onsdag 30 mars 2011

Everybody loves Fagin (nearly)

All right, so claiming that Fagin in the latest BBC adaptation was portrayed as an Orthodox Jew was a bit of an exaggeration. He didn't have corkscrew locks or anything. Practising Jew is probably more correct. The point being, though, that Fagin in the book wasn't. Which leads me almost seamlessly to the much-debated Fagin Question. Much has been said on the subject, but I might as well add my tuppenny-worth to the discussion.

The Fagin Question is of course "Was making Fagin a Jew anti-Semitic on Dickens's part?" I used to think it was a complete non-question for a long time. Yes, Fagin is a villain, but he's an interesting villain, an intelligent villain, a charismatic villain - in short, a Dickensian villain. I should think any ethnic group would be glad to have him. So what is the fuss about? We don't hear red-heads (who are over-represented among Dickens's villains - Fagin is one too) complaining, do we?

What complicates matters, I've come to accept, is that Dickens's depiction of Fagin was thought to be offensive in his own time, so one really can't blame modern thin-skinned Political Correctness for all the hue and cry. And yes, the fact that Dickens refers to Fagin as "the Jew" in every second sentence does grate. Much as I love Nicholas Bulstrode in "Middlemarch", I wouldn't have liked it if Eliot kept referring to him as "the Christian", as if his religion was somehow a major explanation for his bad behaviour. Dickens might not have meant anything by it: he often uses tags like this instead of characters' names, as a means, one supposes, of varying and enlivening the prose. Daniel Quilp in "The Old Curiosity Shop" is called "the dwarf", though it's not completely clear whether he technically is one (he is first introduced as "so low in stature to be quite a dwarf"), and scrumptious James Carker in "Dombey and Son" is "the manager". Nevertheless, I suspect Dickens did have some lazy prejudice of the "well, we all know how greedy Jews are" kind (it can't have passed him by that the word "Jew" in his day was often used as a synonym for a greedy man, so applying it incessantly to Fagin was hardly helpful). But it was probably no more intensely felt than prejudices like "women can't read maps" and "Germans have no sense of humour" are nowadays. Dickens was perturbed enough by people's reactions to Fagin to include a noble and venerable Jew in "Our Mutual Friend" called Riah, just to show he had nothing against Jews in general. Ever heard of Riah? I'm not surprised: the irony is he's not one tenth as fun as Fagin.

A phenomenon most discussions of Fagin skirt around is that he is so well-liked by readers. He must easily be the most popular of Dickens's villains, which in itself seems to indicate that he wasn't conceived with the wicked intent to incite religious hatred. To be fair, though, one reason for Fagin's popularity is the way he is portrayed in film versions and the musical "Oliver!". There, as often as not, his most heinous misdeeds are excluded: because the Monks plot is often cut, we don't see him wilfully trying to corrupt Oliver's innocence and make him a criminal so as to rob him of his inheritance. Most adaptations are also too squeamish to show how responsible Fagin is for Nancy's death: in the book, he very cunningly and deliberately provokes Sikes's anger towards Nancy. The intent may have been that Sikes should give Nancy a good beating, not kill her (Fagin urges Sikes not to be "too violent for safety"), but it certainly isn't pretty. With both his involvement with Monks and the Sikes-baiting cut, Fagin simply remains a king of pickpockets, which isn't that bad. And one reason the edges of the Fagin figure have been softened in this manner so often is, without doubt, that he happens to be of Jewish origin.

I don't think this is the only reason, though: I believe people like the real, un-reconstructed Fagin as well. After all, Alec Guinness's far-from-cuddly Fagin is many viewers' favourite interpretation of the role. (Me, I prefer Eric Porter: for one thing, he didn't have a prosthetic nose the size of Mont Blanc.) It's a good example of that it's not what you do that's important if you are a villain, it's how you do it. Fagin's crimes are far worse than, for example, a little boss-swindling, but ask anyone who's the most black-hearted and scary villain, Fagin or Uriah Heep, and they will in all probability say the latter. Rooting for Uriah is something eccentric villain-lovers like me do: rooting for Fagin is a general pastime. He's such a "merry old gentleman" after all, and he suffers so terribly before his death.

So no, I don't think Fagin is an anti-Semitic caricature of a character. If Dickens had cut a few "the Jew" mentions along the way, though, I'm sure we would all have been happier.

onsdag 23 mars 2011

Reduced Expectations

The other day, I paid a hefty sum for two large DVD box sets full of old TV series based on Dickens novels, thinking I was replacing the ones I had on video. It turns out most of them might actually be other, even more ancient adaptations. Apparently, there was a time when the BBC couldn't get enough of Dickens. Honestly, are there really two "Martin Chuzzlewit" adaptations out there? Phew - it's a good thing I'm such a fanatic. I'm especially looking forward to a "David Copperfield" where young David, if the cover is anything to go by, looks like Little Lord Fauntleroy.

