REVIEW: JANE EYRE 4/4, CHARLOTTE BRONTE, BBC 1, 2006
The final episode of the BBC's Jane Eyre was a decidedly mixed bag and rounds off a similarly mixed, though enjoyable series. We have had strong acting performances and lush cinematographic delights but also a stolid, rather uninspiring interpretation of Charlotte Bronte's classic novel and at times, a far from dazzling display of directorial imagination from Susanna White, who promised so much with last year's triumphant Bleak House.
Here White clearly felt it necessary to spice up what is generally perceived to be the dullest passage of events in the novel, at the Rivers household, with a fractured, non-linear narrative, utilising multiple flashbacks, which strive to keep Rochester on-screen for as long as possible without destabilising narrative coherence. Unfortunately the Rochester/Jane chemistry failed to sizzle, despite (and perhaps because of) extraordinarily determined efforts to ramp up their sexual connection. Indeed, there were admittedly a few too many moments in this final episode where my eyes strayed to the remote control and I had to bravely resist the very real attraction of Prime Suspect, the excellent crime drama, which was airing on ITV.
This was not the worst episode of the series. That rather dubious honour falls to the opener, which brushed aside much of Jane's childhood, in its unseemly haste to get to the 'action' - the central romance between Jane and Rochester. After the myriad media and PR articles I've waded through regarding this adaptation, I've come to the conclusion that BBC producers were all too desperate to recreate the famous 'Darcy' effect of 1995's superb (and superior) Pride and Prejudice, positioning Rochester as the ultimate Romantic Hero. To some extent this has worked, judging by comments circulating on the Internet, and indeed an extremely swooning conversation I overheard between three ladies in a restaurant on Saturday, which was bordering on fanatical stalker-mode - Toby Stephens beware! But Colin Firth's crown as king of the 'Classic' romance has not been truly dislodged here - barely even struck a mildly glancing blow, if last night's romantic denouement was anything to go by.
Indeed, the high point of both the series and the central couple's 'chemistry' occured early in Episode Two, soon after Jane rescued Rochester from a potential fiery grave in his own bedchamber. And in truth, the best of the pair has been epitomised by their teasing verbal exchanges, expressing a meeting of minds, rather than those scenes deadset on emphasising their passionate physical proximity. Late in Episode Four, Rochester tells Jane they are not the sort to be 'platonic'. Sorry, but no. Not in this reviewer's opinion at any rate.
And there is evidence a-plenty in this episode where flashbacks, bathed in the unsubtle glow of 'sexy' red light, depict Rochester clumsily astride Jane, muttering sweet nothings while caressing her neck. Frankly I was relieved when these flashbacks faded to the blue-toned reality of Jane's present life with the Rivers. Jane sobs in frustration and grief at losing her past life and love. In this sense, the flashbacks served a purpose in bolstering narrative momentum, but otherwise I found them embarrassing and a little unnecessary (and most certainly not as a point of 'prudishness').
For me the problem was Rochester - well, Toby Stephens - who suddenly, most unexpectedly, struck me as LESS Rochester, and so very, very 'TOBY-ish' with his inimitable talent for super-fine, snarky lip-curling. This was all the more unaccountable, as Toby was far from any lip-curling antics in his current impassioned, loved-up state - and to be fair, this was the first time I had found myself recalling his more intertextual qualities since, well, Episode One - which surely says alot in favour of his portrayal of Rochester for most of the series at any rate.
Less jarring were the flashbacks which depicted Jane's aborted wedding: the bible falling to the ground as the news is broken in church; Jane in her wedding regalia running upstairs at Thornfield leaving a trail of crushed, soft, white petals from her posy; and her departure from Thornfield - although this was slightly marred by her catching sight of the red scarf wafting from a window in the North Tower, which has been deployed as a rather over-done metaphor for Bertha's presence throughout the series. Jane also appeared to emulate aspects of Bertha in this episode, as she too is seen to watch from a lead-latticed window at the Rivers household - perhaps signifying that a marriage to St. John Rivers would be a similar incarceration, a confinement of her free spirit.
Having said that, I thoroughly enjoyed the scenes with the Rivers - far more than the supposed dramatic clinchers featuring Rochester. Having rescued Jane from her destitute, near-death state on bleak, isolated moorland, (a scene mildly reminiscent of the opening of Episode One with a young Jane wandering through a desert), the Rivers family are portrayed here with bustling comfort - apart from St. John, played admirably well here by Andrew Buchan, who is a darker, stiller presence compared to his lively sisters Diana and Mary.
Indeed, Buchan has proved to be one of the stand-out performers of the entire series. St. John's exchanges with Jane make no attempt to 'electrify' and are consequently more natural and realistic in tone, eliciting excellent performances and a heartfelt, friendly repartee from both Buchan and Ruth Wilson (Jane). We have a powerful sense of St. John as a fundamentally good man; a man, who Jane informs him in a forthright manner, 'trembles' when Miss Oliver (who he is in love with) enters the room, while he himself admits that his 'skin may burn with fever' but he is a cold man, controlled by his puritanical zeal to pursue Godly works.
He emerges as a strongly sympathetic character - perhaps more so than Bronte herself intended - and the scene where he informs Jane of her new-found fortune and relations (himself and his sisters) was the best of the entire episode. Jane's unbridled joy is delightful, infectious ... but we never doubt the sagacity of her decision not to marry St. John. This is distinctly unlike the (perhaps) woefully miscast St. John Rivers of the 1997 ITV series of Jane Eyre, where the delectable Rupert Penry-Jones was rejected in favour of a decidedly unappealing Rochester, played here by the usually formidable Ciaran Hinds.
Jane contemplates her decision, her life, her continuing desire for Rochester, atop a precariously high rocky escarpment, set amidst gloriously bleak and wild Derbyshire countryside - a scene strangely reminiscent of a more recent Pride and Prejudice outing, the 2005 film, where Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet stands perilously aloft a vertiginously steep cliff-face, overlooking similar Romanticised scenery, gusting eddies of wind threatening to dash her to her doom at any given moment. Ironically, this scene was often described by critics as a little too Brontean for an Austen adaptation - and yet here we have a definitive Bronte adaptation appearing to emulate an Austen.
