ITV's third episode of Lost In Austen was the funniest yet. Amanda Price (Jemima Rooper) has captured the devoted attentions of Mr Darcy - unintentionally of course - and she has found that she loves him in return. But, alas, the poisonous Caroline Bingley has derailed any potential marital happiness by insinuating that Amanda has a nefarious past, and to top it off, Darcy finds Amanda's copy of 'Pride & Prejudice' and accuses her of writing a Roman a Clef, rudely failing to disguise the identities of himself and the Bennets.
This series has prospered by taking a well-loved plot and characters, altering the course of their lives beyond recognition, with the surprising result, that the new plot has become rather gripping, and the characters themselves more and more intriguing.
Surprises reigned in Episode Three. Georgiana Darcy was a sly little snake who had tricked her brother into hating Wickham, who has proved to be an honourable little sod, and a handy friend for Amanda. Caroline Bingley turns out to be a lesbian, despite her vaunted ambitions to wed Darcy and his mountain of money. Mrs Bennet is overcome with remorse for wedding sweet Jane to the abominable (albeit hilarious) Mr Collins. And Bingley is a drunk.
Hugh Bonneville continued to be marvellous as Mr Bennet - now sleeping in his beloved library to escape the hysterics of his family.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh was a formidable characterisation from Lindsey Duncan; snobbish, disdainful and astute.
Meanwhile, Elliot Cowan's Darcy really had a moment to shine - his very own wet shirt scene a la Colin Firth. His Darcy has become a formidable beast (another surprise, frankly); much more multi-layered and disarmingly 'emotional' than, certainly Austen conceived.
I still have lingering doubts about Hooper's Amanda Price; a little too forced and chipper for my liking. But this series has myriad compensations - all of them surprising. And often in a good way.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
BBC's Tess proves a turgid tale
As is increasingly the case in the field of text-to-screen adaptation, former adapted works often come to dominate and haunt their successors.
In the case of Thomas Hardy's many works (frequently adapted for film and TV), there have been two definitive Hardy adaptations which overshadow any subsequent attempts to capture the essence of Hardy's rustic melodramas. Both are films: Roman Polanski's 1979 version of Tess, starring a luminous Nastassja Kinski, and John Schlesinger's 1967 Far From the Madding Crowd, offering stellar performances from Julie Christie (Bathsheba Everdene), Alan Bates (Gabriel Oak), Terence Stamp (Sgt. Troy) and Peter Finch (Farmer Boldwood).
Both novels have also been adapted for TV - most recently, Tess in 1998 for ITV, starring Justine Waddell as the tragic heroine, and Far From the Madding Crowd, also in 1998, and again for ITV, with Paloma Baeza in the starring role, supported by Nathaniel Hawthorne as Oak and Jonathan Firth as Sgt. Troy.
The BBC has not been a notable Hardy-adaptor, hence last night's Tess of the D'Urbervilles, written by David Nichols and directed by David Blair, was a fairly unusual venture. The mini-series has been much-heralded, in part because of the latest Brit-IT girl of the silver screen and new Bond Girl, Gemma Arterton, taking on the central role.
In the circumstances, Gemma does fine - although her West country accent grates a little. She makes for a very pretty Tess with a delightful pout - one which even Keira Knightley would be proud of.
And the production is determinedly pretty too, with some lovely landscapes serving as a pleasant backdrop to the increasingly tragic events unfolding before us.
But I still can't shake off the nagging thought that this is BBC Adaptation-by-Numbers: albeit slick, smart, and well-presented.
There are a few pleasant touches. The episode opens and closes with country girls dancing in a circle, symbolising ancient fertility rites, celebrating youthful innocence. Tess is one of the dancers at the opening of the episode, but is excluded by its close, as she is now an unwed mother.
There is also a strong showing from Ian Puleston-Davies as Tess's father John, whose delusions regarding their heritage as descendants of the ancient landed family of the D'Urbervilles, prove to be the catalyst, launching Tess into her own personal tragedy.
We catch an early glimpse of Angel Clare (Eddie Redmayne), Tess's later love, and have prolonged exposure to the amoral cad Alec d'Urberville, played here with weary insouciance by Hans Matheson. Alec entices Tess to his country pile, ostensibly to help out his 'relation', but he has nefarious plans in store for her. He eventually rapes Tess, thus destroying her future.
In truth, however, what should be compelling, atmospheric and prescient, winds up a little perfunctory and disinterested.
Undoubtedly, the BBC is the driving force behind classic screen adaptation for TV. But in this instance, the ITV production of Tess, first broadcast in 1998, is the superior version. Of course, only one episode of the BBC's Tess has been aired, and there are three more episodes to persuade me otherwise.
Even so, I cannot imagine how the BBC's Tess will ever live up to Polanski's Tess, which is deserving of the accolades and fond remembrances lavished on it.
In the case of Thomas Hardy's many works (frequently adapted for film and TV), there have been two definitive Hardy adaptations which overshadow any subsequent attempts to capture the essence of Hardy's rustic melodramas. Both are films: Roman Polanski's 1979 version of Tess, starring a luminous Nastassja Kinski, and John Schlesinger's 1967 Far From the Madding Crowd, offering stellar performances from Julie Christie (Bathsheba Everdene), Alan Bates (Gabriel Oak), Terence Stamp (Sgt. Troy) and Peter Finch (Farmer Boldwood).
Both novels have also been adapted for TV - most recently, Tess in 1998 for ITV, starring Justine Waddell as the tragic heroine, and Far From the Madding Crowd, also in 1998, and again for ITV, with Paloma Baeza in the starring role, supported by Nathaniel Hawthorne as Oak and Jonathan Firth as Sgt. Troy.
The BBC has not been a notable Hardy-adaptor, hence last night's Tess of the D'Urbervilles, written by David Nichols and directed by David Blair, was a fairly unusual venture. The mini-series has been much-heralded, in part because of the latest Brit-IT girl of the silver screen and new Bond Girl, Gemma Arterton, taking on the central role.
In the circumstances, Gemma does fine - although her West country accent grates a little. She makes for a very pretty Tess with a delightful pout - one which even Keira Knightley would be proud of.
And the production is determinedly pretty too, with some lovely landscapes serving as a pleasant backdrop to the increasingly tragic events unfolding before us.
But I still can't shake off the nagging thought that this is BBC Adaptation-by-Numbers: albeit slick, smart, and well-presented.
There are a few pleasant touches. The episode opens and closes with country girls dancing in a circle, symbolising ancient fertility rites, celebrating youthful innocence. Tess is one of the dancers at the opening of the episode, but is excluded by its close, as she is now an unwed mother.
There is also a strong showing from Ian Puleston-Davies as Tess's father John, whose delusions regarding their heritage as descendants of the ancient landed family of the D'Urbervilles, prove to be the catalyst, launching Tess into her own personal tragedy.
We catch an early glimpse of Angel Clare (Eddie Redmayne), Tess's later love, and have prolonged exposure to the amoral cad Alec d'Urberville, played here with weary insouciance by Hans Matheson. Alec entices Tess to his country pile, ostensibly to help out his 'relation', but he has nefarious plans in store for her. He eventually rapes Tess, thus destroying her future.
In truth, however, what should be compelling, atmospheric and prescient, winds up a little perfunctory and disinterested.
Undoubtedly, the BBC is the driving force behind classic screen adaptation for TV. But in this instance, the ITV production of Tess, first broadcast in 1998, is the superior version. Of course, only one episode of the BBC's Tess has been aired, and there are three more episodes to persuade me otherwise.
Even so, I cannot imagine how the BBC's Tess will ever live up to Polanski's Tess, which is deserving of the accolades and fond remembrances lavished on it.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
A few false notes but entertaining froth from Lost In Austen's second outing
Just a quick opinion on the second episode of ITV's Lost In Austen, aired on the 10th September. After last week's bright start, we are now fully immersed with Amanda Price in Austenland. Elizabeth Bennet has been banished in perpetuity it seems, to 21st century Hammersmith - until, no doubt, the end of the series.
Lost In Austen remains sparkling, often witty with some nice acting along the way. This week Mr Collins, played by Guy Henry, was the star performer. He was suitably spiderish and unctuous, to an almost queasy degree. His little self-handling habit was aptly stomach-churning.
I'm still not sure about Jemima Rooper's Amanda Price. Her chattering internal voice irritated me, and her constant Thoroughly Modern Miss-iness began to grate on my nerves.
Amanda's constant and desperate drive to steer the Pride & Prejudice plot in the right direction also began to pall. I hardly know how Mr Darcy (Elliot Cowan) tolerated her constant pratings about 'Elizabeth' and there were further jarring moments too, when Amanda bluntly told characters what they were like, based on her reading of Austen's novel. Occasionally this worked well, particularly when she complained that she never really got Miss Bingley's character!
In sum, Lost In Austen's second outing was less impressive than the series' opener - too many false notes and excessive exposition, and an over-flustered heroine sporting a pained grimace as her plans to put the plot right, encountered one dramatic failure after another. But overall, I am enjoying this series more than I thought I would (or should).
Lost In Austen remains sparkling, often witty with some nice acting along the way. This week Mr Collins, played by Guy Henry, was the star performer. He was suitably spiderish and unctuous, to an almost queasy degree. His little self-handling habit was aptly stomach-churning.
I'm still not sure about Jemima Rooper's Amanda Price. Her chattering internal voice irritated me, and her constant Thoroughly Modern Miss-iness began to grate on my nerves.
Amanda's constant and desperate drive to steer the Pride & Prejudice plot in the right direction also began to pall. I hardly know how Mr Darcy (Elliot Cowan) tolerated her constant pratings about 'Elizabeth' and there were further jarring moments too, when Amanda bluntly told characters what they were like, based on her reading of Austen's novel. Occasionally this worked well, particularly when she complained that she never really got Miss Bingley's character!
In sum, Lost In Austen's second outing was less impressive than the series' opener - too many false notes and excessive exposition, and an over-flustered heroine sporting a pained grimace as her plans to put the plot right, encountered one dramatic failure after another. But overall, I am enjoying this series more than I thought I would (or should).
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Lost In Austen not such a loss at all
I had abysmally low expectations for last night's ITV premiere of Lost In Austen, a four-part serial from writer Guy Andrews. Lost In Austen offers us a rather far-fetched and decidedly kooky tale - 21st century Austen-obsessive Amanda Price (Jemima Rooper), encounters Jane Austen's favourite heroine Elizabeth Bennet in her bathroom, and then enters the world of Pride & Prejudice via a mysterious portal in her shower.
I was sure that this conceit would collapse under the weight of its own silliness within the first fifteen minutes. More fool me!
Lost In Austen proved to be a delightfully frothy and highly amusing wee jaunt, with some neat acting performances and moments of exquisitely-honed dialogue. Sure, the original concept reads like something from Fan Fiction, and I rather fear for the show's success as a result. After all, there can't be that vast an audience who have as intimate a knowledge of Austen's most beloved novel as this series appears to presume. In truth, though, Lost In Austen is mainly targeting viewers who have eagerly consumed the multiple filmic and TV adaptations of Austen's texts. Indeed, the show almost seems to parody, even subvert these adaptations, often to hilarious effect.
There are numerous echoes of the BBC's hugely successful and iconic 1995 production of Pride and Prejudice, which launched Colin Firth's Darcy as a major heart-throb, ranging from similar musical undertones to Amanda Price's quip, on considering her first meeting with Mr Darcy (Elliot Cowan), that he he's no Colin Firth, adding that even Colin Firth's no Colin Firth! Our first shot of Cowan's Darcy is surely another visual joke, as he is seen from behind, broodily staring out of a window at Netherfield Hall. Firth's Darcy was often shot in the same manner, signifying his desire to escape from the narrow-minded confines of the polite drawing-room into the sensual wilds of nature beyond the window-frame - clearly more representative of Andrew Davies, the screenwriter who penned the BBC adaptation, than Jane Austen herself.
The 2002 Working Title film, Pride and Prejudice, is also subtly parodied in Lost In Austen. Again, theme music often bears a distinct resemblance to Dario Marianelli's award-winning score which accompanied the film, and there are strong visual reminiscences.
Lost In Austen wallows unashamedly, with glorious gusto, in its status as Austen rip-off hypertext. Clearly influenced in terms of tone and sensibility by earlier adaptations, there is also a joyous, witting irreverence at play, which is carried off with considerable verve and brio by an excellent cast. Hugh Bonneville as a suitably droll Mr 'Claude' Bennet is exceptional, and he nabs the best lines. Alex Kingston plays his shrill wife, with her notoriously nervous temperament. This Mrs Bennet has a tough-as-nails interior, and gives short shrift to Amanda Price's interloping presence. The Bennet girls are nicely cast, especially Mary, who is almost comically plain. The skittish Lydia (Perdita Weekes) actually resembles her mother, which is a neat bit of casting, as, arguably, Lydia and Mrs Bennet are closest in personality. Charlotte Lucas is brilliantly played here as smarmy and sceptical by Michelle Duncan. Meanwhile, Christina Cole takes on the snidey, 'villainess' role of Caroline Bingley, although I wonder if she might have made a better Jane, here played by Morvern Christie.