It's a sad fact that most of the classic adaptations made in the Eighties really are for die-hard fans only. There are some that are still exceptional - "Jane Eyre" with Zelah Clarke and Timothy Dalton, say, and "Oliver Twist" with Eric Porter as a brilliant Fagin. (Fagin, Moriarty and Soames: what a hat trick! Porter is truly one of the greatest villain actors of all time.) But there's no denying that TV drama in those days - though often extremely well-acted - was severely lacking in pace. The irony is that now, when British television has really got the hang of making exciting, pacy period dramas without stinting on the length - like the latest "Bleak House" and "Little Dorrit" - they seem to have lost interest in the Classics. They prefer modern authors, and expect us costume drama fans to be thrilled when these authors deign to set their books in olden times. I'm sure "The Crimson Petal and the White" is very good in its way - its author, Michael Faber, has had the good taste to speak up for the Victorians, which is nice - but I'd rather watch a new first-class adaptation of a novel by Dickens, or Collins, or even Trollope.

Mind you, not all recent classic costume dramas are solid gold. Just think of the latest "Oliver Twist" by the BBC. What a train-wreck that was. Oliver was a bolshie boy who might well have joined Fagin's gang without blinking, only he didn't like being tricked and having his mother's name bandied about, so he preferred sulking. Fagin was suddenly an Orthodox Jew (Dickens's Fagin was an apostate who sent the Rabbis away when they tried to see him in prison), who with sad nobility rejected a Merchant in Venice-like deal to have his crimes pardoned if he converted. A somewhat strange view of the justice system of 19th-century England, you might think, especially as Fagin was judged by Fang - the same magistrate who handled Oliver's petty-pilfering case. Monks behaved like a sort-of-Dickensian-villain - dutifully making a pass at the heroine, for example - but not like Monks himself, and his powerful motive was fatally watered down. Maybe worst of all, Nancy was depicted as a cuddly day-care employee, a far cry from Dickens's hard-bitten prostitute who really struggles with herself before her better nature compels her to help Oliver. I sincerely hope this sugar-coating of the Nancy character was not due to the fact that the actress who played her - Sophie Okonedo, who deserved a better part - happened to be black. That would be too patronising for words. The historical setting was not more convincing than the interpretation of Dickens's characters. At one point, a woman in the workhouse hesitates to help Oliver's mother (with posting a letter, I think) because she's not sure it's "her place". Eh, what? Does she think she's too grand, or too humble for the task? Is she waiting for the second footman to turn up?

And it turns out the BBC are setting the same script-writer on the new "Great Expectations". Ah well. Maybe the Golden Age of Costume Drama is actually over - for the present.

tisdag 15 mars 2011

Holding out for a villain

This is the time of year when I should feel my spirits reviving after a long, cold winter. Spring is in the air, or nearly. I no longer have to have my extra radiator on all the time. But still the winter melancholy lingers, the working weeks feel long and the weekends feel short. Not much to moan about, considering, and I know it. I can't help but wonder, though: where did the spring feeling go?

Maybe one problem is I haven't discovered a new fanciable villain in simply ages. And now there aren't any Dickens novels, or even Christmas books, left to explore (not that you'll find much villain talent in a Christmas book). Bit-part-playing Bitzer was the - appropriately white - last unicorn. Yes, of course I can wallow in old favourites as long as I want to, but it would be nice to discover something new. But where to find someone with the same magic touch villain-wise as Dickens?

Balzac, maybe? I read quite a lot of him when I studied French, and he had a good line in dastardly bankers and other "lynxes". It would mean brushing up on my French, though, or cheating by reading him in Swedish - or, an even worse insult for a French author, in English! Ibsen? That Judge Somebody-or-Other in "Hedda Gabler" sounds a dish judging by various reviews, maybe I should check him out?

You may be wondering why I'm overlooking the obvious. Here's an author, you might be saying, who creates great villains - in fact, great characters of all descriptions - and whom I've mentioned in my blog more than once. Wilkie Collins, remember?

I do remember. I am faithfully watching the old adaptation I've mentioned earlier of "The Woman in White" and am constantly reminded of what an admirable villain Count Fosco is. Charming, funny, psychologically astute, with great force of character, appreciative of Marian's intelligence, and completely ruthless when he has to be - the man ticks all kinds of boxes. Plus, Marian more or less admits at one point that she finds him attractive. A Victorian heroine who is attracted, even the littlest bit, to a brainy villain (as opposed to the feather-brained cads heroines otherwise seem to favour if they so much as think of straying): now, that has to be a first.

Count Fosco belongs to a certain sort of villain by whom you are allowed - even supposed - to be taken in. Long John Silver is another specimen. "It's all right", you can almost imagine the author saying, "go ahead and like this rogue. I've a soft spot for him myself, in fact". I call baddies like this high-prestige villains, and they are very enjoyable and useful: they act as ambassadors for villain-lovers everywhere, and are one of the chief reasons people don't look at you as if you should be locked up when you confess to a bias for baddies. But (and this but has been coming for quite some time) where's the fun in loving a villain you're supposed to love? Where's the sport? No, high-prestige villains are good in their way, but they're for amateurs. I'd like something more hardcore.