Back at Thornfield (her decision made off-screen), we have a disconsolate Jane eyeing a woefully burned pile of ruins and in flashback she is told the sad tale of Bertha's demise and the fire that destroyed Rochester's home. Oddly, given the highly dramatic source material, these scenes are determinedly dull and underwhelming. Bertha, clad in a voluminous white night-gown trails a flaming wedding dress (oh, the symbolism) along a shadowy corridor. Then, half-heartedly pursued by Rochester, whose face is expressive more of mild peevishness than stark panic in spite of the circumstances, she flings herself from the castle battlements. Her descent is matched by the soaring fall, then flight, of a white barn-owl, before the camera reveals her prostrate form on the ground below, arms outstretched, face down. The scene is clunkily-crafted and fails to excite.
Jane is next seen wandering through a misty forest complete with tall, dark trees and vaguely creepy music, but ... all is well. We encounter a pleasant limestone house now occupied by a limping, blind Rochester. Jane brings him a tray of tea-things and then combs his hair, much in the manner of a nursemaid attending to her patient in a retirement home. The effect is stultifying, even chilling, so it is not a surprise when Rochester swiftly and earnestly begs for a wife instead, much to Jane's smirking pleasure.
They embrace, kiss, hold each other, and the camera pans to the fast-flowing river, symbolic (presumably) of the passing of time as we next see them, children in tow, and the Rivers in attendance, preparing a family portrait sitting. They are to be painted amidst an ordered, manicured garden, with a sedate red-brick house, a far cry from the Gothic, ruggedly masculine splendours of Thornfield, serving as a backdrop to their pleasant party. There is a final 'framing' of this parting shot with a slightly tacky floral border - perhaps a heavy-handed symbolic signifier that Jane's 'feminine' has finally exerted control, she has mastered her own narrative, and Rochester has been tamed into Victorian domesticana.
See Reviews of Jane Eyre: Episodes 1, 2 and 3. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.
NOTE - this review is repeated below, without the title, as for some strange and inexplicable reason I have been informed that some readers cannot access this review WITH the title included (??? ... beats me) - so apologies for the 'double' post in this instance. 'Gallivant.'
Showing posts with label Susanna White. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Susanna White. Show all posts
Monday, October 16, 2006
The final episode of the BBC's Jane Eyre was a decidedly mixed bag and rounds off a similarly mixed, though enjoyable series. We have had strong acting performances and lush cinematographic delights but also a stolid, rather uninspiring interpretation of Charlotte Bronte's classic novel and at times, a far from dazzling display of directorial imagination from Susanna White, who promised so much with last year's triumphant Bleak House.
Here White clearly felt it necessary to spice up what is generally perceived to be the dullest passage of events in the novel, at the Rivers household, with a fractured, non-linear narrative, utilising multiple flashbacks, which strive to keep Rochester on-screen for as long as possible without destabilising narrative coherence. Unfortunately the Rochester/Jane chemistry failed to sizzle, despite (and perhaps because of) extraordinarily determined efforts to ramp up their sexual connection. Indeed, there were admittedly a few too many moments in this final episode where my eyes strayed to the remote control and I had to bravely resist the very real attraction of Prime Suspect, the excellent crime drama, which was airing on ITV.
This was not the worst episode of the series. That rather dubious honour falls to the opener, which brushed aside much of Jane's childhood, in its unseemly haste to get to the 'action' - the central romance between Jane and Rochester. After the myriad media and PR articles I've waded through regarding this adaptation, I've come to the conclusion that BBC producers were all too desperate to recreate the famous 'Darcy' effect of 1995's superb (and superior) Pride and Prejudice, positioning Rochester as the ultimate Romantic Hero. To some extent this has worked, judging by comments circulating on the Internet, and indeed an extremely swooning conversation I overheard between three ladies in a restaurant on Saturday, which was bordering on fanatical stalker-mode - Toby Stephens beware! But Colin Firth's crown as king of the 'Classic' romance has not been truly dislodged here - barely even struck a mildly glancing blow, if last night's romantic denouement was anything to go by.
Indeed, the high point of both the series and the central couple's 'chemistry' occured early in Episode Two, soon after Jane rescued Rochester from a potential fiery grave in his own bedchamber. And in truth, the best of the pair has been epitomised by their teasing verbal exchanges, expressing a meeting of minds, rather than those scenes deadset on emphasising their passionate physical proximity. Late in Episode Four, Rochester tells Jane they are not the sort to be 'platonic'. Sorry, but no. Not in this reviewer's opinion at any rate.
And there is evidence a-plenty in this episode where flashbacks, bathed in the unsubtle glow of 'sexy' red light, depict Rochester clumsily astride Jane, muttering sweet nothings while caressing her neck. Frankly I was relieved when these flashbacks faded to the blue-toned reality of Jane's present life with the Rivers. Jane sobs in frustration and grief at losing her past life and love. In this sense, the flashbacks served a purpose in bolstering narrative momentum, but otherwise I found them embarrassing and a little unnecessary (and most certainly not as a point of 'prudishness').
For me the problem was Rochester - well, Toby Stephens - who suddenly, most unexpectedly, struck me as LESS Rochester, and so very, very 'TOBY-ish' with his inimitable talent for super-fine, snarky lip-curling. This was all the more unaccountable, as Toby was far from any lip-curling antics in his current impassioned, loved-up state - and to be fair, this was the first time I had found myself recalling his more intertextual qualities since, well, Episode One - which surely says alot in favour of his portrayal of Rochester for most of the series at any rate.
Less jarring were the flashbacks which depicted Jane's aborted wedding: the bible falling to the ground as the news is broken in church; Jane in her wedding regalia running upstairs at Thornfield leaving a trail of crushed, soft, white petals from her posy; and her departure from Thornfield - although this was slightly marred by her catching sight of the red scarf wafting from a window in the North Tower, which has been deployed as a rather over-done metaphor for Bertha's presence throughout the series. Jane also appeared to emulate aspects of Bertha in this episode, as she too is seen to watch from a lead-latticed window at the Rivers household - perhaps signifying that a marriage to St. John Rivers would be a similar incarceration, a confinement of her free spirit.
Having said that, I thoroughly enjoyed the scenes with the Rivers - far more than the supposed dramatic clinchers featuring Rochester. Having rescued Jane from her destitute, near-death state on bleak, isolated moorland, (a scene mildly reminiscent of the opening of Episode One with a young Jane wandering through a desert), the Rivers family are portrayed here with bustling comfort - apart from St. John, played admirably well here by Andrew Buchan, who is a darker, stiller presence compared to his lively sisters Diana and Mary.
