torsdag 27 oktober 2011

Sequel AND crime story: the ultimate guilty pleasure

Heard the news? P.D. James is writing a sequel to Pride and Prejudice! A sequel and a crime story to boot. What's extraordinary about that is not the idea itself - it has been done before - but that such a prestigious writer (yes, a crime writer, but very highly regarded one) should try her hand at a genre combination with such a poor standing in literary circles. Crime may be the genre that has come in from the cold (every second author seems to dabble in murder these days) but the sequel/prequel/retelling genre is still viewed with a great deal of suspicion by the culture vultures. And as for a crime and sequel combo - well, it's hardly going to get reviews in any upmarket newspapers, unless a reviewer wants to make a point about leaving dead authors' deathless creations alone. To those of us who can't help enjoying sequels and other riffs on the classics, it's very good news indeed that we have a heavyweight like P.D. James on our side.

A sequel/crime story take on Austen is, as I mentioned, not a new thing in itself. Here are some examples of the sequel/crime story genre (and by sequel I include prequels, retellings from another point of view, resettings of the story in modern times etc.):

The Mr and Mrs Darcy Mysteries by Carrie Bebris: When I bought the first of these novels, I expected it to be quite trashy. I mean, Elizabeth and Darcy as mystery solvers? Come on. Unexpectedly, though, the books in this series turn out to be some of the best in the Austen sequel genre. Bebris captures the personalities of Austen's characters well, and the relationship between the Darcys is sweet without being cloying. The two first mysteries contain supernatural elements, but this feature is hardly in evidence in book three, "North by Northanger", and not at all in subsequent books. That may be a relief to some, but I didn't mind the supernatural factor. In fact, I think my favourite of the mysteries is book number two, "Suspense and Sensibility". As the title suggests, characters from "Sense and Sensibility" make an appearance, and thanks to a magic mirror a rake from the Hellfire Club days is let loose in Regency London, in the guise of Kitty Bennet's fiancé Harry Dashwood. When the bewildered Kitty takes her suddenly errant fiancé to task and asks him if he has a lover, he answers calmly: "Yes. Do you?"

Murder at Mansfield Park by Lynn Shepherd: I read this novel partly during a train journey, and it passed the long train journey test with flying colours. I didn't fidget, I just read on. It's an enjoyable Austenesque romp and a good old-fashioned whodunnit rolled into one, with a bright-eyed sleuth in the Bucket/Cuff mould. Be warned, though: this is not Mansfield Park as we know it. This is a kind of parallel universe where things are slightly different: for instance, Fanny Price is not a poor relation but a spoiled heiress; the Crawfords are in straitened circumstances; and Edmund is Mrs Norris's stepson rather than the younger son of the Bertram family. Geek as I am, I'm familiar with and enjoy a parallel universe story. It did annoy me, though, that some of the characters, notably Fanny, were so unlike their "real" counterparts, and that the dissimilarity could not be put down to altered circumstances alone. You have to be a hardened anti-Pricean (though there are many of them out there) to think that Fanny would be a conceited monster in any universe. I look forward to reading Shepherd's next book, inspired by "Bleak House", but I wonder what she will make of Esther.

Shakespearean Whodunnits, Shakespearean Detectives and The Mammoth Book of Dickensian Whodunnits, edited by Mike Ashley: It was the collections of Shakespearean murder mysteries that made me change my mind about the sequel genre. Before that, I was just as sniffy about it as many others. It's years since I read them now, but I remember the high quality of many of the stories, and one of them lingers particularly in the mind: "The House of Rimmon" by Cherith Baldry, a mystery featuring the characters from "The Merchant of Venice" which treats not only Shylock but also Antonio with sympathy. Then fairly recently, the collection of Dickensian whodunnits came out. Yay! Ashley must be a good editor, because again there were many strong stories, though I didn't care for the "Dombey and Son" one. (In fairness, it would take much to make me relish a story where the suggestion is that darling Jem Carker's death wasn't an accident.) The "David Copperfield" short stories were among the best - no Uriah in sight, though.

Death by Dickens and Much Ado About Murder edited by Anne Perry: More uneven collections, these, but worth getting hold of for all that, especially the Dickens-themed one. The "Christmas Carol" story by Lillian Stewart Carl is particularly charming, and I enjoyed Perry's own "Tale of Two Cities" story set in revolutionary France and featuring some figures from Robespierre's closest circle.