Elliot Cowan's Darcy is ridiculously smouldering and aristocratic, to almost comic degree, and Mr Bingley (Tom Mison) is charming and sweet with modern good looks. Unsurprisingly, our thoroughly postmodern heroine Amanda attracts Mr Bingley, thus complicating Austen's plot, where Bingley falls for Jane Bennet - and to make matters worse, a tipsy Amanda also snogs Bingley outside the assembly halls! It's all very, very silly, and hugely entertaining to boot. Another laugh-out-loud moment is when Amanda Price, convinced she is stumbled into a reality TV show (and who can blame her in the circumstances!) 'flashes' Lydia, who is more than a little taken aback.
Gemma Arterton, famously known in the media as the next Bond Girl, plays Elizabeth Bennet - so far little more than 'glimpsed' in Amanda Price's Hammersmith bathroom. We can expect much more, presumably, from her character, in later episodes, as we get to see the adventures of Elizabeth Bennet in the modern world.
Jemima Rooper's Amanda Price is fine enough, although for such a strong showing in most other departments (barring occasional jars in the scripting), Rooper is a slightly weak link. She has the unmistakeable looks and bearing of a 21st century girl - her face is wholly modern. But her acting occasionally borders on 'mugging.'
Even so, this is a fun piece of work, and I look forward to Amanda Price's further adventures in Austen-land.
I was sure that this conceit would collapse under the weight of its own silliness within the first fifteen minutes. More fool me!
Lost In Austen proved to be a delightfully frothy and highly amusing wee jaunt, with some neat acting performances and moments of exquisitely-honed dialogue. Sure, the original concept reads like something from Fan Fiction, and I rather fear for the show's success as a result. After all, there can't be that vast an audience who have as intimate a knowledge of Austen's most beloved novel as this series appears to presume. In truth, though, Lost In Austen is mainly targeting viewers who have eagerly consumed the multiple filmic and TV adaptations of Austen's texts. Indeed, the show almost seems to parody, even subvert these adaptations, often to hilarious effect.
There are numerous echoes of the BBC's hugely successful and iconic 1995 production of Pride and Prejudice, which launched Colin Firth's Darcy as a major heart-throb, ranging from similar musical undertones to Amanda Price's quip, on considering her first meeting with Mr Darcy (Elliot Cowan), that he he's no Colin Firth, adding that even Colin Firth's no Colin Firth! Our first shot of Cowan's Darcy is surely another visual joke, as he is seen from behind, broodily staring out of a window at Netherfield Hall. Firth's Darcy was often shot in the same manner, signifying his desire to escape from the narrow-minded confines of the polite drawing-room into the sensual wilds of nature beyond the window-frame - clearly more representative of Andrew Davies, the screenwriter who penned the BBC adaptation, than Jane Austen herself.
The 2002 Working Title film, Pride and Prejudice, is also subtly parodied in Lost In Austen. Again, theme music often bears a distinct resemblance to Dario Marianelli's award-winning score which accompanied the film, and there are strong visual reminiscences.
Lost In Austen wallows unashamedly, with glorious gusto, in its status as Austen rip-off hypertext. Clearly influenced in terms of tone and sensibility by earlier adaptations, there is also a joyous, witting irreverence at play, which is carried off with considerable verve and brio by an excellent cast. Hugh Bonneville as a suitably droll Mr 'Claude' Bennet is exceptional, and he nabs the best lines. Alex Kingston plays his shrill wife, with her notoriously nervous temperament. This Mrs Bennet has a tough-as-nails interior, and gives short shrift to Amanda Price's interloping presence. The Bennet girls are nicely cast, especially Mary, who is almost comically plain. The skittish Lydia (Perdita Weekes) actually resembles her mother, which is a neat bit of casting, as, arguably, Lydia and Mrs Bennet are closest in personality. Charlotte Lucas is brilliantly played here as smarmy and sceptical by Michelle Duncan. Meanwhile, Christina Cole takes on the snidey, 'villainess' role of Caroline Bingley, although I wonder if she might have made a better Jane, here played by Morvern Christie.
Elliot Cowan's Darcy is ridiculously smouldering and aristocratic, to almost comic degree, and Mr Bingley (Tom Mison) is charming and sweet with modern good looks. Unsurprisingly, our thoroughly postmodern heroine Amanda attracts Mr Bingley, thus complicating Austen's plot, where Bingley falls for Jane Bennet - and to make matters worse, a tipsy Amanda also snogs Bingley outside the assembly halls! It's all very, very silly, and hugely entertaining to boot. Another laugh-out-loud moment is when Amanda Price, convinced she is stumbled into a reality TV show (and who can blame her in the circumstances!) 'flashes' Lydia, who is more than a little taken aback.
Gemma Arterton, famously known in the media as the next Bond Girl, plays Elizabeth Bennet - so far little more than 'glimpsed' in Amanda Price's Hammersmith bathroom. We can expect much more, presumably, from her character, in later episodes, as we get to see the adventures of Elizabeth Bennet in the modern world.
Jemima Rooper's Amanda Price is fine enough, although for such a strong showing in most other departments (barring occasional jars in the scripting), Rooper is a slightly weak link. She has the unmistakeable looks and bearing of a 21st century girl - her face is wholly modern. But her acting occasionally borders on 'mugging.'
Even so, this is a fun piece of work, and I look forward to Amanda Price's further adventures in Austen-land.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
A Tribute to the Joys of BBC Radio
Back again.
It feels like a long time since I last posted here. And it is, though for good reasons I think. First, I have been looking after my lovely little baby girl, which has been wonderful. Second, and rather more sadly, my Mum fell ill, very ill, and passed away. So, caught between the two extremes - birth and death - blogging hasn't been a main priority.
Anyway. Like I said, I'm back now, and thinking to expand what I cover on this blog from TV and film through to novels and non-fiction. However, my primary mode of media 'consumption' has been Radio 4 podcasts and BBC Radio's 'Listen Again' function.
I have long been a podcast fan - especially Radio Five's film reviews with the Good Doctor, Mark Kermode - but am now addicted to Radio 4's 'Start The Week' with Andrew Marr, which I always used to miss! Never again ... . I also listen to 'Thinking Allowed', which covers a diverse and eclectic range of topics, 'Front Row's weekly catch-up, Mayo's Book Review panel from Radio Five, 'Composer of the Week' and 'Music Matters' from Radio 3 and the archives of Radio 4's 'In Our Time' (I'll confess I was already addicted to this), and 'Open Book', with 'Book Club' once a month, thrown in for good measure.
Of course, if it wasn't for the long time spent sitting around when feeding a baby, and the joys of broadband connectivity, I doubt I'd be so hooked. Maybe it's a feature of getting older too? When I was younger, I was music-oriented only in my radio listening habits, apart from sport on Five Live. But now I find the 'talkie' stuff most compelling of all. There's something very intimate about radio, and of course, with a laptop or radio to hand, there's the bonus of portability too. I also prefer juicy debate in this format, certainly compared to TV where less information seems to be imparted to us, because of the pressures of 'presentation.' Everything is bite-sized, easily digestible, and has to look good. Radio is much more immersive and there seems to be more 'time' to truly get to grips with a topic.
Anyway. I'm going to update this blog with three separate posts covering TV, Film and Books I've enjoyed or hated in 2008. It's not a particularly high calibre list in terms of intellectual prowess - mainly comfort viewing/reading.
It feels like a long time since I last posted here. And it is, though for good reasons I think. First, I have been looking after my lovely little baby girl, which has been wonderful. Second, and rather more sadly, my Mum fell ill, very ill, and passed away. So, caught between the two extremes - birth and death - blogging hasn't been a main priority.
Anyway. Like I said, I'm back now, and thinking to expand what I cover on this blog from TV and film through to novels and non-fiction. However, my primary mode of media 'consumption' has been Radio 4 podcasts and BBC Radio's 'Listen Again' function.
I have long been a podcast fan - especially Radio Five's film reviews with the Good Doctor, Mark Kermode - but am now addicted to Radio 4's 'Start The Week' with Andrew Marr, which I always used to miss! Never again ... . I also listen to 'Thinking Allowed', which covers a diverse and eclectic range of topics, 'Front Row's weekly catch-up, Mayo's Book Review panel from Radio Five, 'Composer of the Week' and 'Music Matters' from Radio 3 and the archives of Radio 4's 'In Our Time' (I'll confess I was already addicted to this), and 'Open Book', with 'Book Club' once a month, thrown in for good measure.
Of course, if it wasn't for the long time spent sitting around when feeding a baby, and the joys of broadband connectivity, I doubt I'd be so hooked. Maybe it's a feature of getting older too? When I was younger, I was music-oriented only in my radio listening habits, apart from sport on Five Live. But now I find the 'talkie' stuff most compelling of all. There's something very intimate about radio, and of course, with a laptop or radio to hand, there's the bonus of portability too. I also prefer juicy debate in this format, certainly compared to TV where less information seems to be imparted to us, because of the pressures of 'presentation.' Everything is bite-sized, easily digestible, and has to look good. Radio is much more immersive and there seems to be more 'time' to truly get to grips with a topic.
Anyway. I'm going to update this blog with three separate posts covering TV, Film and Books I've enjoyed or hated in 2008. It's not a particularly high calibre list in terms of intellectual prowess - mainly comfort viewing/reading.
Monday, December 17, 2007
The BBC's Cranford proves a triumph
Well, having wept my way through the final episode of BBC1's Cranford last night, (I was deeply saddened at the death of Carter, one of my favourite characters), I felt I should write a few paragraphs of heartfelt praise for what has been one of the BBC's most successful and brilliant TV series.
I wasn't over-hopeful about the televising of Elizabeth Gaskell's Cranford when it was first announced, even when supplemented by two of Gaskell's novellas, to ensure a little romance (Dr Harrison's troubled courtship of Sophie Hutton) and the moving redemptive arc presented by the story of arch-conservative Lady Ludlow and her relationship with her estate manager.
How wrong I was! First, the screenwriter who adapted Gaskell's works, should have inspired me with sufficient confidence. Heidi Thomas has proven to be one of our foremost writing talents with an increasingly illustrious CV, and Cranford was a highly worthy addition. Thomas's script here was delightfully fluid, cohesive and wonderfully witty. It was also replete with its fair share of moving moments, which often reduced me to a blubbering mess, at least twice per episode.
The second key factor in ensuring Cranford was one of the BBC's most brilliant outings was its extraordinary cast. Judi Dench made for a winsomely endearing Matty Jenkyns, but Cranford was typified by a strong supporting ensemble - hearteningly female-centric and often middle-aged or older. Special mention must go to Eileen Atkins, who was majestic in the role of Deborah Jenkyns - kindly, conservative and thoroughly uptight, a real bastion of Cranford's 'Amazonian' society - and Imelda Staunton was simply fabulous in the comic role of Miss Pole. Her hilarious 'double-take' when catching sight of Mr Holbrook's sewing table in Dr Harrison's drawing room in Episode Four was one of my favourite TV moments of all time. Julia McKenzie was also a welcome supporting comic character as Mrs Forester, and her speech in Episode Five, explaining her fondness for Miss Matty, was one of the most affecting moments in the entire series. Philip Glenister also put in a flawless performance as Carter, Lady Ludlow's estate manager, who is devoted to educating young Harry Gregson.
But it seems almost churlish to pick out any particular standout performances from such a wonderful cast. I cared about each and every character. Each and every storyline. Which is why, amidst the laughs and smiles prompted by so much of the narrative action, there was also so much potential for genuine poignancy and humanity. For example, Deborah Jenkyn's unexpected joining Jessie Brown behind her sister's coffin in Episode One, was such a moment, establishing this series, very quickly, as a classic in the making.
Cranford was equally adept at portraying charming, whimsical fun (for example, the hysterical sequence depicting Mrs Forest's cat eating her prized lace), with darker, heavyweight satire exploring a broad swathe of hot potato topics which dominated mid-Victorian society, including the education of the lower classes, rural poverty and lawlessness, gender roles, and the inexorable advent of modernity, as represented by the railway coming to Cranford and the utilisation of modern medicinal methods by young Dr Harrison.
These themes were all resonant of George Eliot's Middlemarch, which was set some twenty years earlier, and were strongly representative of Gaskell's own writing, which never shied away from the issues dogging her day. Mary Barton, for example, spotlights the trials and tribulations of the Chartist petitioners, while North and South offers a study of industrial unrest in Northern mill towns (notably via a fictionalised version of Manchester). In contrast, and at first glance, Cranford seems to provide a more benign view of society, focusing on the demure, regimented lives of the lady inhabitants of small town England. But this is deceptive. Gaskell is cleverly covering a whole range of topics, albeit with a soft, deft, ultimately feminine and arguably proto-feminist touch - a charge which would have likely horrified Gaskell herself. Still, Heidi Thomas's script has ensured that these issues are elicited, fleshed out, and given full rein in this production.
After the dismal period adaptations broadcast by ITV this year, it was enormously refreshing to finally relax and unwind in the company of a BBC masterclass, reveling in what has proven to be a highly satisfying and successful TV experience, judging by the ratings. Hopefully Heidi Thomas will be gainfully employed in adapting more literary works to screen, as she has taken what might have been viewed as tricky source material, most particularly in view of Cranford's notable lack of 'sexy romance', which is the preferred mainstay of most period drama on TV these days, and penned a classy, engaging narrative, which will endure as an example of one of the BBC's finest for many years to come.