Indeed, Buchan has proved to be one of the stand-out performers of the entire series. St. John's exchanges with Jane make no attempt to 'electrify' and are consequently more natural and realistic in tone, eliciting excellent performances and a heartfelt, friendly repartee from both Buchan and Ruth Wilson (Jane). We have a powerful sense of St. John as a fundamentally good man; a man, who Jane informs him in a forthright manner, 'trembles' when Miss Oliver (who he is in love with) enters the room, while he himself admits that his 'skin may burn with fever' but he is a cold man, controlled by his puritanical zeal to pursue Godly works.
He emerges as a strongly sympathetic character - perhaps more so than Bronte herself intended - and the scene where he informs Jane of her new-found fortune and relations (himself and his sisters) was the best of the entire episode. Jane's unbridled joy is delightful, infectious ... but we never doubt the sagacity of her decision not to marry St. John. This is distinctly unlike the (perhaps) woefully miscast St. John Rivers of the 1997 ITV series of Jane Eyre, where the delectable Rupert Penry-Jones was rejected in favour of a decidedly unappealing Rochester, played here by the usually formidable Ciaran Hinds.
Jane contemplates her decision, her life, her continuing desire for Rochester, atop a precariously high rocky escarpment, set amidst gloriously bleak and wild Derbyshire countryside - a scene strangely reminiscent of a more recent Pride and Prejudice outing, the 2005 film, where Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet stands perilously aloft a vertiginously steep cliff-face, overlooking similar Romanticised scenery, gusting eddies of wind threatening to dash her to her doom at any given moment. Ironically, this scene was often described by critics as a little too Brontean for an Austen adaptation - and yet here we have a definitive Bronte adaptation appearing to emulate an Austen.
Back at Thornfield (her decision made off-screen), we have a disconsolate Jane eyeing a woefully burned pile of ruins and in flashback she is told the sad tale of Bertha's demise and the fire that destroyed Rochester's home. Oddly, given the highly dramatic source material, these scenes are determinedly dull and underwhelming. Bertha, clad in a voluminous white night-gown trails a flaming wedding dress (oh, the symbolism) along a shadowy corridor. Then, half-heartedly pursued by Rochester, whose face is expressive more of mild peevishness than stark panic in spite of the circumstances, she flings herself from the castle battlements. Her descent is matched by the soaring fall, then flight, of a white barn-owl, before the camera reveals her prostrate form on the ground below, arms outstretched, face down. The scene is clunkily-crafted and fails to excite.
Jane is next seen wandering through a misty forest complete with tall, dark trees and vaguely creepy music, but ... all is well. We encounter a pleasant limestone house now occupied by a limping, blind Rochester. Jane brings him a tray of tea-things and then combs his hair, much in the manner of a nursemaid attending to her patient in a retirement home. The effect is stultifying, even chilling, so it is not a surprise when Rochester swiftly and earnestly begs for a wife instead, much to Jane's smirking pleasure.
They embrace, kiss, hold each other, and the camera pans to the fast-flowing river, symbolic (presumably) of the passing of time as we next see them, children in tow, and the Rivers in attendance, preparing a family portrait sitting. They are to be painted amidst an ordered, manicured garden, with a sedate red-brick house, a far cry from the Gothic, ruggedly masculine splendours of Thornfield, serving as a backdrop to their pleasant party. There is a final 'framing' of this parting shot with a slightly tacky floral border - perhaps a heavy-handed symbolic signifier that Jane's 'feminine' has finally exerted control, she has mastered her own narrative, and Rochester has been tamed into Victorian domesticana.
See Reviews of Jane Eyre: Episodes 1, 2 and 3. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.
Here White clearly felt it necessary to spice up what is generally perceived to be the dullest passage of events in the novel, at the Rivers household, with a fractured, non-linear narrative, utilising multiple flashbacks, which strive to keep Rochester on-screen for as long as possible without destabilising narrative coherence. Unfortunately the Rochester/Jane chemistry failed to sizzle, despite (and perhaps because of) extraordinarily determined efforts to ramp up their sexual connection. Indeed, there were admittedly a few too many moments in this final episode where my eyes strayed to the remote control and I had to bravely resist the very real attraction of Prime Suspect, the excellent crime drama, which was airing on ITV.
This was not the worst episode of the series. That rather dubious honour falls to the opener, which brushed aside much of Jane's childhood, in its unseemly haste to get to the 'action' - the central romance between Jane and Rochester. After the myriad media and PR articles I've waded through regarding this adaptation, I've come to the conclusion that BBC producers were all too desperate to recreate the famous 'Darcy' effect of 1995's superb (and superior) Pride and Prejudice, positioning Rochester as the ultimate Romantic Hero. To some extent this has worked, judging by comments circulating on the Internet, and indeed an extremely swooning conversation I overheard between three ladies in a restaurant on Saturday, which was bordering on fanatical stalker-mode - Toby Stephens beware! But Colin Firth's crown as king of the 'Classic' romance has not been truly dislodged here - barely even struck a mildly glancing blow, if last night's romantic denouement was anything to go by.
Indeed, the high point of both the series and the central couple's 'chemistry' occured early in Episode Two, soon after Jane rescued Rochester from a potential fiery grave in his own bedchamber. And in truth, the best of the pair has been epitomised by their teasing verbal exchanges, expressing a meeting of minds, rather than those scenes deadset on emphasising their passionate physical proximity. Late in Episode Four, Rochester tells Jane they are not the sort to be 'platonic'. Sorry, but no. Not in this reviewer's opinion at any rate.
And there is evidence a-plenty in this episode where flashbacks, bathed in the unsubtle glow of 'sexy' red light, depict Rochester clumsily astride Jane, muttering sweet nothings while caressing her neck. Frankly I was relieved when these flashbacks faded to the blue-toned reality of Jane's present life with the Rivers. Jane sobs in frustration and grief at losing her past life and love. In this sense, the flashbacks served a purpose in bolstering narrative momentum, but otherwise I found them embarrassing and a little unnecessary (and most certainly not as a point of 'prudishness').
For me the problem was Rochester - well, Toby Stephens - who suddenly, most unexpectedly, struck me as LESS Rochester, and so very, very 'TOBY-ish' with his inimitable talent for super-fine, snarky lip-curling. This was all the more unaccountable, as Toby was far from any lip-curling antics in his current impassioned, loved-up state - and to be fair, this was the first time I had found myself recalling his more intertextual qualities since, well, Episode One - which surely says alot in favour of his portrayal of Rochester for most of the series at any rate.
