleasing enough, although perhaps his voice was a little young for the role, while James Darlington conducted the ENO orchestra with bold flair - although, very occasionally the orchestra overwhelmed the singers on stage - notably the close of Act II.

Bell's Violetta was an undeniably strong-willed woman - perhaps even a little too robust for the role - but I enjoyed her brimming self-confidence and felt it all the more powerfully, as a result, when she was reduced to such weakness and lethargy by her illness. Jones's Alfredo, in contrast, was a pudgy dweeb, for whom Violetta clearly felt no attraction in Act I, even while admiring his consistent ardency. However, by Act II, it is clear that his earnest, artless love wins Violetta's heart and in this sense, the production, rather strangely, worked. It was an interesting reading of Verdi's great work, and in fact a more realistic take too, as all too often we have tubby tenors straining and failing to be glamorous, romantic heroes. Jones's Alfredo was therefore almost comically peevish when Violetta leaves him (urged by his father) and he turns up at a party where Violetta is in attendance with her new client/lover The Baron. But again, this somehow worked, as the pent-up nerdy Alfredo seemed even more endangered, more vulnerable, in his innocent rage. The final scene, set in a dilapidated tenement, starkly showed how far Violetta had fallen in fortune, as well as health.

Set design was good, even elegant, and direction, by first-timer Conan Morrison, was competent, if uninspired. However, the foremost factor underpinning this new production, which drew stern criticism, was the moving of La Traviata from nineteenth century Paris to same-era Dublin, during the Irish Famine. Reviewers were at a loss as to why this had been effected - and they have a fair point. Aside from party revellers necking Guinness straight from the bottle, and a backdrop in Act I of St Patrick's cathedral, there was little sign that this was set in Dublin at all. Still, this move did not deserve the outpouring of vitriole reviewers targeted this production with. Indeed, the interval 'buzz' focused largely on how the critics had panned this production out of spite more than reason.

Overall, this was a tale well-told, well-sung and received with affection by an audience who had clearly warmed to this troupe of ENO performers, who sang their hearts out, in defiance of the production's undeserved critical slating.

UKTV Drama's Classic Books season (NEWS/EDITORIAL)

I have been away for a few days and unfortunately missed Daniel Deronda, which was broadcast on UKTV Drama last night (Saturday), as part of their Classic Books Season. I have seen Daniel Deronda before, and was very impressed with Romola Garai in the role of Gwendolen Harleth - one of my favourite literary (anti)-heroines - and Hugh Dancy as Daniel Deronda. Daniel Deronda is a frustrating, yet brilliant work from George Eliot - and in the TV version, as with the novel, I always find myself rooting for the self-centred but charismatic Gwendolen to win Daniel's heart, instead of saccharine-sweet and godly Mirah (Jodhi May in the TV adaptation). Daniel Deronda was a lavish BBC production, but less successful it seems than most.

So far UKTV Drama's Classic Books Season has featured Moll Flanders (first broadcast on ITV), Middlemarch, Scarlet and Black, and last week, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, which to my mind, was a far better Bronte adaptation (this time, Anne Bronte) than BBC1's recent Jane Eyre. Notably Toby Stephens was the love interest in both adaptations - ten years apart. And again, I warmed more to his fresh, freckle-faced farmer, Gilbert Markham, in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, than I did his brooding, witty but occasionally strained Rochester, in Jane Eyre.

The final adaptation to feature in UKTV Drama's Classic Book Season will be Austen's Persuasion, first aired in 1995 on BBC1. Having missed much of the season I am hoping these adaptations will soon be repeated.

Halo loses its shine (NEWS)

The much-anticipated filmic adaptation of the video game Halo, has been shelved, for now - the direct result of Universal and Fox pulling out of the project. Spiralling costs - rumoured at $145m - are being cited as the key cause for pull-out. Microsoft still hopes to engage the interest of another studio.

Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love (NEWS)

According to The Guardian, Julia Roberts is to star in an adaptation of Elizabeth Gilbert's memoirs, Eat, Pray, Love - the tale of a dissatisfied wife and mother who dramatically ups sticks. Ryan Murphy is to write the script.

Pitt to take lead role in State of Play remake (NEWS)

The BBC mini-series State of Play, a contemporary political drama, is due to be re-made as a film by Universal, with Matthew Carnahan at the helm. Paul Abbott, the series's screenwriter, has revealed in a BBC Radio Five Live interview, that Brad Pitt is being lined up to play Cal McCaffrey, the journalist at the heart of the story. McCaffrey was played in the TV version by John Simm. Bill Nighy won a BAFTA for his role as a newspaper editor. More info available at The Guardian, rumoured to be the inspiration for the newspaper which features prominently in the series.

Rachel McAdams to be The Time Traveller's Wife? (NEWS)

According to reports on Oscarwatch.com, Rachel McAdams is set to take on the role of the time-traveller's wife, from the best-selling novel by the same name, penned by Audrey Niffenegger. Previous rumours had cited Jennifer Aniston in the role.

Bronte buzz set to continue this weekend on the BBC (NEWS)

The BBC is capitalising this weekend on the fervent interest in the Brontes stoked by its recent adaptation of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. The broadcaster is transmitting its tele-film version of Jean Rhys's Wide Sargasso Sea this Sunday night, the 22nd October, on BBC1, at 9.00pm. Wide Sargasso Sea was first aired on Monday, October 9th, on the BBC's digital channel BBC 4. For my review, click here.

The 1996 BBC adaptation of Anne Bronte's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is to be shown on UKTV Drama on Saturday, 21st October, at 8.00pm. This was an interesting production and of course starred Toby Stephens, the latest Mr Rochester, as one of the Brontes's lesser-known heroic lights Gilbert Markham. His co-star was Tara Fitzgerald as Helen Graham/Huntingdon - one of my favourite literary heroines - who played Aunt Reed in Jane Eyre. Notably Pam Ferris, who made for an excellent Grace Poole, plays Mrs Markham in The Tenant.

Catherine Steadman cast in Mansfield Park 2007 NEWS)

IMDB is listing actress Catherine Steadman as Julia Bertram in next year's ITV adaptation of Austen's Mansfield Park. Filming is currently underway.

Just to add, at IMDB there are also some fabulous new photos kindly taken by an extra on the set of Persuasion, filming in Bath. Elsewhere the poster claims this film will be aired on ITV next March ... can't come soon enough!

Review: Jane Eyre, BBC1 - Episode Four

REVIEW: JANE EYRE 4/4, CHARLOTTE BRONTE, BBC 1, 2006

The final episode of the BBC's Jane Eyre was a decidedly mixed bag and rounds off a similarly mixed, though enjoyable series. We have had strong acting performances and lush cinematographic delights but also a stolid, rather uninspiring interpretation of Charlotte Bronte's classic novel and at times, a far from dazzling display of directorial imagination from Susanna White, who promised so much with last year's triumphant Bleak House.

Here White clearly felt it necessary to spice up what is generally perceived to be the dullest passage of events in the novel, at the Rivers household, with a fractured, non-linear narrative, utilising multiple flashbacks, which strive to keep Rochester on-screen for as long as possible without destabilising narrative coherence. Unfortunately the Rochester/Jane chemistry failed to sizzle, despite (and perhaps because of) extraordinarily determined efforts to ramp up their sexual connection. Indeed, there were admittedly a few too many moments in this final episode where my eyes strayed to the remote control and I had to bravely resist the very real attraction of Prime Suspect, the excellent crime drama, which was airing on ITV.

This was not the worst episode of the series. That rather dubious honour falls to the opener, which brushed aside much of Jane's childhood, in its unseemly haste to get to the 'action' - the central romance between Jane and Rochester. After the myriad media and PR articles I've waded through regarding this adaptation, I've come to the conclusion that BBC producers were all too desperate to recreate the famous 'Darcy' effect of 1995's superb (and superior) Pride and Prejudice, positioning Rochester as the ultimate Romantic Hero. To some extent this has worked, judging by comments circulating on the Internet, and indeed an extremely swooning conversation I overheard between three ladies in a restaurant on Saturday, which was bordering on fanatical stalker-mode - Toby Stephens beware! But Colin Firth's crown as king of the 'Classic' romance has not been truly dislodged here - barely even struck a mildly glancing blow, if last night's romantic denouement was anything to go by.

Indeed, the high point of both the series and the central couple's 'chemistry' occured early in Episode Two, soon after Jane rescued Rochester from a potential fiery grave in his own bedchamber. And in truth, the best of the pair has been epitomised by their teasing verbal exchanges, expressing a meeting of minds, rather than those scenes deadset on emphasising their passionate physical proximity. Late in Episode Four, Rochester tells Jane they are not the sort to be 'platonic'. Sorry, but no. Not in this reviewer's opinion at any rate.

And there is evidence a-plenty in this episode where flashbacks, bathed in the unsubtle glow of 'sexy' red light, depict Rochester clumsily astride Jane, muttering sweet nothings while caressing her neck. Frankly I was relieved when these flashbacks faded to the blue-toned reality of Jane's present life with the Rivers. Jane sobs in frustration and grief at losing her past life and love. In this sense, the flashbacks served a purpose in bolstering narrative momentum, but otherwise I found them embarrassing and a little unnecessary (and most certainly not as a point of 'prudishness').