I wasn't over-hopeful about the televising of Elizabeth Gaskell's Cranford when it was first announced, even when supplemented by two of Gaskell's novellas, to ensure a little romance (Dr Harrison's troubled courtship of Sophie Hutton) and the moving redemptive arc presented by the story of arch-conservative Lady Ludlow and her relationship with her estate manager.
How wrong I was! First, the screenwriter who adapted Gaskell's works, should have inspired me with sufficient confidence. Heidi Thomas has proven to be one of our foremost writing talents with an increasingly illustrious CV, and Cranford was a highly worthy addition. Thomas's script here was delightfully fluid, cohesive and wonderfully witty. It was also replete with its fair share of moving moments, which often reduced me to a blubbering mess, at least twice per episode.
The second key factor in ensuring Cranford was one of the BBC's most brilliant outings was its extraordinary cast. Judi Dench made for a winsomely endearing Matty Jenkyns, but Cranford was typified by a strong supporting ensemble - hearteningly female-centric and often middle-aged or older. Special mention must go to Eileen Atkins, who was majestic in the role of Deborah Jenkyns - kindly, conservative and thoroughly uptight, a real bastion of Cranford's 'Amazonian' society - and Imelda Staunton was simply fabulous in the comic role of Miss Pole. Her hilarious 'double-take' when catching sight of Mr Holbrook's sewing table in Dr Harrison's drawing room in Episode Four was one of my favourite TV moments of all time. Julia McKenzie was also a welcome supporting comic character as Mrs Forester, and her speech in Episode Five, explaining her fondness for Miss Matty, was one of the most affecting moments in the entire series. Philip Glenister also put in a flawless performance as Carter, Lady Ludlow's estate manager, who is devoted to educating young Harry Gregson.
But it seems almost churlish to pick out any particular standout performances from such a wonderful cast. I cared about each and every character. Each and every storyline. Which is why, amidst the laughs and smiles prompted by so much of the narrative action, there was also so much potential for genuine poignancy and humanity. For example, Deborah Jenkyn's unexpected joining Jessie Brown behind her sister's coffin in Episode One, was such a moment, establishing this series, very quickly, as a classic in the making.
Cranford was equally adept at portraying charming, whimsical fun (for example, the hysterical sequence depicting Mrs Forest's cat eating her prized lace), with darker, heavyweight satire exploring a broad swathe of hot potato topics which dominated mid-Victorian society, including the education of the lower classes, rural poverty and lawlessness, gender roles, and the inexorable advent of modernity, as represented by the railway coming to Cranford and the utilisation of modern medicinal methods by young Dr Harrison.
These themes were all resonant of George Eliot's Middlemarch, which was set some twenty years earlier, and were strongly representative of Gaskell's own writing, which never shied away from the issues dogging her day. Mary Barton, for example, spotlights the trials and tribulations of the Chartist petitioners, while North and South offers a study of industrial unrest in Northern mill towns (notably via a fictionalised version of Manchester). In contrast, and at first glance, Cranford seems to provide a more benign view of society, focusing on the demure, regimented lives of the lady inhabitants of small town England. But this is deceptive. Gaskell is cleverly covering a whole range of topics, albeit with a soft, deft, ultimately feminine and arguably proto-feminist touch - a charge which would have likely horrified Gaskell herself. Still, Heidi Thomas's script has ensured that these issues are elicited, fleshed out, and given full rein in this production.
After the dismal period adaptations broadcast by ITV this year, it was enormously refreshing to finally relax and unwind in the company of a BBC masterclass, reveling in what has proven to be a highly satisfying and successful TV experience, judging by the ratings. Hopefully Heidi Thomas will be gainfully employed in adapting more literary works to screen, as she has taken what might have been viewed as tricky source material, most particularly in view of Cranford's notable lack of 'sexy romance', which is the preferred mainstay of most period drama on TV these days, and penned a classy, engaging narrative, which will endure as an example of one of the BBC's finest for many years to come.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
More Downs than Ups with BBC's Fanny Hill
I was genuinely pleased to see that the BBC were producing an adaptation of John Cleland’s bawdy 18th century novel, Fanny Hill. It made for a refreshing change from the typical cycle of Austen, Dickens and Bronte, which dominates the ‘classic’ text-to-screen adaptation genre on British TV.
This two-parter, commissioned specially for BBC 4, was scripted by the illustrious Andrew Davies – probably the best candidate to handle the risqué subject matter in view of his instinctual sensualisation of classic works – and was directed by James Hawes. Newcomer Rebecca Night was taking on the main role of Fanny Hill, a simple country girl forced through financial destitution to become a courtesan in 18th century London. But she was to be ably supported by a strong cast, including Alison Steadman as Mrs Brown, the owner of a house of ‘ill-repute’ while Samantha Bond played Mrs Coles, her classier rival. Hugo Speers played Mr H, one of Fanny’s lovers.
Unfortunately, this production didn’t quite match my high expectations. My primary difficulty with the piece was the lead actress. I found Rebecca Night’s performance as Fanny to be wooden and smug in equal measure. Some minor roles were similarly frustrating. However, Samantha Bond as Mrs Coles was very well-done and Hugo Speers’s Mr H was sufficiently compelling.
Some reviewers have focused on the sensual content of the mini-series, seeing it as unnecessarily sensationalist – ‘porn for Daily Mail readers’ was one rather amusing description I read. I hasten to disagree on this point actually. I think the series might have worked better if it was a little more sensual in its depiction of sexual activity rather than dourly mechanical. Even with much of the action taking place in brothels, the show lacked the lush, decadent vibe it really needed.
Scripting was fine, although I rarely welcome the Brechtian approach in TV drama, where the protagonist addresses us directly, in this instance as Fanny has recorded her past in her memoirs. Of course this approach was a direct take on the novel’s own structure, but it remains a narrative form I find uncomfortable viewing.
Clearly budgetary demands ensured a relatively narrow scope in terms of location choices and set design, but the show could have benefited from a wider geographical range rather than the few interior sets and extremely limited array of exteriors we were presented with. There was zero sense of Fanny having switched from the country to the hustle and bustle of London.
All in all, I’m glad to see the BBC attempting different ‘product’ to the usual fare. But this Fanny Hill lacked sparkle and verve and could have benefited from a stronger, central acting performance.
This two-parter, commissioned specially for BBC 4, was scripted by the illustrious Andrew Davies – probably the best candidate to handle the risqué subject matter in view of his instinctual sensualisation of classic works – and was directed by James Hawes. Newcomer Rebecca Night was taking on the main role of Fanny Hill, a simple country girl forced through financial destitution to become a courtesan in 18th century London. But she was to be ably supported by a strong cast, including Alison Steadman as Mrs Brown, the owner of a house of ‘ill-repute’ while Samantha Bond played Mrs Coles, her classier rival. Hugo Speers played Mr H, one of Fanny’s lovers.
Unfortunately, this production didn’t quite match my high expectations. My primary difficulty with the piece was the lead actress. I found Rebecca Night’s performance as Fanny to be wooden and smug in equal measure. Some minor roles were similarly frustrating. However, Samantha Bond as Mrs Coles was very well-done and Hugo Speers’s Mr H was sufficiently compelling.
Some reviewers have focused on the sensual content of the mini-series, seeing it as unnecessarily sensationalist – ‘porn for Daily Mail readers’ was one rather amusing description I read. I hasten to disagree on this point actually. I think the series might have worked better if it was a little more sensual in its depiction of sexual activity rather than dourly mechanical. Even with much of the action taking place in brothels, the show lacked the lush, decadent vibe it really needed.
Scripting was fine, although I rarely welcome the Brechtian approach in TV drama, where the protagonist addresses us directly, in this instance as Fanny has recorded her past in her memoirs. Of course this approach was a direct take on the novel’s own structure, but it remains a narrative form I find uncomfortable viewing.
Clearly budgetary demands ensured a relatively narrow scope in terms of location choices and set design, but the show could have benefited from a wider geographical range rather than the few interior sets and extremely limited array of exteriors we were presented with. There was zero sense of Fanny having switched from the country to the hustle and bustle of London.
All in all, I’m glad to see the BBC attempting different ‘product’ to the usual fare. But this Fanny Hill lacked sparkle and verve and could have benefited from a stronger, central acting performance.
Monday, November 05, 2007
ITV's A Room With A View lacks sparkle
It was a piece of inspired programming from FilmFour surely, to broadcast the 1985 Merchant Ivory version of EM Forster's A Room With A View, just hours before ITV unveiled its own, new adaptation of the much-loved tale, featuring the sensual awakening of young Edwardian Lucy Honeychurch amidst the lush glories of Italy. However, FilmFour's scheduling decision was a poor one for ITV, serving only to highlight the stark difference between the two films. The Merchant Ivory version, which virtually epitomises 1980s Heritage Cinema as a nostalgic, sunkissed fest of chocolate-box prettiness, is rendered an exquisite jewel beside this latest ITV offering, which sadly comes across as bland and depressing, despite some strenuous efforts to inject fresh relevancy and context.
First and foremost, this latest adaptation has been shot in a darker palette compared to the brilliant hues of its Merchant Ivory predecessor. This clearly ensures a more sombre, even melancholy tone, which pervades this production, further encapsulated by an invented framing device, offering us a flash-forwards to 1922 when Lucy Honeychurch returns, solo, to the pensione where she first met her future husband George Emerson. This device moves full-circle, bar a few intrusions into the main narrative, closing the film with Lucy revisiting the cornfield where she and George first kissed, accompanied by - of all people - the Italian coach-driver who first steered the young Lucy towards her lover.
Oddly, Lucy and driver picnic together, hand in hand, reminiscing, although there is an unexpected, even unwelcome romantic frisson between the two, rendered all the more peculiar by the scenes preceding this moment, fading Lucy and George's frenetic honeymoon lovemaking into a ghastly still of George, lifeless on the battlefields of WWI.
In this sense, screenwriter Andrew Davies has certainly wrought a clearcut change between the frothy but warm Merchant Ivory picture and this new version. It has been hailed in the press previews as closer to Forster's intent, but is in itself a deviation from the source. Forster made it clear in an afterword to his novel, that George was a conscientious objector in the war - itself a clear political message if one was genuinely being sought here by the ITV producers. As it stands, George's death seems strangely tacked-on and unnecessarily gloomy, even though, it is obvious that Davies and Nicholas Renton (the tele-film's director) are making a clear statement about the transient nature of the Edwardian fin-de-siecle period - the bucolic calm before the ghastly storm which was soon to embroil Europe, destroying life after life, cruelly ending a multiplicity of love affairs.
This ITV production also chose to make Reverend Mr Beebe's homosexuality a little more explicit by way of a snippet of a scene where Lucy spies Mr Beebe talking to a couple of Italian guys in a shady Florence alleyway - inferring that he is trying to pick them up. Although this scene is subtly rendered and certainly adds to Mr Beebe's characterisation, the moment is slightly ruined by Lucy's clear, though unspoken recognition of the significance of Mr Beebe's actions, as she then appears a lot more worldly wise than would have been the case.
In one other crucial way, the ITV production also differs from the Merchant Ivory film, in that the Emersons - George especially - are shown to be thoroughly lower in class and standing than the Honeychurchs and their ilk. This is an important distinction to make, because Lucy is concerned by her attraction to George, in large part because, in comparison to herself and her class, he is 'common' and works as a clerk for the railways. In the Merchant Ivory production, Julian Sands, while determinedly wooden in his acting abilities, certainly glowed with physical prowess and gilded good looks - appearing every inch the patrician, a far cry from Rafe Spall's cockney characterisation in the ITV production.
But yet again, despite ITV's best attempts to offer us some kind of veracity, a real insight into Lucy's fear of George, Spall's George is uninspiring and altogether charmless. This is a very real shame. In BBC 4's Wide Sargasso Sea, Rafe Spall made for a hugely charismatic young Rochester, but his appeal falters badly here. And as A Room With A View is, foremost, a love story, this failing is particularly affecting.
It doesn't seem fair to draw too many comparisons with the 1985 film in terms of actor choice per role - after all, each new adaptation should be taken as a fresh reading, a novel interpretation of the source material. But the Merchant Ivory film is so powerful a picture, comparisons are inevitable. On just about every level, the ITV tele-film falls short.
Sophie Thompson, for example, is a fine actress, but here, her take on Charlotte Bartlett, when compared to the inimitable Maggie Smith in 1985, is woeful. She stammers and giggles, a cross between her own version of Miss Bates in the 1996 Miramax adaptation of Jane Austen's Emma, and her comedic (and hugely successful) Mary Musgrove in the BBC's 1995 Persuasion (also Austen). As a consequence, her Charlotte Bartlett feels ill-defined and ineffectual.
Timothy Spall is another marvelous actor, but his Mr Emerson feels workmanlike and laboured when compared to Denholm Elliott. Judy Dench in 1985 also made for a better Miss Lavish, the breathlessly excited romantic novelist, compared to Sinead Cusack in 2007. And what was Elizabeth McGovern doing? She might as well have faxed in her performance in the role of Mrs Honeychurch.
For me, the greatest absence was Daniel Day-Lewis as Cecil Vyse - one of my favourite comic acting performances of all time. Sure, he was a parodic figure of fun, and Laurence Fox's latest version offers, arguably, more of a genuine romantic choice for Lucy. But, boy, was Day-Lewis missed! I could hardly bear to watch Fox. Rather than an effete, book-loving smarm, Fox came across as someone desperate to play a 'lad', and bore the air of someone who was injured, and therefore unable to play tennis with Freddie, rather than someone who would rather immerse himself in a book.