Less jarring were the flashbacks which depicted Jane's aborted wedding: the bible falling to the ground as the news is broken in church; Jane in her wedding regalia running upstairs at Thornfield leaving a trail of crushed, soft, white petals from her posy; and her departure from Thornfield - although this was slightly marred by her catching sight of the red scarf wafting from a window in the North Tower, which has been deployed as a rather over-done metaphor for Bertha's presence throughout the series. Jane also appeared to emulate aspects of Bertha in this episode, as she too is seen to watch from a lead-latticed window at the Rivers household - perhaps signifying that a marriage to St. John Rivers would be a similar incarceration, a confinement of her free spirit.
Having said that, I thoroughly enjoyed the scenes with the Rivers - far more than the supposed dramatic clinchers featuring Rochester. Having rescued Jane from her destitute, near-death state on bleak, isolated moorland, (a scene mildly reminiscent of the opening of Episode One with a young Jane wandering through a desert), the Rivers family are portrayed here with bustling comfort - apart from St. John, played admirably well here by Andrew Buchan, who is a darker, stiller presence compared to his lively sisters Diana and Mary.
Indeed, Buchan has proved to be one of the stand-out performers of the entire series. St. John's exchanges with Jane make no attempt to 'electrify' and are consequently more natural and realistic in tone, eliciting excellent performances and a heartfelt, friendly repartee from both Buchan and Ruth Wilson (Jane). We have a powerful sense of St. John as a fundamentally good man; a man, who Jane informs him in a forthright manner, 'trembles' when Miss Oliver (who he is in love with) enters the room, while he himself admits that his 'skin may burn with fever' but he is a cold man, controlled by his puritanical zeal to pursue Godly works.
He emerges as a strongly sympathetic character - perhaps more so than Bronte herself intended - and the scene where he informs Jane of her new-found fortune and relations (himself and his sisters) was the best of the entire episode. Jane's unbridled joy is delightful, infectious ... but we never doubt the sagacity of her decision not to marry St. John. This is distinctly unlike the (perhaps) woefully miscast St. John Rivers of the 1997 ITV series of Jane Eyre, where the delectable Rupert Penry-Jones was rejected in favour of a decidedly unappealing Rochester, played here by the usually formidable Ciaran Hinds.
Jane contemplates her decision, her life, her continuing desire for Rochester, atop a precariously high rocky escarpment, set amidst gloriously bleak and wild Derbyshire countryside - a scene strangely reminiscent of a more recent Pride and Prejudice outing, the 2005 film, where Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet stands perilously aloft a vertiginously steep cliff-face, overlooking similar Romanticised scenery, gusting eddies of wind threatening to dash her to her doom at any given moment. Ironically, this scene was often described by critics as a little too Brontean for an Austen adaptation - and yet here we have a definitive Bronte adaptation appearing to emulate an Austen.
Back at Thornfield (her decision made off-screen), we have a disconsolate Jane eyeing a woefully burned pile of ruins and in flashback she is told the sad tale of Bertha's demise and the fire that destroyed Rochester's home. Oddly, given the highly dramatic source material, these scenes are determinedly dull and underwhelming. Bertha, clad in a voluminous white night-gown trails a flaming wedding dress (oh, the symbolism) along a shadowy corridor. Then, half-heartedly pursued by Rochester, whose face is expressive more of mild peevishness than stark panic in spite of the circumstances, she flings herself from the castle battlements. Her descent is matched by the soaring fall, then flight, of a white barn-owl, before the camera reveals her prostrate form on the ground below, arms outstretched, face down. The scene is clunkily-crafted and fails to excite.
Jane is next seen wandering through a misty forest complete with tall, dark trees and vaguely creepy music, but ... all is well. We encounter a pleasant limestone house now occupied by a limping, blind Rochester. Jane brings him a tray of tea-things and then combs his hair, much in the manner of a nursemaid attending to her patient in a retirement home. The effect is stultifying, even chilling, so it is not a surprise when Rochester swiftly and earnestly begs for a wife instead, much to Jane's smirking pleasure.
They embrace, kiss, hold each other, and the camera pans to the fast-flowing river, symbolic (presumably) of the passing of time as we next see them, children in tow, and the Rivers in attendance, preparing a family portrait sitting. They are to be painted amidst an ordered, manicured garden, with a sedate red-brick house, a far cry from the Gothic, ruggedly masculine splendours of Thornfield, serving as a backdrop to their pleasant party. There is a final 'framing' of this parting shot with a slightly tacky floral border - perhaps a heavy-handed symbolic signifier that Jane's 'feminine' has finally exerted control, she has mastered her own narrative, and Rochester has been tamed into Victorian domesticana.
See Reviews of Jane Eyre: Episodes 1, 2 and 3. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.
Monday, October 09, 2006
BBC Jane Eyre - Episode 3 (REVIEW)
REVIEW: JANE EYRE 3/4, CHARLOTTE BRONTE, BBC 1, 2005
And so to the third (and penultimate) episode of the BBC's period adaptation of Jane Eyre ... and what a pleasing episode it was. Susanna White's direction seems to have gained in zing, zip and imagination as the series has progressed and we had some lovely visual sequences to feast our eyes on this time round. Most exotic of all were flashback references to Rochester's time in the Caribbean and his love affair with Bertha, evoked by a delightfully dreamy cacophony of vibrant colours, and of course, her own sensual beauty.
'Flashback' was in vogue this episode as Jane made her own foray into her sad childhood when she was forced to return to Gateshead, host to her misery at the hands of the callous Reed family. As Jane enters the house she is haunted by the sounds of her cruel childhood experiences. We learn that John Reed, her primary torturer as a child, is dead and gone, but thankfully we are left with Georgiana and Eliza, his two ill-natured sisters who constantly snap and snarl at each other in splendidly catty fashion. Tara Fitzgerald as wicked Aunt Reed gets to chew the scenery in an extensive dying scene, although as a sure sign of my own innate shallowness, I couldn't help but admire the marvellously detailed painted wallpaper in her bedchamber while her death-throes were in full throttle.
However, this particular Jane Eyre being very much a two-handed affair, while Jane is away we also still have scenes set at Thornfield with Rochester and the Ingram House Party - primarily to demonstrate how Rochester has split off from his guests to mope over Jane's absence. At one stage he confronts Blanche to ask her what she 'really' wants, but we never get to hear exactly what that it is, nor can we really hazard a guess from her rather blank but pretty features.
On Jane's return we meet Mr Eshton again, off to investigate twins who can mentally communicate even when many miles apart - Jane and Rochester are almost frothing over with glee at being reunited, and the reference is all too clear that THEY too share such a bond. This is made clearer still as the lovesick duo discuss the possibility of parting pending his marriage, which is such a shame, as Jane makes such a big deal of settling in so nicely to Thornfield on her return, even telling Rochester when they first meet up again that her home is wherever HE is - a bit of a 'whoah steady on there' moment, until you remember this IS Jane Eyre after all, one of the greatest love stories in British literary history - so no need to panic. Her love WILL be requited.