For me the problem was Rochester - well, Toby Stephens - who suddenly, most unexpectedly, struck me as LESS Rochester, and so very, very 'TOBY-ish' with his inimitable talent for super-fine, snarky lip-curling. This was all the more unaccountable, as Toby was far from any lip-curling antics in his current impassioned, loved-up state - and to be fair, this was the first time I had found myself recalling his more intertextual qualities since, well, Episode One - which surely says alot in favour of his portrayal of Rochester for most of the series at any rate.

Less jarring were the flashbacks which depicted Jane's aborted wedding: the bible falling to the ground as the news is broken in church; Jane in her wedding regalia running upstairs at Thornfield leaving a trail of crushed, soft, white petals from her posy; and her departure from Thornfield - although this was slightly marred by her catching sight of the red scarf wafting from a window in the North Tower, which has been deployed as a rather over-done metaphor for Bertha's presence throughout the series. Jane also appeared to emulate aspects of Bertha in this episode, as she too is seen to watch from a lead-latticed window at the Rivers household - perhaps signifying that a marriage to St. John Rivers would be a similar incarceration, a confinement of her free spirit.

Having said that, I thoroughly enjoyed the scenes with the Rivers - far more than the supposed dramatic clinchers featuring Rochester. Having rescued Jane from her destitute, near-death state on bleak, isolated moorland, (a scene mildly reminiscent of the opening of Episode One with a young Jane wandering through a desert), the Rivers family are portrayed here with bustling comfort - apart from St. John, played admirably well here by Andrew Buchan, who is a darker, stiller presence compared to his lively sisters Diana and Mary.

Indeed, Buchan has proved to be one of the stand-out performers of the entire series. St. John's exchanges with Jane make no attempt to 'electrify' and are consequently more natural and realistic in tone, eliciting excellent performances and a heartfelt, friendly repartee from both Buchan and Ruth Wilson (Jane). We have a powerful sense of St. John as a fundamentally good man; a man, who Jane informs him in a forthright manner, 'trembles' when Miss Oliver (who he is in love with) enters the room, while he himself admits that his 'skin may burn with fever' but he is a cold man, controlled by his puritanical zeal to pursue Godly works.

He emerges as a strongly sympathetic character - perhaps more so than Bronte herself intended - and the scene where he informs Jane of her new-found fortune and relations (himself and his sisters) was the best of the entire episode. Jane's unbridled joy is delightful, infectious ... but we never doubt the sagacity of her decision not to marry St. John. This is distinctly unlike the (perhaps) woefully miscast St. John Rivers of the 1997 ITV series of Jane Eyre, where the delectable Rupert Penry-Jones was rejected in favour of a decidedly unappealing Rochester, played here by the usually formidable Ciaran Hinds.

Jane contemplates her decision, her life, her continuing desire for Rochester, atop a precariously high rocky escarpment, set amidst gloriously bleak and wild Derbyshire countryside - a scene strangely reminiscent of a more recent Pride and Prejudice outing, the 2005 film, where Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet stands perilously aloft a vertiginously steep cliff-face, overlooking similar Romanticised scenery, gusting eddies of wind threatening to dash her to her doom at any given moment. Ironically, this scene was often described by critics as a little too Brontean for an Austen adaptation - and yet here we have a definitive Bronte adaptation appearing to emulate an Austen.

Back at Thornfield (her decision made off-screen), we have a disconsolate Jane eyeing a woefully burned pile of ruins and in flashback she is told the sad tale of Bertha's demise and the fire that destroyed Rochester's home. Oddly, given the highly dramatic source material, these scenes are determinedly dull and underwhelming. Bertha, clad in a voluminous white night-gown trails a flaming wedding dress (oh, the symbolism) along a shadowy corridor. Then, half-heartedly pursued by Rochester, whose face is expressive more of mild peevishness than stark panic in spite of the circumstances, she flings herself from the castle battlements. Her descent is matched by the soaring fall, then flight, of a white barn-owl, before the camera reveals her prostrate form on the ground below, arms outstretched, face down. The scene is clunkily-crafted and fails to excite.

Jane is next seen wandering through a misty forest complete with tall, dark trees and vaguely creepy music, but ... all is well. We encounter a pleasant limestone house now occupied by a limping, blind Rochester. Jane brings him a tray of tea-things and then combs his hair, much in the manner of a nursemaid attending to her patient in a retirement home. The effect is stultifying, even chilling, so it is not a surprise when Rochester swiftly and earnestly begs for a wife instead, much to Jane's smirking pleasure.

They embrace, kiss, hold each other, and the camera pans to the fast-flowing river, symbolic (presumably) of the passing of time as we next see them, children in tow, and the Rivers in attendance, preparing a family portrait sitting. They are to be painted amidst an ordered, manicured garden, with a sedate red-brick house, a far cry from the Gothic, ruggedly masculine splendours of Thornfield, serving as a backdrop to their pleasant party. There is a final 'framing' of this parting shot with a slightly tacky floral border - perhaps a heavy-handed symbolic signifier that Jane's 'feminine' has finally exerted control, she has mastered her own narrative, and Rochester has been tamed into Victorian domesticana.

See Reviews of Jane Eyre: Episodes 1, 2 and 3. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.

NOTE - this review is repeated below, without the title, as for some strange and inexplicable reason I have been informed that some readers cannot access this review WITH the title included (??? ... beats me) - so apologies for the 'double' post in this instance. 'Gallivant.'

The final episode of the BBC's Jane Eyre was a decidedly mixed bag and rounds off a similarly mixed, though enjoyable series. We have had strong acting performances and lush cinematographic delights but also a stolid, rather uninspiring interpretation of Charlotte Bronte's classic novel and at times, a far from dazzling display of directorial imagination from Susanna White, who promised so much with last year's triumphant Bleak House.

Here White clearly felt it necessary to spice up what is generally perceived to be the dullest passage of events in the novel, at the Rivers household, with a fractured, non-linear narrative, utilising multiple flashbacks, which strive to keep Rochester on-screen for as long as possible without destabilising narrative coherence. Unfortunately the Rochester/Jane chemistry failed to sizzle, despite (and perhaps because of) extraordinarily determined efforts to ramp up their sexual connection. Indeed, there were admittedly a few too many moments in this final episode where my eyes strayed to the remote control and I had to bravely resist the very real attraction of Prime Suspect, the excellent crime drama, which was airing on ITV.

This was not the worst episode of the series. That rather dubious honour falls to the opener, which brushed aside much of Jane's childhood, in its unseemly haste to get to the 'action' - the central romance between Jane and Rochester. After the myriad media and PR articles I've waded through regarding this adaptation, I've come to the conclusion that BBC producers were all too desperate to recreate the famous 'Darcy' effect of 1995's superb (and superior) Pride and Prejudice, positioning Rochester as the ultimate Romantic Hero. To some extent this has worked, judging by comments circulating on the Internet, and indeed an extremely swooning conversation I overheard between three ladies in a restaurant on Saturday, which was bordering on fanatical stalker-mode - Toby Stephens beware! But Colin Firth's crown as king of the 'Classic' romance has not been truly dislodged here - barely even struck a mildly glancing blow, if last night's romantic denouement was anything to go by.

Indeed, the high point of both the series and the central couple's 'chemistry' occured early in Episode Two, soon after Jane rescued Rochester from a potential fiery grave in his own bedchamber. And in truth, the best of the pair has been epitomised by their teasing verbal exchanges, expressing a meeting of minds, rather than those scenes deadset on emphasising their passionate physical proximity. Late in Episode Four, Rochester tells Jane they are not the sort to be 'platonic'. Sorry, but no. Not in this reviewer's opinion at any rate.

And there is evidence a-plenty in this episode where flashbacks, bathed in the unsubtle glow of 'sexy' red light, depict Rochester clumsily astride Jane, muttering sweet nothings while caressing her neck. Frankly I was relieved when these flashbacks faded to the blue-toned reality of Jane's present life with the Rivers. Jane sobs in frustration and grief at losing her past life and love. In this sense, the flashbacks served a purpose in bolstering narrative momentum, but otherwise I found them embarrassing and a little unnecessary (and most certainly not as a point of 'prudishness').

For me the problem was Rochester - well, Toby Stephens - who suddenly, most unexpectedly, struck me as LESS Rochester, and so very, very 'TOBY-ish' with his inimitable talent for super-fine, snarky lip-curling. This was all the more unaccountable, as Toby was far from any lip-curling antics in his current impassioned, loved-up state - and to be fair, this was the first time I had found myself recalling his more intertextual qualities since, well, Episode One - which surely says alot in favour of his portrayal of Rochester for most of the series at any rate.