Maybe I should try "The Changeling" by Middleton? Or is that too hardcore?

söndag 6 mars 2011

Making Daniel Deronda palatable

I seem to be stuck half-way in several TV series at once at the moment. "West Wing" season one - because I've seen it too many times and am starting to pick holes in the manipulative (if funny) argumentation. "Fame" season two - because the next episode is apparently another Disability Issue Episode (Wilkie Collins could have taught the preachy script-writers a thing or two). An old adaptation of "The Woman in White", which there is nothing wrong with really, only sometimes you want to watch something with a bit more pep. I haven't even started with "Lorna Doone" which I've borrowed from my parents, despite the blurb's promise of "one of the worst villains of all time".

One TV series I have managed to finish watching, though, is the 2002 adaptation of George Eliot's "Daniel Deronda". The adapter is Andrew Davies, and he shows yet again why he is the king of classic costume drama here. He has a trick of making potentially problematic characters just that little bit more bearable. You would not have thought from the "Middlemarch" adaptation that Will Ladislaw in the book is a self-centred, immature, preening, spectacularly ungrateful pain in the neck. Scenes wisely cut from the TV version include the one where he glumly reflects that he might as well sleep with Rosamond (the wife of one of his friends, let's not forget) because he has lost everything anyway and he was kind of mean to her; the one where he visits Casaubon's church just to spite him; and the one where he makes Bulstrode cry (true, that whole subplot was cut, but I suspect it wasn't only for simplification reasons - I doubt even Rufus Sewell would have looked good pouring scorn over Peter Jeffrey's tormented banker). As I've commented on earlier, Darcy owes much of his popularity to the treatment Davies gives him in the "P&P" adaptation - for instance, the scene where Darcy apologises to Bingley for interfering in his love life is added by Davies and does much to reconcile us with the way he treated Jane. In "Daniel Deronda", it is Deronda himself who gets the Andrew Davies makeover.

And my goodness he needs it. In the irritating hero department he outshines Will Ladislaw by far. I actually saw the "Daniel Deronda" adaptation for the first time before I've read the book, and I realise I may have been influenced by Romola Garai's five-star performance as Gwendolen Harleth when reading it, but I remember being squarely on Gwendolen's side throughout, and wondering what a woman like her - so human and complex - saw in the smug, self-regarding twerp Deronda. What, he teach her about morals? He who won't tell Mirah, the other woman in his life (who can't hold a candle to Gwendolen) when he thinks he has found her long-lost family, because he finds them common? He who is angry with his kind and loving guardian Sir Hugo Mallinger when he finds out about his real descent, although he generously decides to forgive Sir Hugo for bringing him up as his own son in the lap of luxury? And on the basis of what pearls of wisdom does Gwendolen consider Deronda worthy of being her moral compass? Why, because he disapproves of gambling because the gambler's gain "is another's loss". There are many good arguments, both ethical and commonsensical, against gambling, but this is surely not one of them. Yes, a gambler's winnings have once belonged to losers at the gaming-table, but they have passed through the hands of the gambling-house's bank after that, and if no-one had won they would have stayed there. The "another" whose loss one is supposed to condole is in fact the gambling-house. Well, boo-hoo.

Tha adaptation does include the gambling gaffe (though softened and reluctantly uttered) and Deronda's unfathomable objection to the kind-hearted Cohens, who luckily for him turn out not to be Mirah's family after all. But otherwise, the protagonist comes across more as Gwendolen's best friend than a pontificating moralist. He is always giving her pep talks, saying things like "you musn't think that" when she starts blaming herself. Also, he keeps looking as if he very much wanted to kiss her, which is not what a moral compass is supposed to do. Deronda is played by the good-looking Hugh Dancy, who spends most of the series seeming very upset rather than superior. It worked well when he played David Copperfield in the Hallmark adaptation of that novel, and it works rather well here as well. Though you still don't understand what makes Daniel Deronda so special that two very attractive women should come close to an unladylike cat-fight about him.

Davies has pruned well in other respects too - for instance, the part of Mordecai has been so ruthlessly cut that he actually appears to be intense and charismatic rather than a perfect bore. But all credit should not go to Davies. The adaptation is well-directed and extremely well-cast. Jodhi May lends such warmth to Mirah that you can almost accept that she's Deronda's True Love, and Hugh Bonneville shines in the role of chilling sadist Mallinger Grandcourt. His range is impressive - he has played Charles Bovary and other decent sorts just as convincingly.

What I also like about this adaptation - and here I'm back to Davies-gushing - is the fact that there is a small but vital scene which I can't remember being in the book. Deronda comes across Mirah praying, is awed by her piety and confesses he has never felt very pious, and that he envies her. In the novel, I was bothered by the fact that Deronda just shrugged of Christianity like an old coat, and no-one even appeared shocked by it. Also, his fascination with Judaism seemed to have more to do with its rich culture and with his regard for persons such as Mirah and Mordecai than with any religious aspects. The prayer scene adds a needed religious dimension to what is after all the story of a man's conversion - rather, it is hinted here, from indifference to Judaism than from Christianity to Judaism.