A nice touch to their budding romance is Rochester's genuine interest in Jane's past - 'the deep, dark forests' of her childhood memories as he calls it. There is a very real sense of mutual intellectual engagement enacted pleasingly by Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson - the latter barely able to wipe the loved-up smile off her face when she is in his presence. Of course Rochester cannot be so innocently joyous as we are reminded of his vivid past when he recounts his time in the Caribbean, describing it as seductive, mysterious, tantalising, dangerous - and again we see a profusion of scarlets, crimsons, pinks in flashback to his time there, red signifying Bertha in this production - and then his eyes flit anxiously to the dark tower where we (well, most of us probably by now) know she is imprisoned.
The sense that Bertha is watching events below is stepped up in this episode - we are aware of a figure watching through a window, accompanied by soft tinkling bells and lush but eery music. While the idea is a tad hackneyed, it is actually well-executed here to slightly chilling, even poignant effect. Particularly useful is the musical scoring which works extremely well in this episode - unlike the first two episodes I have to say. It's as though Rob Lane, the composer, really let rip with the romantic vibe, and it truly suits this section of the story.
At the half-way point through this hour-long episode we finally arrive at the lovelorn couple's eventual ardent declaration, preceded by what I consider to the most glorious passage in the entire novel, rendered well here by Ruth Wilson, when Jane floods forth with her feelings to an awed and moved Rochester. This is one of the most exciting and proto-feminist speeches in nineteenth century English literature - indeed, any literature, of any time - when Jane confronts Rochester with her desire to be free, to love, as any man, in spite of her being 'poor, obscure, plain, and little' now switched to 'poor, plain, obscure and little' - but quibbles aside, much is sourced almost direct from the novel, where Jane speaks so powerfully. Here there are a few adjustments for modern sensiblities, so for example, Rochester bids her become his equal through marriage, which is now telegraphed in the TV version by Jane's praise of her treatment at Thornfield as an 'equal'.
I am not usually one for seeking close adherence to a source text's original wording, but in this single instance, Jane's impassioned declaration of Selfhood is so intensely felt and strongly expressed, it would be a shame to meddle too far. Of course one forgets just how radical and effecting this novel was in its day. Here we had a heroine who acknowledged her sensual yearnings, who wanted to work and construct her own life, her own identity, who is damning of the foibles, fripperies and minutiae which consumed most women's lives at the time, trapped into a world of passive domesticity.
Jane and Rochester's final declarations of mutual love are set here in a damp, sunny glade. Toby Stephens's voice suddenly goes a little gruff and sore-sounding when declaring his own feelings for her, which half made me wish I could chuck the poor fellow a throat lozenge. He squeezes her close to his manly chest, and they finally kiss, and then kiss again, and again, before they run hand in hand through one of those impromptu CGI-ed thunderstorms complete with a quavering bright bolt of lightening that you sometimes get in TV land.
Just to be a true curmudgeon - was anyone else a little unimpressed with the happy couple's kissing style? It seemed to comprise a momentary smashing together of face and cheek at regular intervals, all well and good, but I was sure they kept missing each other's lips, which is clearly the primary object of the exercise. I hate to do this, but in comparison to the one shot we get of Rochester snogging the face off Bertha, Jane and Rochester's physical union seemed a little more staid and demure, despite their obvious mutual enthusiasm.
According to the golden rules of TV and cinema, Jane's blossoming love affair must instill a new sense of self-worth which is belied by her flourishing good looks and lustrous femininity, hence we have a slightly annoying scene where Ruth Wilson flounces around her bedchamber, long locks flowing, as she gazes lovingly at herself in a mirror. In fact this mirror is a rather laboured device throughout the series so far, charting Jane's self-esteem with her outward appearance, which is a very easily translatable behaviour of course. Jane drops her habitual dark clothing and dons a very pale almost-white-grey gown, reflecting her brighter mood. This is then mirrored at the end of the episode, once her dream-world has been sadly punctured, and she silently slips out of her brilliant white wedding dress and re-dresses herself in the gloomy grey garb we have come to associate with melancholic, sensible Jane.
We have forbodings of course that the wedding will not go well; kindly Mrs Fairfax's concern and irritation, Jane's nightmare and the rather scary moment when she senses someone is in her room at night and then finds her wedding veil has been torn. There is something all too desperate about Rochester's determination to march her uphill to her wedding in a sadly deserted church, and the news of his first marriage, when it comes from Briggs and then Mason, is far from surprising - more miserable than dramatic.
The same can be said for our eventual meeting with Bertha. Jane spots the red scarf, Bertha's symbol during this series, flapping in the open window. The look on her face is more disappointed than shocked - almost as though, like us, deep-down she knew this would happen all along. There is an inevitability to this turn of events which is captured well by her still, sad, tear-stained face.
Toby Stephens doesn't play Rochester as strident or hysterical or even particularly angered at how his dirty secret has finally come to light. He has the deflated air of a man who has finally been defeated, by himself. He recounts his misadventures in the Caribbean and we briefly see in flashback how Bertha descended into lunacy, as signified (a little crudely and chauvinistically perhaps) by her rapacious sexual appetites - and, most disturbingly, by a maniacal scene with Rochester, which darkly hints at a violent sexuality within their own tormented relationship.
Throughout his account, there is a strange three-pronged mark, livid and red, on Rochester's neck - did Bertha bite him, as she did her brother? Or did Toby Stephens have a rather frenzied encounter with his Phillishave that morning, which they forgot to conceal with make-up? Either way, the marks are distracting and disconcerting - a vivid reminder of the physical pain that has clearly been enacted in his relations with his 'wife.' At one point Rochester explains that he could have checked Bertha in to 'another' house he owns, where she would likely have lived and died a damp and sickly existence. Of course the fact he chose to incarcerate her instead in his bleak and gloomy North Tower does not especially salvage the situation, and I for one, was partly glad when Jane refused to open her bedchamber door to hear his pleas for mercy and a life of 'sin' which would at that time have condemned Jane Eyre as a sluttish outsider for the rest of her days.
And finally, two sweetly poignant moments stand out. In the church, as soon as Briggs and Mason explain how Rochester met his first wife in Jamaica, there is a fleeting look of mournful understanding on Jane's face, as she clearly recalls Rochester's embittered speech on the dangerously seductive qualities of that part of the world. She knows right then, that what they are saying is all too true. And then again, when Jane and Rochester return to Thornfield from the church, they are greeted merrily by the servants of the house with Adele, who shower them with corn and confetti - a pathetic irony in the circumstances.