Less jarring were the flashbacks which depicted Jane's aborted wedding: the bible falling to the ground as the news is broken in church; Jane in her wedding regalia running upstairs at Thornfield leaving a trail of crushed, soft, white petals from her posy; and her departure from Thornfield - although this was slightly marred by her catching sight of the red scarf wafting from a window in the North Tower, which has been deployed as a rather over-done metaphor for Bertha's presence throughout the series. Jane also appeared to emulate aspects of Bertha in this episode, as she too is seen to watch from a lead-latticed window at the Rivers household - perhaps signifying that a marriage to St. John Rivers would be a similar incarceration, a confinement of her free spirit.

Having said that, I thoroughly enjoyed the scenes with the Rivers - far more than the supposed dramatic clinchers featuring Rochester. Having rescued Jane from her destitute, near-death state on bleak, isolated moorland, (a scene mildly reminiscent of the opening of Episode One with a young Jane wandering through a desert), the Rivers family are portrayed here with bustling comfort - apart from St. John, played admirably well here by Andrew Buchan, who is a darker, stiller presence compared to his lively sisters Diana and Mary.

Indeed, Buchan has proved to be one of the stand-out performers of the entire series. St. John's exchanges with Jane make no attempt to 'electrify' and are consequently more natural and realistic in tone, eliciting excellent performances and a heartfelt, friendly repartee from both Buchan and Ruth Wilson (Jane). We have a powerful sense of St. John as a fundamentally good man; a man, who Jane informs him in a forthright manner, 'trembles' when Miss Oliver (who he is in love with) enters the room, while he himself admits that his 'skin may burn with fever' but he is a cold man, controlled by his puritanical zeal to pursue Godly works.

He emerges as a strongly sympathetic character - perhaps more so than Bronte herself intended - and the scene where he informs Jane of her new-found fortune and relations (himself and his sisters) was the best of the entire episode. Jane's unbridled joy is delightful, infectious ... but we never doubt the sagacity of her decision not to marry St. John. This is distinctly unlike the (perhaps) woefully miscast St. John Rivers of the 1997 ITV series of Jane Eyre, where the delectable Rupert Penry-Jones was rejected in favour of a decidedly unappealing Rochester, played here by the usually formidable Ciaran Hinds.

Jane contemplates her decision, her life, her continuing desire for Rochester, atop a precariously high rocky escarpment, set amidst gloriously bleak and wild Derbyshire countryside - a scene strangely reminiscent of a more recent Pride and Prejudice outing, the 2005 film, where Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet stands perilously aloft a vertiginously steep cliff-face, overlooking similar Romanticised scenery, gusting eddies of wind threatening to dash her to her doom at any given moment. Ironically, this scene was often described by critics as a little too Brontean for an Austen adaptation - and yet here we have a definitive Bronte adaptation appearing to emulate an Austen.

Back at Thornfield (her decision made off-screen), we have a disconsolate Jane eyeing a woefully burned pile of ruins and in flashback she is told the sad tale of Bertha's demise and the fire that destroyed Rochester's home. Oddly, given the highly dramatic source material, these scenes are determinedly dull and underwhelming. Bertha, clad in a voluminous white night-gown trails a flaming wedding dress (oh, the symbolism) along a shadowy corridor. Then, half-heartedly pursued by Rochester, whose face is expressive more of mild peevishness than stark panic in spite of the circumstances, she flings herself from the castle battlements. Her descent is matched by the soaring fall, then flight, of a white barn-owl, before the camera reveals her prostrate form on the ground below, arms outstretched, face down. The scene is clunkily-crafted and fails to excite.

Jane is next seen wandering through a misty forest complete with tall, dark trees and vaguely creepy music, but ... all is well. We encounter a pleasant limestone house now occupied by a limping, blind Rochester. Jane brings him a tray of tea-things and then combs his hair, much in the manner of a nursemaid attending to her patient in a retirement home. The effect is stultifying, even chilling, so it is not a surprise when Rochester swiftly and earnestly begs for a wife instead, much to Jane's smirking pleasure.

They embrace, kiss, hold each other, and the camera pans to the fast-flowing river, symbolic (presumably) of the passing of time as we next see them, children in tow, and the Rivers in attendance, preparing a family portrait sitting. They are to be painted amidst an ordered, manicured garden, with a sedate red-brick house, a far cry from the Gothic, ruggedly masculine splendours of Thornfield, serving as a backdrop to their pleasant party. There is a final 'framing' of this parting shot with a slightly tacky floral border - perhaps a heavy-handed symbolic signifier that Jane's 'feminine' has finally exerted control, she has mastered her own narrative, and Rochester has been tamed into Victorian domesticana.

See Reviews of Jane Eyre: Episodes 1, 2 and 3. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.

On-set photos of 2007 Persuasion (NEWS)

On-set photos have emerged of ITV's 2007 production of Persuasion. The photos depict a market scene at a street in Bath, where the film is being largely produced. A visitor to IMDB, cosmicforces, has posted their shots here. Meanwhile Austenblog reveals more on-set photos, as taken by eyewitness reporter Owen, available here.

That 'nice' Mr Rochester loses his romantic gloss and turns Mr Nasty in BBC4's Wide Sargasso Sea (REVIEW)

REVIEW: WIDE SARGASSO SEA, JEAN RHYS, BBC4, 2006

BBC 4's filmic adaptation of Jean Rhys's Wide Sargasso Sea is an exotic joy, stunningly filmed with glorious, lush production values and strong acting performances all-round. The musical scoring is especially noteworthy - evocative, mood-making, quite brilliant.

The production company behind this venture is Kudos - best-known for the brilliant BBC series Spooks - and there is definitely a contemporary feel to this, even though it is a period piece. The original novel, written in 1966 by Jean Rhys as a prequel to Jane Eyre, charts the story of Antoinette Cosway, (known in Jane Eyre as Bertha Mason), Edward Rochester's first wife - the notorious madwoman in the attic who has become a powerful feminist symbol of female entrapment by patriarchy in the nineteenth century. The novel is part of what is seen in literary circles as the 'writing back' movement, where modern writers are inspired to write their own alternate versions of well-known stories. In this instance, Rhys crafted a work, which resurrected the muted voice of Bertha Mason. Much of the tale is relayed as her first person narrative - although notably Rhys has given Rochester a narratorial voice too.

The novel is seen as an important work in postcolonial studies, exploring the life of a Caribbean White Creole - a woman living on the cusp of society, fully accepted by neither blacks nor whites. Rhys also explored the latent sexism of Charlotte Bronte's work, in that Rochester is granted a second chance - unlike his poor wife. Arguably Jane, while something of a feminist icon herself of course, is perceived as the acceptable face of womanhood - in stark contrast to Bertha, whose unbridled passions set her apart from society, a malignant symbol of non-femininity.

In Wide Sargasso Sea, after a passionate but brief courtship and an initially happy honeymoon, the mood soon sours as Rochester, led on by Antoinette's sinister half-brother, comes to believe that she, like her mother, is mad. Of course his fears are based on his own insecurity as a rather uptight English gentleman, who feels he is out of control, cut adrift on a strange Jamaican plantation, peopled by black servants and talk of magic. He is also distressed at his animal passions - again, a sense of losing control. His subsequent cruel rejection of Antoinette is shown to be the primary reason for her mental 'instability' - a punishment for her ardent, sensuous nature.

We don't miss a beat with this BBC4 adaptation, as scripted by Stephen Greenhorn. Brendan Maher's direction is striking; cinematography is simply stunning, augmented by lingering shots of mountains wreathed in magical blue mist. We have a powerful sense of the enchanted yet uncertain world Rochester feels he has found himself in. Hand-held camera-work and zoom lenses, in addition to some quickfire editing, occasionally intercutting various scenes with each other, subtly perpetuate a sense of uncertainty, with sometimes electrifying results.

Rafe Spall plays Rochester. He is portrayed here as a pretty loathsome character, even from the outset, and Spall, to his credit, carries off this role with some aplomb. Rochester is seen to be self-seeking, suspicious of novelty (he fears Jamaica), posh and sarcastic. A true cold fish. He is not trusted by Antoinette's Aunt Cora (Victoria Hamilton) who warns Antoinette - but she is too much in love.

Her passion for Rochester is evoked through a series of close, intimate scenes - the camera lingering on her graceful neck, his hands resting on her belly, and when they are married, by numerous graphic scenes of their love-making. Antoinette's erotic awakening is key to the tale and enacted with delicacy and charm by Rebecca Hall, who is simply wonderful in this role. She is artless, loving and wholly sympathetic throughout.

This is also a tale of Rochester's erotic awakening - but he is less pleased it seems to give vent to his passionate nature, hence he turns to loveless aggression, in a drive to reassert his self-control. He prefers to view Antoinette's free spirit as lunacy, and is suddenly revolted by her sexuality, deemed so unbecoming in an English gentlewoman. Thus he chooses to torment her by having loud sex with the maidservant Amelie within her earshot. He also decides to change her name to Bertha - a splendid scene where Antoinette loudly, angrily grieves the loss of her name, her sense of self, dismantled at will by her domineering husband in a desperate attempt to exert his control, to tame her.