As for Lucy herself. Elaine Cassidy was absolutely fine in the role. She lacked the arch sweetness of Helena Bonham-Carter, but she acted rather than pouted, which could only be a good thing. Except ... I have actually grown a lot fonder of Bonham-Carter's stilted performance over the years - and now respect her acting talents too - but Cassidy certainly brought more innate drama to Miss Honeychurch. And yet I still missed the 1985 Lucy - buttoned-up and wide-eyed with surprise at the unexpected emotions roiling through her. In the ITV production, Cassidy was a little too shrewish, too sharp and far too knowing - especially sexually, as made evident by the blatant ogling between Lucy and George.
Nicholas Renton tried to demonstrate Lucy's rejection of overt sensuality in alternative ways. There is a prolonged sequence where she gawps at the naked forms of the classical statues thronging Florence's piazzas. The scene, which seems to be a direct smash and grab from Joe Wright's 2005 Pride and Prejudice, where Elizabeth Bennet finally confronts her erotic nature and her attraction to Darcy while gazing at naked statues, is intended to signify Lucy's own sensual awakening, which she then markedly rejects when she refuses to buy a postcard depicting the familiar naked form of Michelangelo's 'David'.
Overall, direction was perfectly serviceable, and there were a couple of noteworthy performances, in addition to Cassidy herself. Timothy West's pompous Reverend Eager was spot-on and Mark Williams was fine as Reverend Mr Beebe - a less hearty and rather more serious portrayal compared to Simon Callow's brash buffoonery in 1985, although there was a gently wrought sensitivity hovering just beneath the surface of Callow's Beebe which was enormously endearing.
Italy made for a lovely location of course, although this was a shadowy Florence and Santa Croce was remarkably devoid of crowds. Summer Street was a pleasantly pastoral English locale, and we lost London altogether, meaning we lost the delightful irony of Cecil smugly enticing the Emersons to Summer Street himself, after encountering them in the Italian art section of the National Gallery. We gained Rome, however, when Lucy and Charlotte visit the Vyses.
The 1985 film placed greater emphasis, it seemed, on the aesthetic qualities of Forster's work - both in a filmic, visual sense and also through its interpretation of the novel, stressing the difference between those characters that languished indoors - by extension more inward-looking, bookish and repressed - and those who ventured more outdoors, indicating a more forward, progressive nature, thrusting towards modernity rather than the past and tradition. The Emersons, Freddy and Lucy are shown to revel in the outdoors, and Lucy is peeved that propriety has cooped her inside more than she would like.
The 2007 version seemed to place less emphasis on this particular binary, focusing, laudably it should be said, on the class differences between the Emersons and the remaining cast (except the Italian coach-driver, although his inflated role only serves to enhance the theme of inter-class reconciliation). There is one particular scene where Miss Lavish and Charlotte Bartlett hoot with disdainful laughter at George Emerson's professional association with the railways. Their snobbery is unseemly, and Lucy herself is disgusted.
It is a shame that with so much wanting to be 'said' in this production, the sum of its parts is a letdown; a bland, slightly miserable potage. There is a melancholy mood throughout, which does little to engage the viewer, most especially as this sobriety isn't even juxtaposed with sunny, sensual warmth, which would have served to enhance the narrative's poignancy. The musical scoring from Gabriel Yared has been much-praised in reviews, but the plaintive piano pieces only added to the uneasy sense of melancholia in a way that depressed rather than enlightened.
It is unnerving that the sparkling technicolour Merchant Ivory production, glorying in its sentimentality and featuring the thrilling, resonating strains of Puccini's 'Chi Bel Sogno' from La Rondine as the lovers first kiss, is ultimately more poignant for me than ITV's darker, one-note production, which strives far too hard to emphasise that the much-fabled halycon pre-war days of Edwardian England were soon to draw to a horrific and shocking close with WWI. The glowing lustre of the Merchant Ivory production expressed this in less stark terms and without the unnecessary addition of George's staring corpse, abandoned in no-man's land, because the beauty that film captures is unreal, removed and wistful. Forever lost, because we know the 20th century was a brutal place, a cruel time, and that the sharp pangs of nostalgia we experience are ultimately for something that was never really there.
First and foremost, this latest adaptation has been shot in a darker palette compared to the brilliant hues of its Merchant Ivory predecessor. This clearly ensures a more sombre, even melancholy tone, which pervades this production, further encapsulated by an invented framing device, offering us a flash-forwards to 1922 when Lucy Honeychurch returns, solo, to the pensione where she first met her future husband George Emerson. This device moves full-circle, bar a few intrusions into the main narrative, closing the film with Lucy revisiting the cornfield where she and George first kissed, accompanied by - of all people - the Italian coach-driver who first steered the young Lucy towards her lover.
Oddly, Lucy and driver picnic together, hand in hand, reminiscing, although there is an unexpected, even unwelcome romantic frisson between the two, rendered all the more peculiar by the scenes preceding this moment, fading Lucy and George's frenetic honeymoon lovemaking into a ghastly still of George, lifeless on the battlefields of WWI.
In this sense, screenwriter Andrew Davies has certainly wrought a clearcut change between the frothy but warm Merchant Ivory picture and this new version. It has been hailed in the press previews as closer to Forster's intent, but is in itself a deviation from the source. Forster made it clear in an afterword to his novel, that George was a conscientious objector in the war - itself a clear political message if one was genuinely being sought here by the ITV producers. As it stands, George's death seems strangely tacked-on and unnecessarily gloomy, even though, it is obvious that Davies and Nicholas Renton (the tele-film's director) are making a clear statement about the transient nature of the Edwardian fin-de-siecle period - the bucolic calm before the ghastly storm which was soon to embroil Europe, destroying life after life, cruelly ending a multiplicity of love affairs.
This ITV production also chose to make Reverend Mr Beebe's homosexuality a little more explicit by way of a snippet of a scene where Lucy spies Mr Beebe talking to a couple of Italian guys in a shady Florence alleyway - inferring that he is trying to pick them up. Although this scene is subtly rendered and certainly adds to Mr Beebe's characterisation, the moment is slightly ruined by Lucy's clear, though unspoken recognition of the significance of Mr Beebe's actions, as she then appears a lot more worldly wise than would have been the case.
In one other crucial way, the ITV production also differs from the Merchant Ivory film, in that the Emersons - George especially - are shown to be thoroughly lower in class and standing than the Honeychurchs and their ilk. This is an important distinction to make, because Lucy is concerned by her attraction to George, in large part because, in comparison to herself and her class, he is 'common' and works as a clerk for the railways. In the Merchant Ivory production, Julian Sands, while determinedly wooden in his acting abilities, certainly glowed with physical prowess and gilded good looks - appearing every inch the patrician, a far cry from Rafe Spall's cockney characterisation in the ITV production.
But yet again, despite ITV's best attempts to offer us some kind of veracity, a real insight into Lucy's fear of George, Spall's George is uninspiring and altogether charmless. This is a very real shame. In BBC 4's Wide Sargasso Sea, Rafe Spall made for a hugely charismatic young Rochester, but his appeal falters badly here. And as A Room With A View is, foremost, a love story, this failing is particularly affecting.
It doesn't seem fair to draw too many comparisons with the 1985 film in terms of actor choice per role - after all, each new adaptation should be taken as a fresh reading, a novel interpretation of the source material. But the Merchant Ivory film is so powerful a picture, comparisons are inevitable. On just about every level, the ITV tele-film falls short.
Sophie Thompson, for example, is a fine actress, but here, her take on Charlotte Bartlett, when compared to the inimitable Maggie Smith in 1985, is woeful. She stammers and giggles, a cross between her own version of Miss Bates in the 1996 Miramax adaptation of Jane Austen's Emma, and her comedic (and hugely successful) Mary Musgrove in the BBC's 1995 Persuasion (also Austen). As a consequence, her Charlotte Bartlett feels ill-defined and ineffectual.
Timothy Spall is another marvelous actor, but his Mr Emerson feels workmanlike and laboured when compared to Denholm Elliott. Judy Dench in 1985 also made for a better Miss Lavish, the breathlessly excited romantic novelist, compared to Sinead Cusack in 2007. And what was Elizabeth McGovern doing? She might as well have faxed in her performance in the role of Mrs Honeychurch.
For me, the greatest absence was Daniel Day-Lewis as Cecil Vyse - one of my favourite comic acting performances of all time. Sure, he was a parodic figure of fun, and Laurence Fox's latest version offers, arguably, more of a genuine romantic choice for Lucy. But, boy, was Day-Lewis missed! I could hardly bear to watch Fox. Rather than an effete, book-loving smarm, Fox came across as someone desperate to play a 'lad', and bore the air of someone who was injured, and therefore unable to play tennis with Freddie, rather than someone who would rather immerse himself in a book.
As for Lucy herself. Elaine Cassidy was absolutely fine in the role. She lacked the arch sweetness of Helena Bonham-Carter, but she acted rather than pouted, which could only be a good thing. Except ... I have actually grown a lot fonder of Bonham-Carter's stilted performance over the years - and now respect her acting talents too - but Cassidy certainly brought more innate drama to Miss Honeychurch. And yet I still missed the 1985 Lucy - buttoned-up and wide-eyed with surprise at the unexpected emotions roiling through her. In the ITV production, Cassidy was a little too shrewish, too sharp and far too knowing - especially sexually, as made evident by the blatant ogling between Lucy and George.
Nicholas Renton tried to demonstrate Lucy's rejection of overt sensuality in alternative ways. There is a prolonged sequence where she gawps at the naked forms of the classical statues thronging Florence's piazzas. The scene, which seems to be a direct smash and grab from Joe Wright's 2005 Pride and Prejudice, where Elizabeth Bennet finally confronts her erotic nature and her attraction to Darcy while gazing at naked statues, is intended to signify Lucy's own sensual awakening, which she then markedly rejects when she refuses to buy a postcard depicting the familiar naked form of Michelangelo's 'David'.
Overall, direction was perfectly serviceable, and there were a couple of noteworthy performances, in addition to Cassidy herself. Timothy West's pompous Reverend Eager was spot-on and Mark Williams was fine as Reverend Mr Beebe - a less hearty and rather more serious portrayal compared to Simon Callow's brash buffoonery in 1985, although there was a gently wrought sensitivity hovering just beneath the surface of Callow's Beebe which was enormously endearing.
Italy made for a lovely location of course, although this was a shadowy Florence and Santa Croce was remarkably devoid of crowds. Summer Street was a pleasantly pastoral English locale, and we lost London altogether, meaning we lost the delightful irony of Cecil smugly enticing the Emersons to Summer Street himself, after encountering them in the Italian art section of the National Gallery. We gained Rome, however, when Lucy and Charlotte visit the Vyses.
The 1985 film placed greater emphasis, it seemed, on the aesthetic qualities of Forster's work - both in a filmic, visual sense and also through its interpretation of the novel, stressing the difference between those characters that languished indoors - by extension more inward-looking, bookish and repressed - and those who ventured more outdoors, indicating a more forward, progressive nature, thrusting towards modernity rather than the past and tradition. The Emersons, Freddy and Lucy are shown to revel in the outdoors, and Lucy is peeved that propriety has cooped her inside more than she would like.
The 2007 version seemed to place less emphasis on this particular binary, focusing, laudably it should be said, on the class differences between the Emersons and the remaining cast (except the Italian coach-driver, although his inflated role only serves to enhance the theme of inter-class reconciliation). There is one particular scene where Miss Lavish and Charlotte Bartlett hoot with disdainful laughter at George Emerson's professional association with the railways. Their snobbery is unseemly, and Lucy herself is disgusted.
It is a shame that with so much wanting to be 'said' in this production, the sum of its parts is a letdown; a bland, slightly miserable potage. There is a melancholy mood throughout, which does little to engage the viewer, most especially as this sobriety isn't even juxtaposed with sunny, sensual warmth, which would have served to enhance the narrative's poignancy. The musical scoring from Gabriel Yared has been much-praised in reviews, but the plaintive piano pieces only added to the uneasy sense of melancholia in a way that depressed rather than enlightened.
It is unnerving that the sparkling technicolour Merchant Ivory production, glorying in its sentimentality and featuring the thrilling, resonating strains of Puccini's 'Chi Bel Sogno' from La Rondine as the lovers first kiss, is ultimately more poignant for me than ITV's darker, one-note production, which strives far too hard to emphasise that the much-fabled halycon pre-war days of Edwardian England were soon to draw to a horrific and shocking close with WWI. The glowing lustre of the Merchant Ivory production expressed this in less stark terms and without the unnecessary addition of George's staring corpse, abandoned in no-man's land, because the beauty that film captures is unreal, removed and wistful. Forever lost, because we know the 20th century was a brutal place, a cruel time, and that the sharp pangs of nostalgia we experience are ultimately for something that was never really there.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Please sir, must we REALLY have some more?
So we have yet another Oliver Twist coming to our screens this Winter. The BBC is set to broadcast a new version of Charles Dickens's well-loved tale starring newcomer William Millar as Oliver, Timothy Spall as Fagin and Tom Hardy as the pyschopathic Sykes with Sophie Okonedo as poor Nancy. The five-part series has been penned by Sarah Phelps, who is best-known for her work on Eastenders, while Coky Giedroyc, who directed Elizabeth: The Virgin Queen, takes the helm.