Reviews of Jane Eyre, Episodes 1 and 2 and 4. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.
And so to the third (and penultimate) episode of the BBC's period adaptation of Jane Eyre ... and what a pleasing episode it was. Susanna White's direction seems to have gained in zing, zip and imagination as the series has progressed and we had some lovely visual sequences to feast our eyes on this time round. Most exotic of all were flashback references to Rochester's time in the Caribbean and his love affair with Bertha, evoked by a delightfully dreamy cacophony of vibrant colours, and of course, her own sensual beauty.
'Flashback' was in vogue this episode as Jane made her own foray into her sad childhood when she was forced to return to Gateshead, host to her misery at the hands of the callous Reed family. As Jane enters the house she is haunted by the sounds of her cruel childhood experiences. We learn that John Reed, her primary torturer as a child, is dead and gone, but thankfully we are left with Georgiana and Eliza, his two ill-natured sisters who constantly snap and snarl at each other in splendidly catty fashion. Tara Fitzgerald as wicked Aunt Reed gets to chew the scenery in an extensive dying scene, although as a sure sign of my own innate shallowness, I couldn't help but admire the marvellously detailed painted wallpaper in her bedchamber while her death-throes were in full throttle.
However, this particular Jane Eyre being very much a two-handed affair, while Jane is away we also still have scenes set at Thornfield with Rochester and the Ingram House Party - primarily to demonstrate how Rochester has split off from his guests to mope over Jane's absence. At one stage he confronts Blanche to ask her what she 'really' wants, but we never get to hear exactly what that it is, nor can we really hazard a guess from her rather blank but pretty features.
On Jane's return we meet Mr Eshton again, off to investigate twins who can mentally communicate even when many miles apart - Jane and Rochester are almost frothing over with glee at being reunited, and the reference is all too clear that THEY too share such a bond. This is made clearer still as the lovesick duo discuss the possibility of parting pending his marriage, which is such a shame, as Jane makes such a big deal of settling in so nicely to Thornfield on her return, even telling Rochester when they first meet up again that her home is wherever HE is - a bit of a 'whoah steady on there' moment, until you remember this IS Jane Eyre after all, one of the greatest love stories in British literary history - so no need to panic. Her love WILL be requited.
A nice touch to their budding romance is Rochester's genuine interest in Jane's past - 'the deep, dark forests' of her childhood memories as he calls it. There is a very real sense of mutual intellectual engagement enacted pleasingly by Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson - the latter barely able to wipe the loved-up smile off her face when she is in his presence. Of course Rochester cannot be so innocently joyous as we are reminded of his vivid past when he recounts his time in the Caribbean, describing it as seductive, mysterious, tantalising, dangerous - and again we see a profusion of scarlets, crimsons, pinks in flashback to his time there, red signifying Bertha in this production - and then his eyes flit anxiously to the dark tower where we (well, most of us probably by now) know she is imprisoned.
The sense that Bertha is watching events below is stepped up in this episode - we are aware of a figure watching through a window, accompanied by soft tinkling bells and lush but eery music. While the idea is a tad hackneyed, it is actually well-executed here to slightly chilling, even poignant effect. Particularly useful is the musical scoring which works extremely well in this episode - unlike the first two episodes I have to say. It's as though Rob Lane, the composer, really let rip with the romantic vibe, and it truly suits this section of the story.
At the half-way point through this hour-long episode we finally arrive at the lovelorn couple's eventual ardent declaration, preceded by what I consider to the most glorious passage in the entire novel, rendered well here by Ruth Wilson, when Jane floods forth with her feelings to an awed and moved Rochester. This is one of the most exciting and proto-feminist speeches in nineteenth century English literature - indeed, any literature, of any time - when Jane confronts Rochester with her desire to be free, to love, as any man, in spite of her being 'poor, obscure, plain, and little' now switched to 'poor, plain, obscure and little' - but quibbles aside, much is sourced almost direct from the novel, where Jane speaks so powerfully. Here there are a few adjustments for modern sensiblities, so for example, Rochester bids her become his equal through marriage, which is now telegraphed in the TV version by Jane's praise of her treatment at Thornfield as an 'equal'.
I am not usually one for seeking close adherence to a source text's original wording, but in this single instance, Jane's impassioned declaration of Selfhood is so intensely felt and strongly expressed, it would be a shame to meddle too far. Of course one forgets just how radical and effecting this novel was in its day. Here we had a heroine who acknowledged her sensual yearnings, who wanted to work and construct her own life, her own identity, who is damning of the foibles, fripperies and minutiae which consumed most women's lives at the time, trapped into a world of passive domesticity.
Jane and Rochester's final declarations of mutual love are set here in a damp, sunny glade. Toby Stephens's voice suddenly goes a little gruff and sore-sounding when declaring his own feelings for her, which half made me wish I could chuck the poor fellow a throat lozenge. He squeezes her close to his manly chest, and they finally kiss, and then kiss again, and again, before they run hand in hand through one of those impromptu CGI-ed thunderstorms complete with a quavering bright bolt of lightening that you sometimes get in TV land.
Just to be a true curmudgeon - was anyone else a little unimpressed with the happy couple's kissing style? It seemed to comprise a momentary smashing together of face and cheek at regular intervals, all well and good, but I was sure they kept missing each other's lips, which is clearly the primary object of the exercise. I hate to do this, but in comparison to the one shot we get of Rochester snogging the face off Bertha, Jane and Rochester's physical union seemed a little more staid and demure, despite their obvious mutual enthusiasm.
According to the golden rules of TV and cinema, Jane's blossoming love affair must instill a new sense of self-worth which is belied by her flourishing good looks and lustrous femininity, hence we have a slightly annoying scene where Ruth Wilson flounces around her bedchamber, long locks flowing, as she gazes lovingly at herself in a mirror. In fact this mirror is a rather laboured device throughout the series so far, charting Jane's self-esteem with her outward appearance, which is a very easily translatable behaviour of course. Jane drops her habitual dark clothing and dons a very pale almost-white-grey gown, reflecting her brighter mood. This is then mirrored at the end of the episode, once her dream-world has been sadly punctured, and she silently slips out of her brilliant white wedding dress and re-dresses herself in the gloomy grey garb we have come to associate with melancholic, sensible Jane.