It is genuinely hard to see any redeeming features in Spall's portrayal of Rochester - which is a fair reading of Rhys's novel, even though Rochester is genuinely paranoid amidst his strange surroundings, but proves unwilling to adapt. In the film, Christophine, Antoinette's nanny, played here by Nina Sosanya in fantastic form, is duly chilling in her obvious distaste for Rochester. Amelie (Lorraine Burroughs) is vile to Antoinette, calling her a 'white cockroach' - a term of abuse for a white creole. Antoinette tells Rochester that she has suffered this and other insults, 'white nigger', all her life ... but he is not interested in her harsh and isolating experiences, adrift on the racial margins of society, and he elects instead to defend Amelie, the aggressor in her confrontation with Antoinette.

There is a pleasing symmetry to this film - the opening scenes depict Antoinette/Bertha wandering the long, dark corridors at Thornfield with a candle in hand, awed by the looming portraits of Rochester's ancestors. She sees Rochester sleeping, and tenderly strokes his hand - a scene intercut with snippets recalling their love-making. The memory torments her. Wild-faced she turns and stares at a painting which depicts Spanish Town in Jamaica ... it is a useful framing device through which we enter the past, taking us to the start of the narrative with Rochester's arrival and his first meeting with Antoinette.

The film closes with Antoinette/Bertha staring at a mirror. Rochester tells her they are going home to where she can be looked after, although she reminds him that the doctors will say whatever he wants them to say. Notably we have had no true sign of Antoinette/Bertha's mental disorder by this stage - simply the genuinely-felt outpourings of a girl haunted by fear of rejection and dark memories, now forsaken by the man she loves, in callous fashion.

She is dressed in black, which is a fitting signifier of the mournful loss of her life, of all she loved, in return for unjust incarceration at the hands of a stranger. He asks her to trust him, to which she replies, 'how can I, when I know nothing about you?' Behind her black hat is a vase of vivid red flowers - a colour used in conjunction with Antoinette, representing her passionate nature, and once much-loved by Rochester who at one point insists she wears a low-cut red dress. Red too are the flames which engulf Thornfield and eventually Antoinette/Bertha as the action returns to the film's beginning. Which is in fact the end.

Since Wide Sargasso Sea was first published, in some ways the novel and its tragic protagonist have come to haunt Jane Eyre - just indeed as Bertha herself is a haunting presence in the original novel. This film is a fine companion piece to the current BBC series of Jane Eyre. Although much smaller in scale and scope than the grander Jane Eyre production, in many respects Wide Sargasso Sea is a piece of finer, stronger, braver filmmaking, offering genuine synergies of cinematography, motifs of light, shade and colour, narrative flow, character development and a lustrous, magnificent musical score. It is conceived as an exquisitely styled miniature rather than a sprawling, luxuriant epic, but both works have the potential to inform the other.

Indeed, it would be hugely interesting (and courageous) to see a Jane Eyre adaptation which was genuinely conceived in the light of Jean Rhys's novel; one which highlighted the postcolonial discourses, the sense of 'Otherness', of life at the margins, which is threaded through both these narratives. It would be gratifying too if this mythical adaptation genuinely, unflinchingly reflected on the sorry plight of so many women in the nineteenth century who were cast out of 'decent' society on sometimes unfounded but convenient grounds of madness. (It is well worth reading Elaine Showalter's The Female Malady for a fascinating insight into the dire extent of this practice). But such a scenario is unlikely, as this would entail debunking the romantic heroism of Rochester and would simultaneously destroy the romantic core of Charlotte Bronte's novel, one of the chief reasons for its persistent popularity ... but it would be an exciting venture, all the same.

For reviews of Jane Eyre : Episode 1, 2 and 3 and 4

Is The Departed quite what it's been cracked up to be? (REVIEW)

REVIEW: THE DEPARTED, REMAKE OF INFERNAL AFFAIRS, 2006

Is The Departed quite what it's been cracked up to be?
In a word. NO.

But it is a fabulous film all the same with an especially powerful and moving performance from Leonardo DiCaprio as Billy Costigan - I for one sincerely hopes he gets an Oscar nomination for Actor in a leading role for this work.

Anyway, I don't want to be too spoilerific in this review, which I'll also try (and probably fail) to keep brief, as so much is being written about this film at the moment. There's no point regurgitating the plot to excess - it's being trailed just about everywhere - but in a nutshell: two Boston cops; Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon) is corrupt and secretly working for crime boss Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson), whilst Billy Costigan (Leonardo DiCaprio) is dispatched from the force to work as undercover as one of Costello's favoured henchmen. Before long the police and Costello realise they both have a 'mole' - at which point Sullivan is hired to find himself.

Much has been said of the towering, bravura performance from Jack Nicholson - much of it hyperbolic and pandering. Having said that, he is effective and more than a little frightening at times. A Shakespearean villain in full, flamboyant flow. But he is very much mad, bad Jack as we know and love him. This role was hardly a stretch. I still think his best work in recent years has been About Schmidt and I adored Melvyn in As Good as it Gets - and to be brutally honest, I couldn't help but discern mild traces of Melvyn in Frank Costello, odd as that may sound.

There has been talk a-plenty that Nicholson might be nominated for an Oscar as 'leading' actor for this film. I certainly hope this is not the case. He is most definitely 'supporting' - even though he is the pivotal character throughout. The spine of the story, so to speak.

We definitely have two co-leads here, Matt Damon and Leonardo DiCaprio; and to be honest, Damon has the bigger, though not necessarily meatier role. This is not to say he has more screen time, or that he is the hero - but Damon's Sullivan is the 'protagonist'. This narrative charts HIS character development above all, from his childhood, when his tender, young soul was effectively sold to the devil (Costello) through pecuniary desperation and a need for protection in the roughest part of Boston, to his seamless but duplicitous rise through the ranks of the State Police. Throughout, we just about see more of Sullivan's backstory and home life than any other character, and observe his development from smug to fearful, from morally moribund to self-questioning through to cold self-assertion in a desperate attempt to survive. Damon performs well here and certainly proves yet again that he is one of Hollywood's finest, most competent young actors. However, I much preferred Andy Lau in this role in the Hong Kong film Infernal Affairs, of which The Departed is so famously an adapted remake.

There is a certain froideur Damon brings to his personas on film, which often belies an inner turmoil or heated aggression. This enables him to successfully play characters who have double, deceitful or troubled identities. Indeed, he is a pastmaster at this type of role, and it is why he is ideal for Colin Sullivan who is embroiled in his own fiercely contested identity issues - eventually struggling to cope with the complexity of his own life. By the end of The Departed he is quite desperate to affirm his own sense of self, away from Costello - but in this film, such self-assertion is not allowed it seems. It is as though the invisible wheels of pre-destination are set in motion when one is a child - one cannot escape one's fate.

This is certainly true of Billy Costigan (DiCaprio) who has family on his paternal side who were famously active in Boston's seamy, brutal Gangland, (but notably not his own father). Due to a messy divorce, young Billy has managed to navigate an edgy path between two sharply-constrasting worlds: suburban middle-classville and inner-city underclass. As an intelligent and determined adult, (though still emotionally burdened by his confusing childhood), he becomes an undercover cop, forced to pal up with gangland boss Costello and engage in heavy-duty, gut-churning violence on a regular basis. It comes easily to Costigan while never dehumanising him in the process - perhaps it's in the genes?

Again, there is a sense that one cannot escape one's true self, one's fate. Indeed, this is precisely the argument Police Sergeant Dignam (a splendidly foul-mouthed Mark Wahlberg, though not quite as amazing as the critics suggest) and Captain Queenan (an uncharismatic performance from Martin Sheen) make to Costigan, when they recruit and re-train him for a life in subterfuge. They effectively exhort Costigan to tap into his dark 'Costigan' blood, and importantly, his Costigan contacts, to get close to Costello. It is relatively easy for Costigan. There really is a pent-up agression, a mania, raging to be let loose at any given moment, which typifies his progress throughout this film.

But there is also a searing vulnerability, an emotional rawness, which is truly heart-rending. It is no surprise that this friendless, rather frightening and extremely frightened young man, who is clearly intelligent and sensitive and desperate to love and be loved, completely steals this film. Nicholson's showiness as Costello is gaining the critical plaudits and possibly the honours too but this is a genuine tour-de-force from DiCaprio who completely inhabits his role as Costigan - and it was his emotional journey which enthralled me throughout and held my attention.

Vera Farmiga is the only standout female role as police shrink and Sullivan's troubled girlfriend Madolyn. She falls in love with Costigan, who is her patient - and frankly you can hardly blame her. Sullivan , in true sociopathic style, is shown to have precious little genuine interest in Madolyn's life and past as an individual beyond the confines of their own brief relationship. This is because he cannot reconcile his own discordant identity - the disjuncture between his cocky but deceitful adult self and his vulnerable child self which fears and worships Costello as the Svengali 'Daddy' who rules his life. He also suffers from bouts of impotence with Madolyn - again, a symptom of his inner confusion.