But do we really need more Oliver Twist? There are plentiful other 'classic' novels to adapt to screen ... so why the paltry lack of imagination?
Clearly this is seen as wholesome, on-message family viewing with a heart of gold; a re-working of a familiar, well-loved tale. However, a truly searing, realistic version of Oliver Twist , which offered an unflinching portrayal of the despicable cruelties and craven hypocrisies of the Victorian era, would probably prove to be wholly unpalatable to the family audiences TV broadcasters hope to entice. Dickens certainly intended Oliver Twist to expose the crass indecencies and misfortunes inflicted on children at the heart of his society. Sure, he over-sentimentalised his subject (as was his wont), but this was nothing compared to the sanitised saccharine-sweetness which has sugar-coated almost every televisual/filmic outing of the novel ever since. Let's hope the BBC's promises (as stipulatd in the corporation's press release) for a 'darkly thrilling' production with a 'modern edge', lives up to its hype.
But do we really need more Oliver Twist? There are plentiful other 'classic' novels to adapt to screen ... so why the paltry lack of imagination?
Clearly this is seen as wholesome, on-message family viewing with a heart of gold; a re-working of a familiar, well-loved tale. However, a truly searing, realistic version of Oliver Twist , which offered an unflinching portrayal of the despicable cruelties and craven hypocrisies of the Victorian era, would probably prove to be wholly unpalatable to the family audiences TV broadcasters hope to entice. Dickens certainly intended Oliver Twist to expose the crass indecencies and misfortunes inflicted on children at the heart of his society. Sure, he over-sentimentalised his subject (as was his wont), but this was nothing compared to the sanitised saccharine-sweetness which has sugar-coated almost every televisual/filmic outing of the novel ever since. Let's hope the BBC's promises (as stipulatd in the corporation's press release) for a 'darkly thrilling' production with a 'modern edge', lives up to its hype.
Confession ...
... I am absolutely loving The Tudors, the Showtime import currently airing on BBC2. OK, I know it's high-blown, ridiculous nonsense, riddled with historical inaccuracies and dogged by some egregious acting, most particularly from the otherwise insanely delectable Jonathan Rhys Meyers playing King Henry VIII. But what a hoot!
I can't help loving it, even though in Episode Four, we have just had the nonsensical re-casting of Henry's sister 'Mary Rose' as 'Margaret' (ensuring an amalgamation of both Henry's sisters, including the historically vital Princess Margaret who wed James IV of Scotland) who is dispatched to marry the decrepit and infirm King of Portugal, when in reality, she married the King of France. And then, at the close of the episode, Princess 'Margaret' proceeds to suffocate the ailing king with a pillow! In truth, 'Mary Rose' was reputed to have danced her old king to death, wearing him out with her youth and vitality ... but a murderer?? It's an absurdly crazy notion, but completely in keeping with the high-blown silliness we have come to expect from this TV series.
Of course, I am unabashedly tuning in for the eye candy. Jonathan Rhys Meyers is extremely easy on the eye, and luckily the producers have managed to get him 'out' of his shirt as much as possible. Similarly eye-catching is young Henry Cavill as Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, who steals Princess 'Margaret's' heart, while escorting her to her political marriage in Portugal. Brandon did indeed fall for Princess 'Mary Rose', and they (eventually) made for a happily handsome married couple, once her first husband had been danced to his grave.
I'm not sure of Natalie Dormer as Anne Boleyn. She's a little too chocolate-box and less arch and witty than how I envisage the real Anne. But I love Maria Doyle Kennedy as poor, downtrodden Katherine of Aragon. Sam Neill is good value as always as Cardinal Wolsey, and it was good to see James Frain, a terrific actor, entering the fray in Episode Four as Thomas Cromwell.
I'm rather hoping The Tudors can continue for a fair few series to come. There's an awful lot of mileage in that particular dynasty ... the reign of Henry VIII alone is enormously eventful.
Michael Hirst is the creator/writer of this series. He is well-known for penning Shekhar Kapur's exotically sumptuous Elizabeth, with Cate Blanchett resplendent in the title role and Geoffrey Rush excellent as her conniving adviser Walsingham. Elizabeth was recently aired on Channel Four and was definitely worth a (re)-watch, if only for the extremely moving final 20 minutes, when the young queen realises her fate - the political need to forgo her personal desires and humanity in favour of becoming a hallowed virginal icon instead; effectively a PR hologram, to be marketed as the divine, omniscient and quick-witted ruler, almost a self-parody, rather than a real-life flesh and blood woman.
Sure enough, the scripting and the direction in Elizabeth are clearly targeting a fun-seeking postmodern audience, hoping to accrue maximum cultural capital at minimum cost to the old grey matter and/or personal comfort, and history has been reshaped accordingly. But as with The Tudors, Elizabeth is not trying to push itself as a historically accurate tele-document - farcical as such a notion could ever be. The aim is to entertain foremost, and this is definitely achieved.
The success of The Tudors has led me to believe that a cracking TV series could be formed out of yet another formidably exciting period of England's history - The War of the Roses, which encompasses numerous personal rivalries, wars, battles and love affairs stemming from Edward III's reign through to Henry VIII's own father and the final de facto 'victor', Henry VII. Indeed, I'm of a mind to plot out a script myself!
I can't help loving it, even though in Episode Four, we have just had the nonsensical re-casting of Henry's sister 'Mary Rose' as 'Margaret' (ensuring an amalgamation of both Henry's sisters, including the historically vital Princess Margaret who wed James IV of Scotland) who is dispatched to marry the decrepit and infirm King of Portugal, when in reality, she married the King of France. And then, at the close of the episode, Princess 'Margaret' proceeds to suffocate the ailing king with a pillow! In truth, 'Mary Rose' was reputed to have danced her old king to death, wearing him out with her youth and vitality ... but a murderer?? It's an absurdly crazy notion, but completely in keeping with the high-blown silliness we have come to expect from this TV series.
Of course, I am unabashedly tuning in for the eye candy. Jonathan Rhys Meyers is extremely easy on the eye, and luckily the producers have managed to get him 'out' of his shirt as much as possible. Similarly eye-catching is young Henry Cavill as Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, who steals Princess 'Margaret's' heart, while escorting her to her political marriage in Portugal. Brandon did indeed fall for Princess 'Mary Rose', and they (eventually) made for a happily handsome married couple, once her first husband had been danced to his grave.
I'm not sure of Natalie Dormer as Anne Boleyn. She's a little too chocolate-box and less arch and witty than how I envisage the real Anne. But I love Maria Doyle Kennedy as poor, downtrodden Katherine of Aragon. Sam Neill is good value as always as Cardinal Wolsey, and it was good to see James Frain, a terrific actor, entering the fray in Episode Four as Thomas Cromwell.
I'm rather hoping The Tudors can continue for a fair few series to come. There's an awful lot of mileage in that particular dynasty ... the reign of Henry VIII alone is enormously eventful.
Michael Hirst is the creator/writer of this series. He is well-known for penning Shekhar Kapur's exotically sumptuous Elizabeth, with Cate Blanchett resplendent in the title role and Geoffrey Rush excellent as her conniving adviser Walsingham. Elizabeth was recently aired on Channel Four and was definitely worth a (re)-watch, if only for the extremely moving final 20 minutes, when the young queen realises her fate - the political need to forgo her personal desires and humanity in favour of becoming a hallowed virginal icon instead; effectively a PR hologram, to be marketed as the divine, omniscient and quick-witted ruler, almost a self-parody, rather than a real-life flesh and blood woman.
Sure enough, the scripting and the direction in Elizabeth are clearly targeting a fun-seeking postmodern audience, hoping to accrue maximum cultural capital at minimum cost to the old grey matter and/or personal comfort, and history has been reshaped accordingly. But as with The Tudors, Elizabeth is not trying to push itself as a historically accurate tele-document - farcical as such a notion could ever be. The aim is to entertain foremost, and this is definitely achieved.
The success of The Tudors has led me to believe that a cracking TV series could be formed out of yet another formidably exciting period of England's history - The War of the Roses, which encompasses numerous personal rivalries, wars, battles and love affairs stemming from Edward III's reign through to Henry VIII's own father and the final de facto 'victor', Henry VII. Indeed, I'm of a mind to plot out a script myself!
A Room With A View to air on ITV on Nov 4th
ITV's adaptation of EM Forster's A Room With A View is set to air November 4th, on ITV1 at 9.00pm. The trailer looks promising enough - lots of high drama and high octane kissing action, but definitely darker than the famous 1985 Merchant Ivory version, which launched Helena Bonham-Carter's acting career. I loved the earlier film, despite its being a piece of frothy, nostalgic whimsy, set in sun-soaked Edwardian England and a gloriously luminous Italy, and even with an abysmal Julian Sands as Lucy Honeychurch's young love interest, George Emerson - the eponymous Merchant Ivory 'heritage' film. Almost defining a genre unto itself.
I'm looking forward to Elaine Cassidy in the main role. She is a very fine actress, if a little older than I would have hoped for the youthful Lucy. I especially loved her work in the BBC adaptation of Sarah Walter's Fingersmith. Rafe Spall should make for an interesting George Emerson, and I look forward to seeing his real-life father Timothy Spall playing his fictional father too. I particularly welcome Sophie Thompson, a splendid actress, in the role of Aunt Charlotte. (Although she has a lot to do to face off the wonderful Maggie Smith).
In truth, this version really needs to give it some welly to face off the 1985 version, which never fails to delight.
The ITV production has Andrew Davies as the screenwriter (no surprises there) and Nicholas Renton directing.
I'm looking forward to Elaine Cassidy in the main role. She is a very fine actress, if a little older than I would have hoped for the youthful Lucy. I especially loved her work in the BBC adaptation of Sarah Walter's Fingersmith. Rafe Spall should make for an interesting George Emerson, and I look forward to seeing his real-life father Timothy Spall playing his fictional father too. I particularly welcome Sophie Thompson, a splendid actress, in the role of Aunt Charlotte. (Although she has a lot to do to face off the wonderful Maggie Smith).
In truth, this version really needs to give it some welly to face off the 1985 version, which never fails to delight.
The ITV production has Andrew Davies as the screenwriter (no surprises there) and Nicholas Renton directing.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Hello again ...
Long, long time no write - but I do have a valid excuse, as I have had a baby and been a little preoccupied, to say the least!
Anyway, I now have lots of little news items to catch up on, as it looks like a heavyweight viewing season is coming our way this Autumn.
Anyway, I now have lots of little news items to catch up on, as it looks like a heavyweight viewing season is coming our way this Autumn.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix: REVIEW
Finally … a long overdue review of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (‘Phoenix’), directed by David Yates, which was released mid-July.
This was yet another resounding commercial success for Warner Brothers, although there didn’t seem to be the same ‘buzz’ for this movie as others in the series – partly perhaps because publishers were poised to release the final long-awaited installment of JK Rowling’s septology, and partly I think because Phoenix was one in a long line of what has felt like chronic sequelitis this Summer.
I enjoyed this particular outing of the Harry Potter franchise more than any other movie in the series bar one – Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, directed by Alfonso Cuaron, which remains the high point of the series and is an outstanding movie in its own right.
Phoenix’s director David Yates has a hugely respectable career in TV. Indeed, State of Play (2003) and the Trollope adaptation, The Way We Live Now (2001), are, to my mind, two of the best televisual experiences of the decade. Warner Brothers gambled, to some extent, on Yates. Phoenix is his first major Hollywood movie – and boy, what a baptism of fire, taking on one of the world’s best-known and best-loved heroes (Harry), orchestrating the cream of Britain’s acting talent, and handling a blockbuster budget.
Yates copes admirably well, truly rising to the challenge. Phoenix is a superbly crafted film, darkly atmospheric, successfully relaying the often convoluted narrative of Rowling’s rather bloated source with concision and style.
Indeed, Michael Goldenberg, the screenwriter in this instance, deserves kudos for tackling Rowling’s rather over-stuffed novel, adapting it into a manageable 138 minutes, without us losing any of the substance or flavour of the original.
In many respects, this novel out of all of Rowling’s Potter instalments, was probably the most suited to Yates’s talents. There are strong political overtones resonant throughout, as the Ministry of Magic exerts quasi-fascistic controls over the wizarding world, most especially at Hogwarts, the school of magic attended by Harry Potter and his cohorts.
The primary focal point for this statist repression is Dolores Umbridge – to my mind Rowling’s most fearsome villain barring none. She is the classic everyday baddie who dogs everyone’s day to day lives, using the rulebook as an excuse for exercising excessive power. Indeed, she revels in wielding power for its own sake.
In Phoenix, Umbridge is portrayed with supreme nastiness by Imelda Staunton – one of Britain’s finest actresses. She sports cuddly pink cardigans and her office wall is festooned with meowing decorative plates featuring cuddly little kittens. But she is a vile, inhumane creature, prepared to torture Harry – who is notably still a minor – with a punishing quill, which etches whatever is written into the writer’s skin. Harry is subjected to an eye-watering detention where he must write one hundred lines using this same pen. It is a chilling scene, well portrayed in this movie, representing what is in fact a more prolonged period of torture in Rowling’s novel.