We have forbodings of course that the wedding will not go well; kindly Mrs Fairfax's concern and irritation, Jane's nightmare and the rather scary moment when she senses someone is in her room at night and then finds her wedding veil has been torn. There is something all too desperate about Rochester's determination to march her uphill to her wedding in a sadly deserted church, and the news of his first marriage, when it comes from Briggs and then Mason, is far from surprising - more miserable than dramatic.
The same can be said for our eventual meeting with Bertha. Jane spots the red scarf, Bertha's symbol during this series, flapping in the open window. The look on her face is more disappointed than shocked - almost as though, like us, deep-down she knew this would happen all along. There is an inevitability to this turn of events which is captured well by her still, sad, tear-stained face.
Toby Stephens doesn't play Rochester as strident or hysterical or even particularly angered at how his dirty secret has finally come to light. He has the deflated air of a man who has finally been defeated, by himself. He recounts his misadventures in the Caribbean and we briefly see in flashback how Bertha descended into lunacy, as signified (a little crudely and chauvinistically perhaps) by her rapacious sexual appetites - and, most disturbingly, by a maniacal scene with Rochester, which darkly hints at a violent sexuality within their own tormented relationship.
Throughout his account, there is a strange three-pronged mark, livid and red, on Rochester's neck - did Bertha bite him, as she did her brother? Or did Toby Stephens have a rather frenzied encounter with his Phillishave that morning, which they forgot to conceal with make-up? Either way, the marks are distracting and disconcerting - a vivid reminder of the physical pain that has clearly been enacted in his relations with his 'wife.' At one point Rochester explains that he could have checked Bertha in to 'another' house he owns, where she would likely have lived and died a damp and sickly existence. Of course the fact he chose to incarcerate her instead in his bleak and gloomy North Tower does not especially salvage the situation, and I for one, was partly glad when Jane refused to open her bedchamber door to hear his pleas for mercy and a life of 'sin' which would at that time have condemned Jane Eyre as a sluttish outsider for the rest of her days.
And finally, two sweetly poignant moments stand out. In the church, as soon as Briggs and Mason explain how Rochester met his first wife in Jamaica, there is a fleeting look of mournful understanding on Jane's face, as she clearly recalls Rochester's embittered speech on the dangerously seductive qualities of that part of the world. She knows right then, that what they are saying is all too true. And then again, when Jane and Rochester return to Thornfield from the church, they are greeted merrily by the servants of the house with Adele, who shower them with corn and confetti - a pathetic irony in the circumstances.
Reviews of Jane Eyre, Episodes 1 and 2 and 4. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Jane Eyre, BBC1 (Episode One) --- (REVIEW, JANE EYRE- 1/4, BBC1, 2006)
The new BBC adaptation of Jane Eyre, broadcast tonight, has been hotly anticipated, and strongly tipped by numerous magazine and newspaper articles here in the UK as this Autumn's red hot period romance. TV critics galore seem to be literally panting over the thought of Toby Stephens (Rochester) sporting a tousled, windswept wig and tight breeches whilst coming over all sultry with the latest 'plain Jane' Eyre - who, as it turns out, is never quite so plain as we're led to believe. This adaptation is definitely keen to sell the sexual attraction between the central romantic duo. Indeed, Jane's abuse-ridden childhood is fairly charged through at a fine gallop to ensure we get an adult Jane to Thornfield Hall and her first melodramatic encounter with a disgruntled Rochester on a chill, foggy day, as soon as is narratologically feasible, without completely confusing the poor viewer.
For all this, I couldn't help thinking that the much-truncated Lowood school sequences were still potentially confusing for a Jane Eyre 'novice' - we barely meet poor long-suffering Helen Burns, which somewhat diminishes the impact of her sad, untimely demise. Disappointing too are the opening scenes with young Jane languishing in a fantastical desert (supposedly symbolising her isolation) and again when she is banished to the Red Room, a terrifying experience in the novel and brilliantly enlivened in the 1996 Zeferelli filmic adaptation, with a junior Jane captured superbly by a soulful Anna Paquin.
This version's junior Jane is none other than Georgie Henley - little Lucy from last year's blockbuster The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. One gets the feeling that Georgie was signed on first by the producers, and Ruth Wilson (older Jane) was partly chosen because of her strong physical resemblance to the child - although Wilson has many other glowing attributes to recommend her too, with a strong performance and subtly expressive demeanour. She is an improvement on Georgie, who is too round-eyed and jolly - and possibly a little too young as well.
There are two decent scenes from this version of Jane's otherwise disappointing 'childhood' sequences, which warrant mention. First there is a small moment when the loathsome Reed family are seated en tableau, dolled up to the nines, awaiting their family portrait, completely ignoring wee Jane, sat alone on the window seat. More affecting still is the famous moment when Jane is forced to stand alone on a stool at Lowood, branded a liar in front of her schoolmates by the heinous Mr Brocklehurst. The director Susanna White has recreated this scene with real pathos.
Thornfield is represented by a suitably splendid Haddon Hall (Derbyshire). Mrs Fairfax (Lorraine Ashbourne) is too cheery for my liking. Far better the slightly harrassed demeanour of Gemma Jones in the 1997 ITV version. Adele seems too old for her part, and indeed, the only half-decent Adele I have ever seen in a Jane Eyre adaptation is Josephine Serre in the 1996 film version.
But, most importantly, does Toby Stephens truly cut a swaggering enough dash in his breeches as moody Rochester? He is a handsome sod, that's for sure. And certainly his arrival does breathe fresh life into this production. His attraction to Jane is fairly obvious here, and it is interesting that we are certainly set to see more of the cut and thrust of their verbal exchanges than is common in contemporary TV romance. This is one of the best-loved 'meeting of minds' in romantic fiction, and this adaptation is set fair to relay this to us.
Even so, there is a slight sense of staleness in this particular couple's repartee ... a feeling that this is too well-worn, too well-known ... we've been here before, and the actors seem to know this too. It's obviously hard to inject freshness and vitality into a pairing which has become so iconic and beloved by audiences and readers the world over. Worse still, there is a slightly trite moment (which is taken straight from the novel) when Rochester studies Jane's dark, surreal sketches with intense interest ... and it is all too clear (and cliched) that the dark, broody man recognises his soulmate. How can an adapter make this moment fresh for a modern audience, when this is the source material for a 1001 formula romances - even though this is the original, the real McCoy? It's a tough ask. But perhaps a little more adventurous spirit, a will to approach the material with renewed vigour, was needed at this juncture.