Madolyn is drawn to his brittle, glib charm, but soon repelled by his cold invulnerability. She is at heart a gentle soul, drawn to those who need her (like Costigan). Sullivan simply doesn't get why such an educated, accomplished woman as herself, could possibly want to earn so little doing the job she does. In some ways, Madolyn is the heart of the piece ... a soft, subtle, tremulous heart. And she is the only character with a future, with forward momentum. (BIG SPOILER AHEAD) Are we in fact supposed to believe that the child she is bearing at the end of the film is Sullivan's or Costigan's? I would like to believe it is Costigan's, and this is partly borne out by her forceful brushing aside of Sullivan at Costigan's funeral, even though Sullivan makes a plea on behalf of their child.

The most impressive small supporting role in this ensemble however, is Alec Baldwin as Ellerby, a gruff, cussing, witty bugger who has been downplayed in most reviews I have read so far. He is fully deserving of a special mention. Ray Winstone as Mr French has garnered good reports too, but he is never truly tested in this role - indeed any role?

As for the film itself - the setting, the cinematography, the direction, the scoring. On all fronts this is an excellent film, but not the formidable masterpiece being trumpeted by a determined phalanx of adoring critics and movie buffs. I have a lot of time for Scorcese. And yes I think it is a travesty that a director of his calibre, with his record, has never been rewarded with an Oscar. I also think his best work - for now at any rate - is well and truly in the past: Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Mean Streets and The King of Comedy. I also love The Age of Innocence. Goodfellas - to which The Departed been frequently and understandably compared - is exhilarating, suspenseful and also a much better film than The Departed in most departments (bar DiCaprio). In saying this of course, I am not dissing Scorcese's more recent works, which have regularly been superior to most other films on release.

The Departed is very long - even over-long. In this regard it lacks the snap and style of its Hong Kong forerunner Infernal Affairs. Many have praised the editing overseen by Thelma Schoonmaker. I'm not convinced. If anything this felt a little laboured at times, and some of the early scene juxtapositions are clumsily-executed. While it is good to see a contemporary film indulge at times in Old School-style ASLs which steer well clear of the 3-4 seconds commonly seen with so many super-quickfire, continuous editing vehicles blitzing our cinema and TV screens these days - I'll be honest and say that sometimes The Departed dragged - most particularly in the middle section and even towards the climactic end. In its favour, we have some remarkable lengthy scenes of high quality - for instance, when Costello confronts Costigan in a bar, aiming to ascertain his loyalty. Both actors are at the top of their game and the scene literally sizzles. There is another extensive, suspenseful scene between Sullivan and Costigan when they communicate, in tense silence, by mobile phone - neither daring to say a word.

Also in the film's favour, and in fact a true mark of excellence, is Scorcese's evocation of a threatening, violent atmosphere in the bars and streets of Boston's Southside. Indeed, Boston is lovingly portrayed - a generous move from a hardened New Yorker. Cinematographically the film is technically flawless, if a little pedestrian. Scorcese seems to have veered away from the sweeping cinematic vision of The Aviator and the obsessively intricate detailism of Gangs of New York and The Age of Innocence. This is not in fact a criticism. The Departed is not flashy and nor should it be. (That's for Michael Mann). But neither is it especially exciting either.

Narratologically the film is generally well-paced, if a little saggy at times. It works as a two-hander focusing on the twin tales of Sullivan and Costigan - but Nicholson's Costello becomes too large and unwieldy a force in the centre of the film which destabilises what needs to be a finely-poised narrative. Scorcese needed to rein Nicholson in or at least edit some of him out - but it is understandable that the gusto of his performance held sway. It's such tremendous fun! But it does undo a lot of Scorcese's good work. What could have been a tightly-woven, succinctly-constructed and gripping narrative becomes a bit of a baggy monster at times. It is surely a credit to Scorcese's consummate skill and experience as a director that this film still packs a powerful emotional punch - but it could have been so much better. The script, penned by William Monahan of rather dubious Kingdom of Heaven fame, is really rather good, stuffed full of witticisms galore (yes, this is often a very funny film) and neat verbal parries. It's sufficiently meaty material for Scorcese and his cast to work with well.

One final sour note - the music. Occasionally Scorcese's choice in performer and song is inspired, but by and large the musical scoring here is abominable - a travesty from the usually reliable Howard Shore. Not only is it abominable but it is bloody persistent too, pervading each and every moment - we rarely enjoy a moment's peace. Sometimes the scoring is little more than a ditzy-sounding syntho-poppy thing, bleating interminably in the manner of tasteless elevator muzak or a low-volume transistor radio which someone forgot to switch off.

So does The Departed match up to its source material Infernal Affairs? Yes, it does - just. I preferred the cut and thrust and pacey momentum of the Hong Kong original - but I was more moved by Leonardo DiCaprio than Tony Leung as the undercover cop (although Leung was marvellous too, which says more about how highly I rate DiCaprio in this instance). DiCaprio's story carried me through this film - not Nicholson's high-faluting antics and dark dramatics, nor even Damon's subtly enervated complexities.

Will Scorcese win an Oscar for this film? I haven't a clue, although there are many who feel violence a la Scorcese is not the Academy's bag. Frankly the violence here didn't over-awe ... it didn't really 'awe' at all actually, but then I'm a hard-boiled old thing who's seen and digested a lot of blood and gore, (in the cinematic sense of course). So with that in mind The Departed has as good a chance as any I guess to scoop top honours. I rather hope it doesn't, although I will be plugging for DiCaprio to take Best Actor for his scintillating work here.

Current REVIEWS on-site

Current reviews on-site are: the BBC's Jane Eyre, Episodes 1, 2 and now 3; BBC1's Robin Hood; Children of Men, The Departed - and soon to follow, Wide Sargasso Sea.

Children of Men, a grimly beautiful cinematic feast (spoilers) REVIEW

REVIEW: CHILDREN OF MEN, PD JAMES, 2006

I finally caught up with Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men this weekend, a film based on the dark and chilling PD James novel. In short, the plot focuses on a tragically apocalyptic world set in 2027, a world dogged by a fertility crisis which has meant there has not been a new baby born at all, in over eighteen years. Wars have ravaged the planet, the environment is in a funk from decades of prolonged pollution and mankind is in freefall, offered suicide packs by the government which promise a quiet and painless demise. A totalitarian British government herds all foreigners ('fugees) into concentration camps and multiple terrorist groups seemingly stage bombings for fun. And yet, miraculously, amidst this angst and mayhem, a young woman, Kee, has fallen pregnant and seeks safety with the much-fabled 'Human Project' - a quasi-mythical settlement on the Azores, far away from the grime and misery of mainland Britain. The story charts Kee's desperate attempt to escape to a new life, accompanied by her protector Theo, one of fiction's unsuspecting heroes - a man who suddenly finds himself at the crossroads of history and rises to the occasion.

I should say for starters that I am a huge fan of Cuaron's work. He directed, in my opinion, the best Harry Potter film so far - by a country mile I might add. His work on Great Expectations and A Little Princess was eye-catching. And Y Tu Mama Tambien was one of my favourite films of 2001. He does not disappoint with Children of Men. Cuaron has an astonishing feel for the cinematic medium. Every single frame is crammed with visual delights. More than most directors he succinctly moves and moulds narrative with cinematographic brilliance and has a talent for deploying colour, or lack of it, when necessary. He genuinely paints a story for us with a magically illustrative visual vocabulary.

Here we are presented with a dank, rain-strewn world; a bleak, grey landscape, scarred by numerous power-stations belching thick smoke. The city streets are dirty, clostraphobic and crowded and buildings are graffiti-ed and fallen into disrepair. After all, what is the point of rebuilding a world which no-one soon will be able to enjoy? The only 'renewed' spot is the slightly surreal Ministry of Art, housed in Battersea Power Station, its interiors a spartan, gleaming white adorned by world-famous works of art such as Picasso's Guernica (very fitting) and Michelangelo's David, which have been 'rescued'. Here Theo meets his cousin, a government minister who claims to cope by not thinking about anything - but sure enough, we spot a huge, dummy pig wafting past the window.

The single point of pleasant respite in the entire film is the home of Theo's long-time friend and mentor, Jasper. His hidden settlement in the forest is a warm, friendly place, full of comfy furnishings, plants, music and animals. Indeed, young animals pervade this film - kittens and puppies galore - a sharp reminder that it is only mankind who has failed, who has shown incapable of surviving.

In addition to his aesthetic talents, Cuaron is also good at eliciting strong acting performances and here he fares well too, although perhaps not quite so well as former films. Having said that, Michael Caine is simply fantastic as genial hippy Jasper - a real scene-stealer. As indeed is Peter Mullan, an unsung hero of British filmmaking, who takes on the minor rumbustious role of Sid, the corrupt border official. Claire Hope-Ashitey is fine as Kee, the first woman in eighteen years to give birth, (her name is a little too heavyhanded symbolically), and Pam Ferris as her anxious guardian Miriam is passable, but this is not her best work by any means. Julianne Moore is one of Hollywood's greatest actresses but is really rather ordinary here - although her early death is shocking and raw. Chiwetel Ejiofor is always good value but a little under-used here as the idealistic Luke.