However, in Phoenix it is Voldemort, played here by Ralph Fiennes, who emerges as the scariest villain of all. This was an interesting reversal on the novel. Indeed, Voldemort, in my opinion, is one of the weakest links in Rowling’s series. But in Yates’s film he takes on a new and frightening dimension, most especially in one invented scene, where Harry is convinced he sees him, in ‘Muggle’ clothing, watching him at Kings Cross Station.
Credit must surely go to Fiennes too. He often plays smooth gentlemanly types, and it is all too easy to forget his star turn as the psychopathic Nazi Amon Goeth in Schindler’s List, where he emanated real, stomach-churning evil. He carries this same sinister sense into Voldemort – although notably not in the Mike Newell-directed Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which was a real mess of a film.
Similarly impressive in the baddie department was Jason Isaacs, playing the wondrously unctuous and pernicious Lucius Malfoy. Sadly we only get a brief outing of Isaacs’s considerable talents during a climactic Ministry of Magic sequence, when Harry and his loyal troupe of teenie friends (known here as Dumbledore’s Army) are forced into a terrifying confrontation with Voldemort’s ‘Deatheaters’ – masked enforcers of his dark magic and strong proponents of his racist drive for ‘pureblood’ supremacy in the wizarding world.
Meanwhile Helena Bonham-Carter makes for a delightfully insane Bellatrix Lestrange. Her wild Gothicism is such a far cry from the demure English miss of 1980s heritage cinema. She truly has become one of Britain’s cinematic treasures.
As for the remaining cast. Much has been made of Daniel Radcliffe’s improved acting skills in the role of Harry Potter (most particularly since his famous debut on the London stage in Peter Schaffer’s Equus), and there is much to be said here for how Radcliffe carries Potter’s intense psychological journey in Phoenix with considerable aplomb.
His supporting star and best mate in the narrative, Ron Weasley, is played again by Rupert Grint. I have harboured doubts over Grint’s acting abilities. I positively loathed his constant mugging and jaw-dropped gawps in the earlier films, but he has matured splendidly.
The same cannot be said, however, for Emma Watson, who plays Hermione Granger, who seems to closely adhere to the Keira Knightley ‘Wooden’ school of acting; forced, shrill, over-emotional, ridiculously posh, emitting this strange little panting sob whenever she is required to emote, or indeed, act – it was most disturbing. This is such a pity, because to my mind, in Cuaron’s Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Watson was the finest of the trio, by some distance. I genuinely thought she had the acting chops to outshine her co-stars. But both here, and in the immediately preceeding Potter film, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Newell, 2005), she has faltered badly.
The remaining cast turn in solid performances, however fleeting, which is so often the case with these action-packed films, seemingly over-stuffed with characters. However, mention must be made of Evanna Lynch, the young Irish actress who has taken on the role of loopy Luna Lovegood. Her scenes with Harry are intensely touching, the emotional highlights of the film, excepting a moving collage of flashbacks experienced by Harry, when he fights off Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic, and all seems lost.
The film itself boasts strong cinematography, retaining the darker palette now commonly associated with the Potter franchise. The opening sequences are particularly impressive, depicting a Dementor attack on Harry and his obnoxious cousin Dudley. I always relish the times in Potter movies when the magic world intrudes upon the ‘muggle’ world, and this is no exception. Yates excels at this spot of grim social realism – in this case a gloomy, graffitied underpass – and this, as a consequence, is the strongest section of the entire film.
I also enjoyed the scenes set in the Ministry of Magic, although the final duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore was a little too focused on close-ups, and could have fared well with wider visual exposition. Also, the emphatic moment when Sirius falls through the ‘veil’ was a little underwhelming.
Similarly, the CGi inclusion of Hagrid’s giant brother Grawp in the Forbidden Forest, adds little to proceedings.
We also see 12, Grimmaud Place, Sirius’s home and the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. It is a grimy, miserable old house, and the inclusion of Sirius’s mean-spirited house elf Kreacher, adds a little bit of black humour to proceedings. However, the film omits the shrieking, abusive portrait of Mrs Black, Sirius’s long-dead mother, which was something of a loss I felt in terms of her potential comic value.
Despite these failings, this is the second best film in the Potter franchise to date, offering a strong, coherent plot and Yates notably deploys some neat little cinematic touches: a flashback montage and the use of the Daily Prophet as a transition device.
Even so, it lacks the soul and magic, the cinematic artistry, of Cuaron’s earlier film, but it is a strong calling card for Yates’s obvious directorial talents.
Having said that, I am a little disappointed that Yates is taking on the sixth novel in the series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. This is partly because I rather like the idea of each film being directed by someone different, bringing their own ideas and personality to the mix. However, I am also unconvinced that the plot material will suit Yates’s more politicised sensibilities.
To my mind, the sixth novel is the weakest in the series, (I also dislike Book Four). Sure, it has a dark underpinning – Dumbledore’s death and Voldemort/Riddle’s back-story – but it is the frothiest, most hormonal of all the novels, and this, I think, will not fare well in Yates’s hands. The romantic histrionics will also lead to even more egregious acting from Emma Watson I fear. And I am also concerned that the strong focus on Draco Malfoy, will mean an abundance of Tom Felton, who is not the strongest actor in the series, in my opinion.
Perhaps Yates will coax career-best performances from his bright, young stars – I certainly hope so, especially in Felton’s case, as Draco’s subplot was to my mind the most gripping and emotional aspect of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Draco was rendered a truly intriguing character, with plentiful room for further development, and I was hugely disappointed that Draco’s role was not substantially enhanced in the final book in the series.
In sum, Yates’s directorial handling here is slick and competent, ensuring an enjoyable if slightly uninspiring film. For certain Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix has not lodged in my mind as particularly memorable, unlike the glorious third movie in the franchise from Alfonso Cuaron. But this was definitely one of the highlights of the Summer blockbuster season, although bested with effortless ease by Paul Greengrass’s high octane thriller The Bourne Ultimatum.
This was yet another resounding commercial success for Warner Brothers, although there didn’t seem to be the same ‘buzz’ for this movie as others in the series – partly perhaps because publishers were poised to release the final long-awaited installment of JK Rowling’s septology, and partly I think because Phoenix was one in a long line of what has felt like chronic sequelitis this Summer.
I enjoyed this particular outing of the Harry Potter franchise more than any other movie in the series bar one – Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, directed by Alfonso Cuaron, which remains the high point of the series and is an outstanding movie in its own right.
Phoenix’s director David Yates has a hugely respectable career in TV. Indeed, State of Play (2003) and the Trollope adaptation, The Way We Live Now (2001), are, to my mind, two of the best televisual experiences of the decade. Warner Brothers gambled, to some extent, on Yates. Phoenix is his first major Hollywood movie – and boy, what a baptism of fire, taking on one of the world’s best-known and best-loved heroes (Harry), orchestrating the cream of Britain’s acting talent, and handling a blockbuster budget.
Yates copes admirably well, truly rising to the challenge. Phoenix is a superbly crafted film, darkly atmospheric, successfully relaying the often convoluted narrative of Rowling’s rather bloated source with concision and style.
Indeed, Michael Goldenberg, the screenwriter in this instance, deserves kudos for tackling Rowling’s rather over-stuffed novel, adapting it into a manageable 138 minutes, without us losing any of the substance or flavour of the original.
In many respects, this novel out of all of Rowling’s Potter instalments, was probably the most suited to Yates’s talents. There are strong political overtones resonant throughout, as the Ministry of Magic exerts quasi-fascistic controls over the wizarding world, most especially at Hogwarts, the school of magic attended by Harry Potter and his cohorts.
The primary focal point for this statist repression is Dolores Umbridge – to my mind Rowling’s most fearsome villain barring none. She is the classic everyday baddie who dogs everyone’s day to day lives, using the rulebook as an excuse for exercising excessive power. Indeed, she revels in wielding power for its own sake.
In Phoenix, Umbridge is portrayed with supreme nastiness by Imelda Staunton – one of Britain’s finest actresses. She sports cuddly pink cardigans and her office wall is festooned with meowing decorative plates featuring cuddly little kittens. But she is a vile, inhumane creature, prepared to torture Harry – who is notably still a minor – with a punishing quill, which etches whatever is written into the writer’s skin. Harry is subjected to an eye-watering detention where he must write one hundred lines using this same pen. It is a chilling scene, well portrayed in this movie, representing what is in fact a more prolonged period of torture in Rowling’s novel.
However, in Phoenix it is Voldemort, played here by Ralph Fiennes, who emerges as the scariest villain of all. This was an interesting reversal on the novel. Indeed, Voldemort, in my opinion, is one of the weakest links in Rowling’s series. But in Yates’s film he takes on a new and frightening dimension, most especially in one invented scene, where Harry is convinced he sees him, in ‘Muggle’ clothing, watching him at Kings Cross Station.
Credit must surely go to Fiennes too. He often plays smooth gentlemanly types, and it is all too easy to forget his star turn as the psychopathic Nazi Amon Goeth in Schindler’s List, where he emanated real, stomach-churning evil. He carries this same sinister sense into Voldemort – although notably not in the Mike Newell-directed Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which was a real mess of a film.
Similarly impressive in the baddie department was Jason Isaacs, playing the wondrously unctuous and pernicious Lucius Malfoy. Sadly we only get a brief outing of Isaacs’s considerable talents during a climactic Ministry of Magic sequence, when Harry and his loyal troupe of teenie friends (known here as Dumbledore’s Army) are forced into a terrifying confrontation with Voldemort’s ‘Deatheaters’ – masked enforcers of his dark magic and strong proponents of his racist drive for ‘pureblood’ supremacy in the wizarding world.
Meanwhile Helena Bonham-Carter makes for a delightfully insane Bellatrix Lestrange. Her wild Gothicism is such a far cry from the demure English miss of 1980s heritage cinema. She truly has become one of Britain’s cinematic treasures.
As for the remaining cast. Much has been made of Daniel Radcliffe’s improved acting skills in the role of Harry Potter (most particularly since his famous debut on the London stage in Peter Schaffer’s Equus), and there is much to be said here for how Radcliffe carries Potter’s intense psychological journey in Phoenix with considerable aplomb.
His supporting star and best mate in the narrative, Ron Weasley, is played again by Rupert Grint. I have harboured doubts over Grint’s acting abilities. I positively loathed his constant mugging and jaw-dropped gawps in the earlier films, but he has matured splendidly.
The same cannot be said, however, for Emma Watson, who plays Hermione Granger, who seems to closely adhere to the Keira Knightley ‘Wooden’ school of acting; forced, shrill, over-emotional, ridiculously posh, emitting this strange little panting sob whenever she is required to emote, or indeed, act – it was most disturbing. This is such a pity, because to my mind, in Cuaron’s Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Watson was the finest of the trio, by some distance. I genuinely thought she had the acting chops to outshine her co-stars. But both here, and in the immediately preceeding Potter film, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Newell, 2005), she has faltered badly.
The remaining cast turn in solid performances, however fleeting, which is so often the case with these action-packed films, seemingly over-stuffed with characters. However, mention must be made of Evanna Lynch, the young Irish actress who has taken on the role of loopy Luna Lovegood. Her scenes with Harry are intensely touching, the emotional highlights of the film, excepting a moving collage of flashbacks experienced by Harry, when he fights off Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic, and all seems lost.
The film itself boasts strong cinematography, retaining the darker palette now commonly associated with the Potter franchise. The opening sequences are particularly impressive, depicting a Dementor attack on Harry and his obnoxious cousin Dudley. I always relish the times in Potter movies when the magic world intrudes upon the ‘muggle’ world, and this is no exception. Yates excels at this spot of grim social realism – in this case a gloomy, graffitied underpass – and this, as a consequence, is the strongest section of the entire film.
I also enjoyed the scenes set in the Ministry of Magic, although the final duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore was a little too focused on close-ups, and could have fared well with wider visual exposition. Also, the emphatic moment when Sirius falls through the ‘veil’ was a little underwhelming.
Similarly, the CGi inclusion of Hagrid’s giant brother Grawp in the Forbidden Forest, adds little to proceedings.
We also see 12, Grimmaud Place, Sirius’s home and the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. It is a grimy, miserable old house, and the inclusion of Sirius’s mean-spirited house elf Kreacher, adds a little bit of black humour to proceedings. However, the film omits the shrieking, abusive portrait of Mrs Black, Sirius’s long-dead mother, which was something of a loss I felt in terms of her potential comic value.
Despite these failings, this is the second best film in the Potter franchise to date, offering a strong, coherent plot and Yates notably deploys some neat little cinematic touches: a flashback montage and the use of the Daily Prophet as a transition device.
Even so, it lacks the soul and magic, the cinematic artistry, of Cuaron’s earlier film, but it is a strong calling card for Yates’s obvious directorial talents.
Having said that, I am a little disappointed that Yates is taking on the sixth novel in the series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. This is partly because I rather like the idea of each film being directed by someone different, bringing their own ideas and personality to the mix. However, I am also unconvinced that the plot material will suit Yates’s more politicised sensibilities.
To my mind, the sixth novel is the weakest in the series, (I also dislike Book Four). Sure, it has a dark underpinning – Dumbledore’s death and Voldemort/Riddle’s back-story – but it is the frothiest, most hormonal of all the novels, and this, I think, will not fare well in Yates’s hands. The romantic histrionics will also lead to even more egregious acting from Emma Watson I fear. And I am also concerned that the strong focus on Draco Malfoy, will mean an abundance of Tom Felton, who is not the strongest actor in the series, in my opinion.