Cinematographically there is much to recommend here. Colours are lush, suitably sombre-toned and Gothic, editing is fast-paced. There is a rather unsubtle motif in play - a red scarf occasionally wafting in the breeze from a window in the North Tower, where all of us who have read the novel know, lurks poor mad Bertha. It is a neat signification device but a little too obvious - red signifying danger and of course fiery passion, the tumultuous sexual journey which led to Bertha's eventual incarceration, and of course, a foreshadowing of her final inflammatory demise.
Overall this is highly watchable, if a little unoriginal in scope and treatment. Maybe it fares poorly in contrast to the BBC's triumphant Bleak House, broadcast in Autumn 2005. I am surprised that some previewers in the press were hailing this production as a continuation of that particular vein of excellent form, when in truth - based on this first episode - this adaptation falls short, even if both productions share the same director - although notably Susanna White shared direction responsibilities with Justin Chadwick during Bleak House.
Perhaps this is one Jane Eyre too many - albeit enjoyable for comparison purposes, and of course, it's a cracking yarn. But there is a sense here that no fresh approaches, new angles on such a well-told tale are being explored here, which is a shame ... of course, there are three more episodes to persuade me otherwise. But on first impressions, I must surprise myself with a continued preference for the 1996 Zeferelli film version, starring a growling, morose William Hurt as Rochester and a forlorn, sad-eyed Charlotte Gainsbourgh as Jane. The 1997 ITV version also stars a fine Jane in the form of Samantha Morton, but is badly let down by an over-the-top performance from Ciaran Hinds as Rochester, who bellows and rants throughout, while decked out in a devastatingly unattractive bushy black moustache which quivers and quakes on his top lip like a startled animal.
See Reviews of Jane Eyre, Episodes 2 and 3 and 4. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.
For all this, I couldn't help thinking that the much-truncated Lowood school sequences were still potentially confusing for a Jane Eyre 'novice' - we barely meet poor long-suffering Helen Burns, which somewhat diminishes the impact of her sad, untimely demise. Disappointing too are the opening scenes with young Jane languishing in a fantastical desert (supposedly symbolising her isolation) and again when she is banished to the Red Room, a terrifying experience in the novel and brilliantly enlivened in the 1996 Zeferelli filmic adaptation, with a junior Jane captured superbly by a soulful Anna Paquin.
This version's junior Jane is none other than Georgie Henley - little Lucy from last year's blockbuster The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. One gets the feeling that Georgie was signed on first by the producers, and Ruth Wilson (older Jane) was partly chosen because of her strong physical resemblance to the child - although Wilson has many other glowing attributes to recommend her too, with a strong performance and subtly expressive demeanour. She is an improvement on Georgie, who is too round-eyed and jolly - and possibly a little too young as well.
There are two decent scenes from this version of Jane's otherwise disappointing 'childhood' sequences, which warrant mention. First there is a small moment when the loathsome Reed family are seated en tableau, dolled up to the nines, awaiting their family portrait, completely ignoring wee Jane, sat alone on the window seat. More affecting still is the famous moment when Jane is forced to stand alone on a stool at Lowood, branded a liar in front of her schoolmates by the heinous Mr Brocklehurst. The director Susanna White has recreated this scene with real pathos.
Thornfield is represented by a suitably splendid Haddon Hall (Derbyshire). Mrs Fairfax (Lorraine Ashbourne) is too cheery for my liking. Far better the slightly harrassed demeanour of Gemma Jones in the 1997 ITV version. Adele seems too old for her part, and indeed, the only half-decent Adele I have ever seen in a Jane Eyre adaptation is Josephine Serre in the 1996 film version.
But, most importantly, does Toby Stephens truly cut a swaggering enough dash in his breeches as moody Rochester? He is a handsome sod, that's for sure. And certainly his arrival does breathe fresh life into this production. His attraction to Jane is fairly obvious here, and it is interesting that we are certainly set to see more of the cut and thrust of their verbal exchanges than is common in contemporary TV romance. This is one of the best-loved 'meeting of minds' in romantic fiction, and this adaptation is set fair to relay this to us.
Even so, there is a slight sense of staleness in this particular couple's repartee ... a feeling that this is too well-worn, too well-known ... we've been here before, and the actors seem to know this too. It's obviously hard to inject freshness and vitality into a pairing which has become so iconic and beloved by audiences and readers the world over. Worse still, there is a slightly trite moment (which is taken straight from the novel) when Rochester studies Jane's dark, surreal sketches with intense interest ... and it is all too clear (and cliched) that the dark, broody man recognises his soulmate. How can an adapter make this moment fresh for a modern audience, when this is the source material for a 1001 formula romances - even though this is the original, the real McCoy? It's a tough ask. But perhaps a little more adventurous spirit, a will to approach the material with renewed vigour, was needed at this juncture.
Cinematographically there is much to recommend here. Colours are lush, suitably sombre-toned and Gothic, editing is fast-paced. There is a rather unsubtle motif in play - a red scarf occasionally wafting in the breeze from a window in the North Tower, where all of us who have read the novel know, lurks poor mad Bertha. It is a neat signification device but a little too obvious - red signifying danger and of course fiery passion, the tumultuous sexual journey which led to Bertha's eventual incarceration, and of course, a foreshadowing of her final inflammatory demise.
Overall this is highly watchable, if a little unoriginal in scope and treatment. Maybe it fares poorly in contrast to the BBC's triumphant Bleak House, broadcast in Autumn 2005. I am surprised that some previewers in the press were hailing this production as a continuation of that particular vein of excellent form, when in truth - based on this first episode - this adaptation falls short, even if both productions share the same director - although notably Susanna White shared direction responsibilities with Justin Chadwick during Bleak House.
Perhaps this is one Jane Eyre too many - albeit enjoyable for comparison purposes, and of course, it's a cracking yarn. But there is a sense here that no fresh approaches, new angles on such a well-told tale are being explored here, which is a shame ... of course, there are three more episodes to persuade me otherwise. But on first impressions, I must surprise myself with a continued preference for the 1996 Zeferelli film version, starring a growling, morose William Hurt as Rochester and a forlorn, sad-eyed Charlotte Gainsbourgh as Jane. The 1997 ITV version also stars a fine Jane in the form of Samantha Morton, but is badly let down by an over-the-top performance from Ciaran Hinds as Rochester, who bellows and rants throughout, while decked out in a devastatingly unattractive bushy black moustache which quivers and quakes on his top lip like a startled animal.
See Reviews of Jane Eyre, Episodes 2 and 3 and 4. Also Wide Sargasso Sea.
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