Clive Owen puts in a brave performance as Theo, the sourfaced, cynical everyman, who takes it upon himself to escort poor Kee to the sanctity of a ship headed for The Human Project. To do so requires a perilous journey, avoiding terrorists who wish to exploit Kee's baby for their own propaganda purposes, avoiding murderous thug-like British police officers, representatives of the State who would also exploit Kee's baby for their own propaganda purposes, or so Theo and Kee are warned - although Theo is dubious.

Their journey takes them to 'Bexhill' - a town turned notorious refugee camp, enmired in filth and despair, where a minor civil uprising is being quashed most violently by the authorities. The epiphany of the piece is when Theo helps deliver Kee's baby girl in a squalid room in this camp. Obviously it is hard to ignore the 'messianic' theme in play here, and this is further emphasised later when Theo, Kee and child escape from a bombarded block of flats, where miserable refugees are cowering in fear from the bomb blasts and gunfire which continuously rock the building. Kee's baby starts crying, a thin, reedy but unmistakable cry amidst the thunderous furore of warfare raging around them. Suddenly everyone stops. Many fall to their knees in prayer. Many try to touch the baby and her mother. Even the armoured police and militia hold fire, if only for a few moments, to gaze in wonder at this newborn life - only to resume their bloodthirsty battle seconds later ...

Of course there are blood-sacrifices. We know they're coming. But that doesn't make them any less powerful. Jasper resigns himself to a cruel death at the hand of the terrorists who are dead set on securing Kee and her child for their own political purposes - but in doing so, Jasper enables Theo, Kee and Miriam temporary respite and an escape. There are other surprising acts of heroism on the way. Marichka, played by Oana Pellea, is at first sight, a repulsive, grasping woman in the refugee camp, who frightens Kee. But this woman does all she can to save the mother and her child, and is finally resigned we fear to a certain death in the refugee camp as Theo and Kee spot fighter planes raining bombs down on Bexhill in the closing sequences. And then, of course, there is Theo. You know it will happen. It's how these types of narratives always work; but you still wish it didn't have to end this way.

There is alot to love in this film - and a lot to worry over. Most affecting for me was the news that Theo and Julian had lost their young child in 2008 to a flu pandemic - a death that clearly haunted and destroyed their relationship - though probably not their love. There is a very moving moment when Jasper recounts the sorry story of their loss to Kee and Miriam - not knowing that Theo is in earshot. The camera slowly closes in on Theo's face which is stricken at the memory. Saving Kee and her child thus gives him a second chance to save a child when he could not save his own.

BBC Jane Eyre - Episode 3 (REVIEW)

REVIEW: JANE EYRE 3/4, CHARLOTTE BRONTE, BBC 1, 2005

And so to the third (and penultimate) episode of the BBC's period adaptation of Jane Eyre ... and what a pleasing episode it was. Susanna White's direction seems to have gained in zing, zip and imagination as the series has progressed and we had some lovely visual sequences to feast our eyes on this time round. Most exotic of all were flashback references to Rochester's time in the Caribbean and his love affair with Bertha, evoked by a delightfully dreamy cacophony of vibrant colours, and of course, her own sensual beauty.

'Flashback' was in vogue this episode as Jane made her own foray into her sad childhood when she was forced to return to Gateshead, host to her misery at the hands of the callous Reed family. As Jane enters the house she is haunted by the sounds of her cruel childhood experiences. We learn that John Reed, her primary torturer as a child, is dead and gone, but thankfully we are left with Georgiana and Eliza, his two ill-natured sisters who constantly snap and snarl at each other in splendidly catty fashion. Tara Fitzgerald as wicked Aunt Reed gets to chew the scenery in an extensive dying scene, although as a sure sign of my own innate shallowness, I couldn't help but admire the marvellously detailed painted wallpaper in her bedchamber while her death-throes were in full throttle.

However, this particular Jane Eyre being very much a two-handed affair, while Jane is away we also still have scenes set at Thornfield with Rochester and the Ingram House Party - primarily to demonstrate how Rochester has split off from his guests to mope over Jane's absence. At one stage he confronts Blanche to ask her what she 'really' wants, but we never get to hear exactly what that it is, nor can we really hazard a guess from her rather blank but pretty features.

On Jane's return we meet Mr Eshton again, off to investigate twins who can mentally communicate even when many miles apart - Jane and Rochester are almost frothing over with glee at being reunited, and the reference is all too clear that THEY too share such a bond. This is made clearer still as the lovesick duo discuss the possibility of parting pending his marriage, which is such a shame, as Jane makes such a big deal of settling in so nicely to Thornfield on her return, even telling Rochester when they first meet up again that her home is wherever HE is - a bit of a 'whoah steady on there' moment, until you remember this IS Jane Eyre after all, one of the greatest love stories in British literary history - so no need to panic. Her love WILL be requited.

A nice touch to their budding romance is Rochester's genuine interest in Jane's past - 'the deep, dark forests' of her childhood memories as he calls it. There is a very real sense of mutual intellectual engagement enacted pleasingly by Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson - the latter barely able to wipe the loved-up smile off her face when she is in his presence. Of course Rochester cannot be so innocently joyous as we are reminded of his vivid past when he recounts his time in the Caribbean, describing it as seductive, mysterious, tantalising, dangerous - and again we see a profusion of scarlets, crimsons, pinks in flashback to his time there, red signifying Bertha in this production - and then his eyes flit anxiously to the dark tower where we (well, most of us probably by now) know she is imprisoned.

The sense that Bertha is watching events below is stepped up in this episode - we are aware of a figure watching through a window, accompanied by soft tinkling bells and lush but eery music. While the idea is a tad hackneyed, it is actually well-executed here to slightly chilling, even poignant effect. Particularly useful is the musical scoring which works extremely well in this episode - unlike the first two episodes I have to say. It's as though Rob Lane, the composer, really let rip with the romantic vibe, and it truly suits this section of the story.

At the half-way point through this hour-long episode we finally arrive at the lovelorn couple's eventual ardent declaration, preceded by what I consider to the most glorious passage in the entire novel, rendered well here by Ruth Wilson, when Jane floods forth with her feelings to an awed and moved Rochester. This is one of the most exciting and proto-feminist speeches in nineteenth century English literature - indeed, any literature, of any time - when Jane confronts Rochester with her desire to be free, to love, as any man, in spite of her being 'poor, obscure, plain, and little' now switched to 'poor, plain, obscure and little' - but quibbles aside, much is sourced almost direct from the novel, where Jane speaks so powerfully. Here there are a few adjustments for modern sensiblities, so for example, Rochester bids her become his equal through marriage, which is now telegraphed in the TV version by Jane's praise of her treatment at Thornfield as an 'equal'.

I am not usually one for seeking close adherence to a source text's original wording, but in this single instance, Jane's impassioned declaration of Selfhood is so intensely felt and strongly expressed, it would be a shame to meddle too far. Of course one forgets just how radical and effecting this novel was in its day. Here we had a heroine who acknowledged her sensual yearnings, who wanted to work and construct her own life, her own identity, who is damning of the foibles, fripperies and minutiae which consumed most women's lives at the time, trapped into a world of passive domesticity.

Jane and Rochester's final declarations of mutual love are set here in a damp, sunny glade. Toby Stephens's voice suddenly goes a little gruff and sore-sounding when declaring his own feelings for her, which half made me wish I could chuck the poor fellow a throat lozenge. He squeezes her close to his manly chest, and they finally kiss, and then kiss again, and again, before they run hand in hand through one of those impromptu CGI-ed thunderstorms complete with a quavering bright bolt of lightening that you sometimes get in TV land.

Just to be a true curmudgeon - was anyone else a little unimpressed with the happy couple's kissing style? It seemed to comprise a momentary smashing together of face and cheek at regular intervals, all well and good, but I was sure they kept missing each other's lips, which is clearly the primary object of the exercise. I hate to do this, but in comparison to the one shot we get of Rochester snogging the face off Bertha, Jane and Rochester's physical union seemed a little more staid and demure, despite their obvious mutual enthusiasm.

According to the golden rules of TV and cinema, Jane's blossoming love affair must instill a new sense of self-worth which is belied by her flourishing good looks and lustrous femininity, hence we have a slightly annoying scene where Ruth Wilson flounces around her bedchamber, long locks flowing, as she gazes lovingly at herself in a mirror. In fact this mirror is a rather laboured device throughout the series so far, charting Jane's self-esteem with her outward appearance, which is a very easily translatable behaviour of course. Jane drops her habitual dark clothing and dons a very pale almost-white-grey gown, reflecting her brighter mood. This is then mirrored at the end of the episode, once her dream-world has been sadly punctured, and she silently slips out of her brilliant white wedding dress and re-dresses herself in the gloomy grey garb we have come to associate with melancholic, sensible Jane.

We have forbodings of course that the wedding will not go well; kindly Mrs Fairfax's concern and irritation, Jane's nightmare and the rather scary moment when she senses someone is in her room at night and then finds her wedding veil has been torn. There is something all too desperate about Rochester's determination to march her uphill to her wedding in a sadly deserted church, and the news of his first marriage, when it comes from Briggs and then Mason, is far from surprising - more miserable than dramatic.