Perhaps Yates will coax career-best performances from his bright, young stars – I certainly hope so, especially in Felton’s case, as Draco’s subplot was to my mind the most gripping and emotional aspect of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Draco was rendered a truly intriguing character, with plentiful room for further development, and I was hugely disappointed that Draco’s role was not substantially enhanced in the final book in the series.
In sum, Yates’s directorial handling here is slick and competent, ensuring an enjoyable if slightly uninspiring film. For certain Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix has not lodged in my mind as particularly memorable, unlike the glorious third movie in the franchise from Alfonso Cuaron. But this was definitely one of the highlights of the Summer blockbuster season, although bested with effortless ease by Paul Greengrass’s high octane thriller The Bourne Ultimatum.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Preview available for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix soundrack
www.soundtrack.net has released its preview of Nicholas Hooper's score for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, due for release July 13th, although the score will be for sale from July 10th.
Listening to the mini-clips at www.soundtrack.net, this sounds like a highly accomplished score, which seems to mesh well with the mood of the original novel I feel. I especially liked the clips for the tracks: Professor Umbridge, Possession and The Ministry of Magic.
There's the usual reference to Hedwig's Theme by John Williams, without which no Harry Potter score would be complete of course.
Hooper is well-known for collaborating with director David Yates.
Listening to the mini-clips at www.soundtrack.net, this sounds like a highly accomplished score, which seems to mesh well with the mood of the original novel I feel. I especially liked the clips for the tracks: Professor Umbridge, Possession and The Ministry of Magic.
There's the usual reference to Hedwig's Theme by John Williams, without which no Harry Potter score would be complete of course.
Hooper is well-known for collaborating with director David Yates.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Davies set to adapt erotic thriller for ITV
Andrew Davies must be the busiest writer in Britain. ITV has commissioned him to pen an adaptation of the modern, erotic thriller Sleep with Me by Joanna Briscoe, according to MediaGuardian. The two-part mini-series will be produced by Independent Clerkenwell Films. Davies is also working on a tele-film adaptation of EM Forster's A Room with a View for ITV, due to air in 2008.
Davies has also been busy scripting productions for the BBC. These include Sense and Sensibility, yet another Austen adaptation, set to air this Autumn, plus Fanny Hill, John Cleland's racy 18th century novel, which is to be broadcast on BBC4. Davies is also reported to be working on a new BBC series of Dicken's Little Dorrit, emulating the soap opera style of the highly successful Bleak House, and is also to pen a single 90-minute drama of James Hawes's Speak for England, to air on BBC2.
Davies has also been busy scripting productions for the BBC. These include Sense and Sensibility, yet another Austen adaptation, set to air this Autumn, plus Fanny Hill, John Cleland's racy 18th century novel, which is to be broadcast on BBC4. Davies is also reported to be working on a new BBC series of Dicken's Little Dorrit, emulating the soap opera style of the highly successful Bleak House, and is also to pen a single 90-minute drama of James Hawes's Speak for England, to air on BBC2.
Coppola's Marie Antoinette proves to be a feast for the senses
Here's a little something I've been meaning to write for some time now. I wanted to record my huge appreciation of Sofia Coppola's mesmerising Marie Antoinette.
I simply adored this film. Most unexpectedly.
I fervently wish I'd caught it at the cinema - such a lustrous, richly visual spectacle probably deserved nothing less. But I had to make do with a DVD and my widescreen television, fed through speakers to do some justice at least to the wonderful soundtrack.
I also loved Coppola's Lost in Translation and her earlier work, The Virgin Suicides. Which must mean, I guess, that Coppola's aesthetic style appeals to me. There is a stillness, a silence almost, at the heart of her films - even when your screen is a riot of colour and activity - which I find intensely moving. I also love her focus on strong female protagonists, and by strong, that doesn't mean kickass 'Xena' warrior princess-types - but complex, multi-layered women, whose feelings you can't help but engage with.
Scarlet Johansson was a splendid Coppola heroine in Lost in Translation, capturing that slightly aloof yet densely textured Coppolaesque 'essence' for want of a better phrase. I harboured doubts about Kirsten Dunst in the title role as Marie Antoinette. I'm not a great fan of Dunst, even though I enjoyed her in Coppola's The Virgin Suicides.
In fact, for much of Marie Antoinette, I even wondered if Dunst had bitten off more than she could chew. She seemed so ill at ease, so lost in it all, overwhelmed ... and then it struck me that she was absolutely perfect for the role, capturing Marie Antoinette's own lost, lonely sense of alienation, her necessity to seal herself away in a lush, consumerist dreamworld - a fantasia which was to cost her dearly.
Indeed, Marie Antoinette's excessive purchasing habits, her debauched lifestyle, were splendidly portrayed here. As was the opulent grandeur and sumptuous ritual of life at Versailles.
Other performances worth mentioning include Jason Schwartzman as Marie's sexually awkward husband Louis XVI, Steve Coogan as Marie's Austrian compatriot Ambassador Mercy (their final parting was particularly poignant), Shirley Henderson as Aunt Sophie and Rose Byrne as the scandalous, vivacious Duchesse de Polignac.
I had no qualms with the plethora of American accents, with the liberties taken with historical veracity, with the tumbling juxtaposition of historicities with brash 80s pop music. Indeed, the music was a highlight. I especially loved the usage of Siouxsie and the Banshee's Hong Kong Gardens, complete with violin intro, and I loved how the disconsolate melancholy of The Cure was used in the closing credits, capturing the sense of tragedy which pervades the closing stages of the film - indeed, there is a haunting melancholic undertow throughout. We all know how it ends, even though Coppola chooses to close the action with the King and Queen quitting Versailles for the very last time.
Music is such a powerful sensory weapon in the director's arsenal and Sofia Coppola proves she has an expert ear.
All in all, this was one of my favourite filmic experiences for some time. I am disappointed that Marie Antoinette didn't receive particularly positive critical feedback. Nor was it a box office sensation. Far from it. But this is an assured and moving piece of work from a hugely talented director.
I simply adored this film. Most unexpectedly.
I fervently wish I'd caught it at the cinema - such a lustrous, richly visual spectacle probably deserved nothing less. But I had to make do with a DVD and my widescreen television, fed through speakers to do some justice at least to the wonderful soundtrack.
I also loved Coppola's Lost in Translation and her earlier work, The Virgin Suicides. Which must mean, I guess, that Coppola's aesthetic style appeals to me. There is a stillness, a silence almost, at the heart of her films - even when your screen is a riot of colour and activity - which I find intensely moving. I also love her focus on strong female protagonists, and by strong, that doesn't mean kickass 'Xena' warrior princess-types - but complex, multi-layered women, whose feelings you can't help but engage with.
Scarlet Johansson was a splendid Coppola heroine in Lost in Translation, capturing that slightly aloof yet densely textured Coppolaesque 'essence' for want of a better phrase. I harboured doubts about Kirsten Dunst in the title role as Marie Antoinette. I'm not a great fan of Dunst, even though I enjoyed her in Coppola's The Virgin Suicides.
In fact, for much of Marie Antoinette, I even wondered if Dunst had bitten off more than she could chew. She seemed so ill at ease, so lost in it all, overwhelmed ... and then it struck me that she was absolutely perfect for the role, capturing Marie Antoinette's own lost, lonely sense of alienation, her necessity to seal herself away in a lush, consumerist dreamworld - a fantasia which was to cost her dearly.
Indeed, Marie Antoinette's excessive purchasing habits, her debauched lifestyle, were splendidly portrayed here. As was the opulent grandeur and sumptuous ritual of life at Versailles.
Other performances worth mentioning include Jason Schwartzman as Marie's sexually awkward husband Louis XVI, Steve Coogan as Marie's Austrian compatriot Ambassador Mercy (their final parting was particularly poignant), Shirley Henderson as Aunt Sophie and Rose Byrne as the scandalous, vivacious Duchesse de Polignac.
I had no qualms with the plethora of American accents, with the liberties taken with historical veracity, with the tumbling juxtaposition of historicities with brash 80s pop music. Indeed, the music was a highlight. I especially loved the usage of Siouxsie and the Banshee's Hong Kong Gardens, complete with violin intro, and I loved how the disconsolate melancholy of The Cure was used in the closing credits, capturing the sense of tragedy which pervades the closing stages of the film - indeed, there is a haunting melancholic undertow throughout. We all know how it ends, even though Coppola chooses to close the action with the King and Queen quitting Versailles for the very last time.
Music is such a powerful sensory weapon in the director's arsenal and Sofia Coppola proves she has an expert ear.
All in all, this was one of my favourite filmic experiences for some time. I am disappointed that Marie Antoinette didn't receive particularly positive critical feedback. Nor was it a box office sensation. Far from it. But this is an assured and moving piece of work from a hugely talented director.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Becoming a Fan of Fan Fiction: Exploring Red Eye fandom
Apologies for not updating in a while. Life has been a hectic whirl.
I have also been exploring the wonderful world of 'fan fiction', with a view to writing a research paper on the subject, which is proving to be more fascinating than I could possibly have imagined! I'll jot down a few ideas on the subject for this blog in the next few days.
I'll also admit I have been inspired to write a 'fanfic' myself! It started out as an 'exercise' - almost as research - but I have become increasingly embroiled in my 'work', which is likely to take on novel-size dimensions if I'm not too careful. If you fancy a laugh, my 'fanfic' is called The Real Deal and can be found at www.fanfiction.net, under the Movies category, sub-category 'Red Eye.'
Oh yes. I did say 'Red Eye'!! Not the most taxing, subversive piece of cinema to emerge in the last decade, granted. But a fabulous little genre-flick in my opinion - sheer unadulterated (guilty?) entertainment. What I have found fascinating about the Red Eye fandom is the overwhelming number of female fans. Of course fan fiction does seem to be dominated by women - this is quite noticeable actually, and is a topic worth exploring further in its own right - but what makes these fans so interesting, is their adherence to the idea of a passionate romantic pairing between the two leads in Red Eye, Lisa Reisert and the cold-blooded assassin Jackson Rippner, who tries to kill Lisa but winds up almost dead himself by the end of the film. This is NOT a romantic film. But it has spawned a plethora of romantic, and often pretty darn sexy fan fiction! There is, of course, undeniable sexual chemistry between the two leads, which is obviously unexplored by the film's core narrative, which focuses on its key generic functions as a thriller.
And it is because there is a 'gap' in the narrative, based on this unresolved chemistry - despite, and almost because of the dark S&M overtones that are expressed in the movie itself - we now have a small but fervent fan culture, which is devoted to further exploring the dynamics of this relationship. It is the stuff of fantasy of course - a guilty pleasure too in some respects, as the nature of the pairing is based to some extent on power, control and violence.
Of course the sexual tension between the two stars is ramped up considerably by the fact that both actors are no small beer in the looks department. Rachel McAdams is edibly luscious, while Cillian Murphy is blessed with unique good looks and chilling blue eyes. If Lisa and Jackson had been lumpy and drab, there would be no Red Eye fan fiction, I can guarantee it. (And likely no movie in the first place, all considered).
What makes Red Eye interesting too is the characterisation of Lisa, the heroine, who proves to be tenacious, kickass and indomitable - and completely underestimated by the smooth-talking psycho Jackson. Many fanfics have further evolved Lisa's hardball attitude, while others have reveled more in portraying her as passive to Jackson's tough guy dominance. Jackson himself is almost always 'redeemed' in some form or other, because, yup, you guessed it, because of the power of love and his idolising of Lisa, his perfect match.
My ongoing fanfic is focusing on Lisa's POV. Yes there will be romance (there IS that chemistry thing going on, it can't be denied), but rather than Jackson taking the initiative throughout, I have decided to cast Lisa as a 'detective', determined to uncover the truth about Jackson, his past, his persona, his work, his true identity &c. And I'll admit I'm enjoying every minute of it, although I've got a lot of plot still to get through (I've mapped out a large and convoluted story!). I'm a little scared actually how easy and enjoyable it is to write brute violence, and have been forced to edit my own work before publishing it online! I'm sure (or at least I'm hoping) that it must be a cathartic experience!
I have also been exploring the wonderful world of 'fan fiction', with a view to writing a research paper on the subject, which is proving to be more fascinating than I could possibly have imagined! I'll jot down a few ideas on the subject for this blog in the next few days.
I'll also admit I have been inspired to write a 'fanfic' myself! It started out as an 'exercise' - almost as research - but I have become increasingly embroiled in my 'work', which is likely to take on novel-size dimensions if I'm not too careful. If you fancy a laugh, my 'fanfic' is called The Real Deal and can be found at www.fanfiction.net, under the Movies category, sub-category 'Red Eye.'
Oh yes. I did say 'Red Eye'!! Not the most taxing, subversive piece of cinema to emerge in the last decade, granted. But a fabulous little genre-flick in my opinion - sheer unadulterated (guilty?) entertainment. What I have found fascinating about the Red Eye fandom is the overwhelming number of female fans. Of course fan fiction does seem to be dominated by women - this is quite noticeable actually, and is a topic worth exploring further in its own right - but what makes these fans so interesting, is their adherence to the idea of a passionate romantic pairing between the two leads in Red Eye, Lisa Reisert and the cold-blooded assassin Jackson Rippner, who tries to kill Lisa but winds up almost dead himself by the end of the film. This is NOT a romantic film. But it has spawned a plethora of romantic, and often pretty darn sexy fan fiction! There is, of course, undeniable sexual chemistry between the two leads, which is obviously unexplored by the film's core narrative, which focuses on its key generic functions as a thriller.
And it is because there is a 'gap' in the narrative, based on this unresolved chemistry - despite, and almost because of the dark S&M overtones that are expressed in the movie itself - we now have a small but fervent fan culture, which is devoted to further exploring the dynamics of this relationship. It is the stuff of fantasy of course - a guilty pleasure too in some respects, as the nature of the pairing is based to some extent on power, control and violence.
Of course the sexual tension between the two stars is ramped up considerably by the fact that both actors are no small beer in the looks department. Rachel McAdams is edibly luscious, while Cillian Murphy is blessed with unique good looks and chilling blue eyes. If Lisa and Jackson had been lumpy and drab, there would be no Red Eye fan fiction, I can guarantee it. (And likely no movie in the first place, all considered).
What makes Red Eye interesting too is the characterisation of Lisa, the heroine, who proves to be tenacious, kickass and indomitable - and completely underestimated by the smooth-talking psycho Jackson. Many fanfics have further evolved Lisa's hardball attitude, while others have reveled more in portraying her as passive to Jackson's tough guy dominance. Jackson himself is almost always 'redeemed' in some form or other, because, yup, you guessed it, because of the power of love and his idolising of Lisa, his perfect match.
My ongoing fanfic is focusing on Lisa's POV. Yes there will be romance (there IS that chemistry thing going on, it can't be denied), but rather than Jackson taking the initiative throughout, I have decided to cast Lisa as a 'detective', determined to uncover the truth about Jackson, his past, his persona, his work, his true identity &c. And I'll admit I'm enjoying every minute of it, although I've got a lot of plot still to get through (I've mapped out a large and convoluted story!). I'm a little scared actually how easy and enjoyable it is to write brute violence, and have been forced to edit my own work before publishing it online! I'm sure (or at least I'm hoping) that it must be a cathartic experience!
Friday, April 27, 2007
Gatiss to play Edwardian dandy spy in adaptation of own thriller
Mediaguardian reports that Mark Gatiss's The Vesuvius Club, published 2004, is set to be adapted by Gatiss for the BBC, and will star comedy actor Gatiss in the lead role as Lucifer Box, an Edwardian portrait painter with a taste for espionage. If successful, a followup would be likely, adapting The Devil in Amber, and subsequently the third novel in the Lucifer Box trilogy, which Gatiss is currently writing.
Dickens fest at the BBC in 2008
Apparently the BBC is set to bring yet ANOTHER adaptation of Oliver Twist to our TV screens, according to The Stage. The new Oliver Twist is due to start filming this Summer and air next year. Coky Giedroyc (The Virgin Queen) will direct. It seems likely the adaptors will take a traditional approach to this ever-popular tale, according to comments from costume designer Amy Roberts, who told The Stage that the producer has warned 'that we have to be aware of the fact people love the story and will want an old friend.'
I can't say I'm jumping for joy at this news. How many Oliver Twists do we actually need? We had the Roman Polanski film in 2005, and two TV versions in 1997 and 1999. Plus, plenty more before then!
More exciting I feel is the upcoming Andrew Davies's adaptation of Little Dorrit (also Dickens of course) which is set to air next Autumn, and is due to be televised as a soap opera, in the same manner as the BBC's hugely successful Bleak House.
I can't say I'm jumping for joy at this news. How many Oliver Twists do we actually need? We had the Roman Polanski film in 2005, and two TV versions in 1997 and 1999. Plus, plenty more before then!
More exciting I feel is the upcoming Andrew Davies's adaptation of Little Dorrit (also Dickens of course) which is set to air next Autumn, and is due to be televised as a soap opera, in the same manner as the BBC's hugely successful Bleak House.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
What went wrong with Austen adaptations?
Briefly reflecting on the debacle that was the ITV Jane Austen season - excusing to a slight extent their version of Northanger Abbey - I am bewildered at what seems to be a dramatic decline in quality text-to-screen adaptations of works by Jane Austen. For sure, the ITV adaptations were very much a step backwards, after what can only be described as an illustrious era for Austen adaptation in the 1990s.
I recently re-watched the 1995 Sense and Sensibility and was shocked at the difference in class between this twelve year old film and the recent ITV adaptations. OK, I realise that Sense and Sensibility was a cinematic film with a much larger production budget, and a a more impressive slate of acting talent on board to boot, but the differences went deeper. There was a genuine attempt to 'interpret' Austen's text, to offer a fresh reading of her work. This was apparent in both Emma Thompson's script, which utilised, for example, an embellished characterisation of young Margaret Dashwood to express rebellious feminine sentiment, and also in Ang Lee's extraordinarily beautiful and strongly-crafted direction, as throughout the production he strives to recreate scenes from 'Vermeer'. Everything about this film is pitch-perfect - something I have only come to realise in recent years, most noticeably in contrast to other Austen adaptations.
In that same year of course, we also had the BBC's famous Pride and Prejudice, which rejuvenated the period drama genre and is still a top-selling BBC product worldwide. And we also had, from BBC Films, a filmic version of Persuasion, which is superior in every department to ITV's latest, and lesser, offering. Again, this film actually had something to say. Nick Deare and Roger Michel (an enormously talented director) offered us a grittier, rain-sodden Persuasion, suffused with wistful emotion, never shying from the mental cruelties inflicted on poor Anne. The dialogue, the direction, all were handled deftly, smartly, and the acting performances were top-notch throughout.
The following two years witnessed an Emma-fest: two versions directly transposed from Austen's novel, and another, Clueless from Amy Heckerling, offering us a modern-day translation of the action to 'chichi' Beverley Hills. Clueless was especially impressive, but the two 'Emmas' were both 100% superior to the recent ITV fare - and notably the 1997 Kate Beckinsale version of Emma, with a script from Andrew Davies, was itself an ITV production. Again though, it had something to say. There was a genuine attempt to instill a sense of context to the narrative action, with scenes inserted which showed us the rustic poor of Highbury. Servants too were highlighted, ensuring we could never avoid an awareness of how the gentry of Regency England were able to live their lives of elegant ease. The Hollywood Emma starring Gwyneth Paltrow, was a little more pastiched than parodic, but was an exercise in delightful, aesthetically pleasing filmmaking, all the same.
Unlike many Austen fans, I also enjoyed Patricia Rozema's Mansfield Park in 1999. This adaptation really did have an awful lot to say - too much for some, who felt Rozema's wild deviations from the original text were an 'adaptation' too far. I disagree with this approach (although I can understand the sentiments expressed), because I like to see texts re-interpreted, re-created, in new and exciting ways. This was also a visually pleasing film, well thought-out, nicely acted.
There has been little to cheer in the field of Austen adaptation since then. Working Title's Pride and Prejudice (2005) was easy on the eye and pleasing in many departments, but it lacked substance. As for ITV's lacklustre offerings, these were frankly depressing. These were lazy adaptations, with little to nothing to say. They were adaptation for adaptation's sake - a crude attempt to accrue cultural capital for the ITV channel, better noted for its populist fare. I have higher hopes for the BBC's Sense and Sensibility, airing this Autumn, partly because Andrew Davies is at the helm (screenwriting), and unlike many, I strongly approve of his adaptation skills. Of course there have been some duds along the way (to be expected in a career as long and productive as Davies's), but he has also brought us some of TV's best adaptations, including Bleak House (2005), The Way We Live Now (2001) and Pride and Prejudice (1995).
So what has changed in the field of Austen adaptation? Why is mediocrity the order of the day? Is this a problem with text-to-screen adaptation in general (a more involved and contentious debate of course)? Or is there something awry with TV and Filmmaking? (Even more contentious!).
Certainly there appears to be less attempt, with recent Austen adaptations, to re-interpret the source text, to say something new and different. Is this because we are Austen-ed out? I can't quite see this - there are multiple schools of critical thought alive to her literary texts, why can't this be replicated in the world of TV and Cinema drama? Or, is it the fault of over-commodification of the Austen 'brand'? There is thus no need to 'challenge' audiences who are seeking simple entertainment and easily digestible cultural capital, rather than seeking out fresh and illuminating narrative experiences (or so the TV/Film-makers would presume). Worryingly, the standards of 'aesthetic' filmaking appear to have dropped dramatically (excusing Joe Wright's Pride and Prejudice, which is a literal visual feast of a film). Arguably, of course, ITV simply cannot 'do' period drama - it lacks an eye for the genre, although not all BBC adaptations have been as adventurous and slick in their production values as, for example, the corporation's triumphant Bleak House in 2005 - which to my mind remains the benchmark in quality adaptation.
I recently re-watched the 1995 Sense and Sensibility and was shocked at the difference in class between this twelve year old film and the recent ITV adaptations. OK, I realise that Sense and Sensibility was a cinematic film with a much larger production budget, and a a more impressive slate of acting talent on board to boot, but the differences went deeper. There was a genuine attempt to 'interpret' Austen's text, to offer a fresh reading of her work. This was apparent in both Emma Thompson's script, which utilised, for example, an embellished characterisation of young Margaret Dashwood to express rebellious feminine sentiment, and also in Ang Lee's extraordinarily beautiful and strongly-crafted direction, as throughout the production he strives to recreate scenes from 'Vermeer'. Everything about this film is pitch-perfect - something I have only come to realise in recent years, most noticeably in contrast to other Austen adaptations.
In that same year of course, we also had the BBC's famous Pride and Prejudice, which rejuvenated the period drama genre and is still a top-selling BBC product worldwide. And we also had, from BBC Films, a filmic version of Persuasion, which is superior in every department to ITV's latest, and lesser, offering. Again, this film actually had something to say. Nick Deare and Roger Michel (an enormously talented director) offered us a grittier, rain-sodden Persuasion, suffused with wistful emotion, never shying from the mental cruelties inflicted on poor Anne. The dialogue, the direction, all were handled deftly, smartly, and the acting performances were top-notch throughout.
The following two years witnessed an Emma-fest: two versions directly transposed from Austen's novel, and another, Clueless from Amy Heckerling, offering us a modern-day translation of the action to 'chichi' Beverley Hills. Clueless was especially impressive, but the two 'Emmas' were both 100% superior to the recent ITV fare - and notably the 1997 Kate Beckinsale version of Emma, with a script from Andrew Davies, was itself an ITV production. Again though, it had something to say. There was a genuine attempt to instill a sense of context to the narrative action, with scenes inserted which showed us the rustic poor of Highbury. Servants too were highlighted, ensuring we could never avoid an awareness of how the gentry of Regency England were able to live their lives of elegant ease. The Hollywood Emma starring Gwyneth Paltrow, was a little more pastiched than parodic, but was an exercise in delightful, aesthetically pleasing filmmaking, all the same.
Unlike many Austen fans, I also enjoyed Patricia Rozema's Mansfield Park in 1999. This adaptation really did have an awful lot to say - too much for some, who felt Rozema's wild deviations from the original text were an 'adaptation' too far. I disagree with this approach (although I can understand the sentiments expressed), because I like to see texts re-interpreted, re-created, in new and exciting ways. This was also a visually pleasing film, well thought-out, nicely acted.
There has been little to cheer in the field of Austen adaptation since then. Working Title's Pride and Prejudice (2005) was easy on the eye and pleasing in many departments, but it lacked substance. As for ITV's lacklustre offerings, these were frankly depressing. These were lazy adaptations, with little to nothing to say. They were adaptation for adaptation's sake - a crude attempt to accrue cultural capital for the ITV channel, better noted for its populist fare. I have higher hopes for the BBC's Sense and Sensibility, airing this Autumn, partly because Andrew Davies is at the helm (screenwriting), and unlike many, I strongly approve of his adaptation skills. Of course there have been some duds along the way (to be expected in a career as long and productive as Davies's), but he has also brought us some of TV's best adaptations, including Bleak House (2005), The Way We Live Now (2001) and Pride and Prejudice (1995).
So what has changed in the field of Austen adaptation? Why is mediocrity the order of the day? Is this a problem with text-to-screen adaptation in general (a more involved and contentious debate of course)? Or is there something awry with TV and Filmmaking? (Even more contentious!).
Certainly there appears to be less attempt, with recent Austen adaptations, to re-interpret the source text, to say something new and different. Is this because we are Austen-ed out? I can't quite see this - there are multiple schools of critical thought alive to her literary texts, why can't this be replicated in the world of TV and Cinema drama? Or, is it the fault of over-commodification of the Austen 'brand'? There is thus no need to 'challenge' audiences who are seeking simple entertainment and easily digestible cultural capital, rather than seeking out fresh and illuminating narrative experiences (or so the TV/Film-makers would presume). Worryingly, the standards of 'aesthetic' filmaking appear to have dropped dramatically (excusing Joe Wright's Pride and Prejudice, which is a literal visual feast of a film). Arguably, of course, ITV simply cannot 'do' period drama - it lacks an eye for the genre, although not all BBC adaptations have been as adventurous and slick in their production values as, for example, the corporation's triumphant Bleak House in 2005 - which to my mind remains the benchmark in quality adaptation.
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