The same can be said for our eventual meeting with Bertha. Jane spots the red scarf, Bertha's symbol during this series, flapping in the open window. The look on her face is more disappointed than shocked - almost as though, like us, deep-down she knew this would happen all along. There is an inevitability to this turn of events which is captured well by her still, sad, tear-stained face.

Toby Stephens doesn't play Rochester as strident or hysterical or even particularly angered at how his dirty secret has finally come to light. He has the deflated air of a man who has finally been defeated, by himself. He recounts his misadventures in the Caribbean and we briefly see in flashback how Bertha descended into lunacy, as signified (a little crudely and chauvinistically perhaps) by her rapacious sexual appetites - and, most disturbingly, by a maniacal scene with Rochester, which darkly hints at a violent sexuality within their own tormented relationship.

Throughout his account, there is a strange three-pronged mark, livid and red, on Rochester's neck - did Bertha bite him, as she did her brother? Or did Toby Stephens have a rather frenzied encounter with his Phillishave that morning, which they forgot to conceal with make-up? Either way, the marks are distracting and disconcerting - a vivid reminder of the physical pain that has clearly been enacted in his relations with his 'wife.' At one point Rochester explains that he could have checked Bertha in to 'another' house he owns, where she would likely have lived and died a damp and sickly existence. Of course the fact he chose to incarcerate her instead in his bleak and gloomy North Tower does not especially salvage the situation, and I for one, was partly glad when Jane refused to open her bedchamber door to hear his pleas for mercy and a life of 'sin' which would at that time have condemned Jane Eyre as a sluttish outsider for the rest of her days.

And finally, two sweetly poignant moments stand out. In the church, as soon as Briggs and Mason explain how Rochester met his first wife in Jamaica, there is a fleeting look of mournful understanding on Jane's face, as she clearly recalls Rochester's embittered speech on the dangerously seductive qualities of that part of the world. She knows right then, that what they are saying is all too true. And then again, when Jane and Rochester return to Thornfield from the church, they are greeted merrily by the servants of the house with Adele, who shower them with corn and confetti - a pathetic irony in the circumstances.

Reviews of Jane Eyre, Episodes 1 and 2 and 4. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.

Robin Hood not so merry (REVIEW)

REVIEW: ROBIN HOOD, BBC 1, 2006

Just a few thoughts on the BBC's new 13-part series of Robin Hood. This production, rumoured to cost £8m to make, has been scheduled in the family-friendly Saturday 7.00pm slot, effectively replacing Doctor Who - but I highly doubt this will prove to be anywhere near as popular. Pundits claims the SECOND episode is worth the wait; it had better be. This was very average I'm afraid.

First up, the sets are a rather shoddy affair. So, for example, medieval villages are clean, sanitised, neatly presented thatched cottages - no attempt at realist presentation or even a stab at fantasy genre instead.

Acting performances are middling at best. Jonas Armstrong as Robin of Locksley looks like he might grab a microphone and break into a Britpop ballad complete with Mancunian drawl at any given minute. Sam Troughton as cheeky chappie Much, Robin's best mate, is wearing thin already. His laddish banter during the opening scenes with Robin felt desperately contrived. At one point the Sheriff of Nottingham, played here with some panache thankfully by Keith Allen, tells Robin to say goodbye to his little friend 'Mulch' (Much is being dangled from castle ramparts by the Sheriff's soldiers). Robin retorts: 'His name’s Much', to which Allen quips, 'Well, he’ll be Mulch in the minute.' I was rather disappointed when this didn't actually come to pass. On current form he'd be little loss.

Maid Marion seemed a ballsy, lantern-jawed, won't-take-any-nonsense type of lass who even killed a fellow with a sharply-aimed hairpin of all things. So she could certainly prove a useful wee number in the battles we can be sure are soon to come and keep coming against the dastardly Sheriff and his henchman Guy of Gisborne, played rather uncomfortably by Richard Armitage. I didn't get much of a sense of the remaining cast as yet, although they have 12 episodes to flesh them out I guess.

I'm not certain I'll stay the course with this series beyond a few more episodes. It very much depends here on the old-fashioned art of storytelling. I did, however, like the usage of the Robin of Locksley myth, which was also deployed in the Kevin Costner Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves movie. Plus, there was certainly a fair deal of political mileage extracted from this plotline. Robin has returned from the Crusades with a strong distaste for War. In a heated exchange with the Sheriff, Robin claims that the war is 'not our war' but Pope Gregory's. The Sheriff says they stand 'shoulder to shoulder' with the crusaders ... a clearly deliberate echoing from screenwriter Dominic Minghella of the type of lingo used when discussing Britain's role in the Iraq War and Blair's 'shoulder to shoulder' attitude towards US warmongers. But it is clear that our populist hero wants no truck with such wars. While the analogy was pretty crudely effected, it was interesting that such a transparent comparative device could be utilised so easily.

On a slightly more trivial but peculiarly jarring note, my history books certainly never taught me that Max Factor was alive and kicking in the Middle Ages. But here we have both Maid Marion and a 'comely wench' who cadges a quick snog off Robin (thereby 'proving' to us dumb audiences, that despite his not-so-obvious attractions, this chap is dead sexy), literally caked in make-up complete with super-gloss lipsticks. Similarly annoying were the 'swoosh' location titles; supposed, I guess, to emulate the thrust of an arrow. They were a desperate and failed attempt to come off as trendy and postmodern, along with some rather unnecessary action replay stunts in slow-mo.

Oh well. Not chuffed for now, but will give the show a second chance.

BBC to produce six-part series re-telling Fairy Tales (NEWS/EDITORIAL)

The BBC is set to produce a six-part series of modern, updated fairy tales, much in the mould of the successful Shakespeare Re-Told series in 2005 and the earlier 2003 re-telling of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, reports The Stage. Jane Tranter, BBC Controller of Fiction, has told The Stage, that this project is "substantial" and comprises six films, authored by six "significant" writers. The series will be filmed in Northern Ireland and has received funding from the Northern Ireland Film and Television Council. Shooting is due to commence next Summer with transmission expected late 2007 or 2008. Hat Trick Productions (with Mark Redhead, Head of Drama) will be making the series. The Shakespeare Re-Told series was produced by the BBC in conjunction with Horsebridge Productions and the BBC's The Canterbury Tales was co-produced with Ziji Productions.

Fairy tales likely to be modernised include Snow White, Hansel and Gretel and The Ugly Duckling - all of which have a 'dark' even sinister aspect, most particularly Hansel and Gretel which could be rendered really quite disturbing in a modern setting. If this series is anything like the Shakespeare Re-Told series then we are in for a feast. One wonders too what other potential 'Re-Told' series could be devised? There is still plenty of mileage with Shakespeare - perhaps narrowing specific series by genre: The Great Tragedies, for example, or The Roman Plays. Greek myths and legends could surely get an airing ... an adapter could have splendid fun re-inventing mildly trivial modern settings as host for fiction's grandest archetypes (although some would argue these same archtypes are already threaded through so much literary and filmic outplut).

However, my favourite brand for a new Re-Told series is great Opera stories - I'm pretty tempted to draft an outline myself for re-casting Mozart's works as contemporary domestic drama! The Da Ponte librettos especially would offer up some cracking material. And Schikaneder's The Magic Flute could cause a stir too, and has indeed been re-located recently in a filmic version by Kenneth Branagh, to the dank misery of the First World War. This is indeed the essence of 'adaptation' ...

And this is of course very exciting news if recent similar ventures from the BBC are anything to go by. I particularly enjoyed the 2005 Shakespeare Re-Told series, most especially the modern re-telling of Much Ado About Nothing starring Damian Lewis and Sarah Parrish, in sparkling form, as rival newsreaders who fall in love, and The Taming of the Shrew with an unforgettable, unmissable, downright saucy Rufus Sewell as a tempestuous transvestite. Shirley Henderson was marvellous, as always, as the Shrew - a work-obsessed Tory MP. Julie Walters also put in a memorably fantastic performance as the excitable and exciting Wife of Bath in the 2003 Canterbury Tales season, strongly supported by the ever-handsome Paul Nicholls as her young lover/husband.

Bernal to face off Bourne in 2007 Ultimatum? (NEWS)

According to The Hollywood Reporter, Mexican star Gael Garcia Bernal might play baddie to Matt Damon's super-cool Jason Bourne in next year's The Bourne Ultimatum. Filming has already started in Tangiers, but a villain for the piece has not yet been signed up. Bernal would be a fabulous addition to an already hugely talented cast list which includes Damon, Joan Allen, David Strathairn and Julia Stiles (rumoured too to become more of a friend, even love interest, to Jason Bourne). Other potential filming locations include Madrid, Paris, New York, London and Riga.

Jane Eyre - BBC1, Episode 2 (REVIEW)

REVIEW: JANE EYRE 2/4, CHARLOTTE BRONTE, BBC1, 2006

I thought I'd review the second episode of the new BBC series Jane Eyre - and indeed, seeing as it as one of the major British TV 'adaptation events' of the year, it merits an extensive episode-by-episode re-cap.

This episode was MUCH better than the first. The two main leads, Ruth Wilson as Jane and Toby Stephens as Rochester meshed much more convincingly here than the debut episode when the romantic 'tension' of their relationship seemed over-telegraphed. Toby Stephens in particular seemed to improve on closer acquaintance - his opening scene, dressed in a flouncy white night-shirt wrenched apart to expose his ripped torso, was perhaps a little too obvious an attempt to stoke up female fan-fervour, but was mildly alluring all the same. (Although I did wonder if this was partly the effect of a late dinner accompanied by a few glasses of good wine). Plus, the 'Blanche Ingram' jealousy/falling in love section of the Jane Eyre story is probably my favourite ... even so, the sexual dynamism between Jane and Rochester was definitely stepped up a notch here.

For certain, this series seems particularly keen to highlight this aspect of the narrative, above all else. The true primary driver of this narrative seems to be sexuality - between Jane and Rochester, in flashback with Rochester's passion for Adele's mother, and we can be sure, as hinted by the red scarf which sometimes flaps from the window of Bertha's rooms in the North Tower, between Rochester and Bertha.

To achieve this, the adaptation seems to have eschewed other key tenets of the story and taken on a more prosaic and earthy quality where arguably the Gothic elements have been diminished. I would love to see a more 'mystical' Jane Eyre. Certainly there is a magical quality to the heroine which has been largely ignored by most adapters, although Charlotte Gainsbourgh in 1996 almost seemed to capture this aspect of her characterisation. But not quite. This new Jane is all too real, very much an every(wo)man in the modern mould.

I genuinely feel Jane Eyre should be filmed at times more as a disturbing dream-sequence and be infused with magic melancholy. A good filmmaker could easily achieve this and still retain a strong sense of the basically harsh socio-economic realities which poor Jane has to combat and survive.

Having said that, there was one wonderful scene in last night's episode where the direction suddenly stepped up a gear as Jane watches the arrival of the Ingram party to the gallery at Thornfield, and in slow-motion we watch the richly-dressed, be-crinolined ladies seemingly wafting in on clouds of silk. This series needs more of these moments. Too much of this production has a feel of direction by numbers tinged with a mildly racey, postmodern aesthetic.

For example, it was all too obvious that the closing shot of last night's episode would be Bertha's POV, as seen through the imprisoning latticed window of the North Tower, watching Jane leave and Rochester and Blanche speed away on horseback. Rochester is notably wearing a 'red' hunting jacket, red being rather overtly symbolic in this production of danger and sexuality.

Even so, there were some fine moments to be savoured in this episode. This included the deftly sweet and intelligent characterisation of Mr Eshton, and the silly 'Twins' provided some amusement. Mrs Fairfax was a minor improvement on last week's voluble cheeriness and the manic scenes of preparation for the Ingram party were well-done.

The best stuff however was reserved for Pam Ferris - a genuinely forbidding and threatening representation of Grace Poole here, although her contentious exchange with Jane after Rochester is almost burnt in his bed, was slightly ruined by an over-emoting Ruth Wilson. Sure she's suspicious and even frightened of Grace Poole, but her manner here was over-confrontational and seemingly close to tears, but never convincing.

Aside from this, Ruth Wilson is putting in a competent performance, although I am not as gushing about her acting abilities as many other reviewers appear to be thus far.

Narratologically this episode focused largely on Rochester and Jane's falling subtly but unfailingly in love with each other. Jane's excited response to his close attentions after she has saved him from a fiery death were played out by Ruth Wilson with a rapt, glowing face - more expressive of a young girl's first passionate crush. This is further denoted by her renewed attention to her dress and appearance as she chooses to wear an 'ornamental' ever-so slightly raffish red neckerchief (note the usage of 'red' as signifying sexuality, yet again).

Rochester's interest in Jane is expressed differently - even at times, a little uncertainly. He is drawn to her, but we aren't entirely sure why. But he gradually draws humour, even lightly flirtatious banter, into their discourse. Does he merely see her as a conquest? A desire to overcome the buttoned-up virgin in grey? Or does he (as we are clearly meant to believe) somehow perceive Jane's inner fire and passion? His personal challenge then is to draw that out ... preferably in conjunction with an avowal of her love for him of course. Yet he also takes a keen and real and genuinely compassionate interest in her personal narrative (or rather her seeming lack of it). This is highlighted by one particular close-up on Rochester, listening intently to Jane expressing her views on childhood and love to an appreciative Mr Eshton and a snarling Lady Ingram. The pitying look of clear understanding on his face shows that he is coming to realise the extent of cruelty and abuse Jane has suffered in her young life, and how this has shaped her personality. It's just a shame we saw so little of this for ourselves during the first episode when her childhood was sped through at a dizzying rate of knots. However, we were served some small recompense here with a timely flashback to a mildly terrifying Tara Fitzgerald as Aunt Reed sneering cruelly at a young Jane.

Interestingly the gypsy fortune-teller who frightens Blanche Ingram and tries to wheedle out Jane's secrets in this production is not Rochester in disguise, but a local woman Rochester has paid to impersonate a gypsy instead. Clearly it was felt a Rochester 'in drag' would fail to convince a savvy audience - thus a small element of suspense is retained.

An additional new scene featuring the Ingram party playing with a Ouija board offered little of interest, as Rochester fixes the game to reveal to Blanche that he considers her 'heartless' - to what effect is uncertain. After all, we are left wondering, why is he blatantly flirting with a woman he clearly disdains? Perhaps the adaptation process reveals this as a slightly gaping plot-hole, or at least renders it less plausible than the source text would have us believe, as we soon learn Rochester has been keen to parade his flirtation with Blanche in order to make Jane jealous. This is surely an interesting point of debate. Added to which, the whole episode reflects rather badly on Rochester's core character - but then, arguably, we have here one of the most misogynistic, controlling and pompous romantic heroes in fiction, saved in part by his obvious intellect, perception and moral confusion, plus his powerful sense of regret and grief for a rashly mis-spent youth with dire, long-term consequences. Caring for Adele is one form of recompense for these failings while Jane becomes his solace, his intellectual equal, his personal redemption ... after all, this is a tale where the 'hero' believes, in a rather patronising manner maybe, that he can develop and mature his innocent heroine, but in fact Rochester too must embark on his own important emotional journey of self-discovery, with almost fatal consequences. There is no denying that Bronte's Rochester has 'depth' - even if you can't actually bring yourself to like him.

We are still to see if Toby Stephens will truly make his mark in this regard. He is still very much in the mould of the traditional, patriarchal romantic hero reinforced by strongly highlighting his empathetic perspicacity with regard to Jane and her sad past. In this sense Stephen's Rochester is of course enacting a well-loved though rather unimaginative and conservative archetype splendidly well, but we also have brief glimpses of a darkly-lit inner life, which hopefully augur well for the rest of the series.

A quick point about Blanche Ingram, played by Christina Cole - did anyone else think she closely resembled Trevyn McDowell who was Rosamund in the 1995 BBC adaptation of Middlemarch? It was really bugging me for most of last night's show!

On a final note, and returning to my call for a more mystical adaptation, infused with the magic spirit of the novel but not wholly dependent, was anyone else disappointed with the musical scoring of this production? I was disappointed (but not surprised I suppose) that the Goldfrapp 'You Never Know' theme used in the Jane Eyre advertising on BBC 1, or indeed music in a similar vein, has never surfaced during the actual series. I feel a visually dynamic, dreamy even slightly surreal production of this fine novel, while still in 'period' and chiefly realist in scope and style, is long over-due - one which mixes moods and styles, and even music ... the electro-pop Goldfrapp theme is truer and more heartfelt as an essence, a sense of Jane Eyre than the anaemic, classic costume-drama scoring we have instead.

It really is time for a fresh and daring approach to Jane Eyre - the novel deserves it. What we have here is a stolid but workable and entertaining adaptation - so far - with some nicely-pitched acting performances. But this is also a missed opportunity to be bold and different.

See reviews for Jane Eyre, Episodes 1 and 3 and 4. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.

Casting news - 2007 Austen adaptations (NEWS)

New cast names have been added to IMDB for next year's ITV productions of Persuasion and Mansfield Park. A young Julia Joyce is now cited as Young Fanny Price in Mansfield Park. Julia must be getting accustomed to playing a junior version of Billie Piper who plays an older Fanny in this version - she has been a younger Rose in the BBC's Doctor Who and is also a junior Sally Lockhart in the upcoming adaptation of Philip Pullman's The Ruby in the Smoke, starring Billie as Sally. Other castings cited earlier in a Mirror article appear to be confirmed by the latest IMDB update.

As for Persuasion, Maisie Dimbleby has now been named as Mrs Smith. She can currently be spotted as Mary Ingram in the BBC's Jane Eyre. And we finally have an actress listed for Mary Musgrove - Amanda Hale, who appears to be fresh out of RADA. In other news, an 'extra' for this production appears to have visited the IMDB message-boards, informing us that the final scene of this production differs from both the book and the most recent filmic adaptation (1995, starring Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds). He (for he claims to play a Colonel), also points out that the military and naval officers in this production do not wear their uniforms when off-duty - which is actually more accurate historically than many adaptations and period dramas would have us believe.