The Ladislaw Case by Imke Thormählen: Yes, all right, I must admit a personal bias in favour of this novel. Let's just say Sweden's a small country, population-wise. I think I can safely say, however, that those who love Victorian novels and classic whodunnits will enjoy it hugely. It gives "Middlemarch" the sequel/crime story treatment, but there are also references to Dickens: in the end, it is Inspector Bucket who solves the murder of Will Ladislaw's political rival, for which Will is the prime suspect. Though the book is set in London in the 1840s rather than in Middlemarch, past events and long-dead Middlemarchians still influence the protagonists' lives: Bulstrode has also copped it by now, but in a way his soul goes marching on. Will hasn't forgotten Casaubon either, however much he would wish to.

To sum up, if you think P.D. James's P&P murder mystery sounds intriguing, there's a lot more reading to be had along the same lines. That doesn't make James's forthcoming book any less welcome, however. Who murdered Wickham? My money is on Mrs Bennet - or Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

onsdag 19 oktober 2011

Factor "v" for villain

I still wonder why the Andrew Davies TV adaptation of "Little Dorrit" was not such a smash hit with the public as his earlier adaptation of "Bleak House". All right, so "Little Dorrit" didn't exactly flop: I bet more people watched it than that arty, dark, filthy-clothes-and-yellow-teeth Civil War drama which the BBC bragged so much about a few years back and which I still haven't been able to bring myself to have a look at. And I understand that the novelty of having a Dickens novel as a high-class soap opera had worn off. Lastly, "Bleak House" is a better novel than "Little Dorrit" (though "Little Dorrit" is brilliant too - well, it is by Dickens), so it's hardly surprising if the "Bleak House" adaptation is more popular. And yet... When you think of all the good things which made "Bleak House" compelling viewing, and which are there in "Little Dorrit" as well, I can't but feel that the latter has been undervalued. Great storytelling? Yep. Zippy pace? You got it. Engaging characters? Present. First-class acting? And how!

I'm rewatching "Bleak House" at the moment, which has brought these thoughts on, and an old pet theory of mine about one reason why it proved so popular. There is one thing "Bleak House" has which "Little Dorrit" doesn't: the villain factor.

Years ago, I read an article about costume dramas and how producers were always looking for the "f" factor which would make the drama catch on - "f" standing for a feisty female lead. Even then, I was thinking: hang on, what about the "v" factor? Yes, a spunky female to admire and identify with is good, but a nice, juicy villain is better. Well, naturally as a villain-lover I was bound to think that, but I've come to think there is a lot more villain-loving going on among the general public that one imagines. Perhaps it's not a new phenomenon either: "Dombey and Son" outsold "Vanity Fair", in spite of the latter having the "f" factor (in the shape of Becky Sharp) in spades. When it comes to the "v" factor, though, few books can beat "Dombey and Son".

In the "Little Dorrit" adaptation, everyone did what they could with the villains assigned to them, but the fact remains that Merdle is a nobody, and knows it; Henry Gowan is vicious, which is excusable, and a lazy Steerforthian, which is not; Mr Flintwinch is a sidekick (if a self-willed one); Mr Casby is an interesting idea - how much meanness can a man get away with as long as he looks and seems benign? - more than a character and Rigaud is plain annoying. In the book, it is the villainesses - Mrs Clennam and Miss Wade - who really possess the field. It is because of Mrs Clennam's pain that even a hardened villain-lover like myself cannot approve of Rigaud, just as Mr Bulstrode's similar agonies in "Middlemarch" turn one against the awful Raffles. Now villainesses are all very well, but who's there for a straight, female villain-lover like me to sigh over? Also, if the "Little Dorrit" adaptation has a fault, it is that it could have done more with these two female characters (and with Flora, actually - but she's not part of this argument). Judy Parfitt was a perfect Mrs Clennam, but the character's back-story was changed and compressed in a way that didn't really do her justice, and Miss Wade was reduced from being the very personification of self-devouring Dickensian bitterness to a lesbian predator. What remains? Nothing to rival Charles Dance's Mr Tulkinghorn or Phil Davis's Smallweed (Smallweed is rather small beer villain-wise in the book - hence the name - but Davis is so good I almost suspect Andrew Davies and Co. to have enlarged the part for his benefit.)

I realise my theory has holes. Austen costume dramas, for instance, are the most popular of all, and their "v" factor is practically zilch - General Tilney is as close as you come. All the same, I think a fascinating villain helps to promote a drama not only in my eyes, but generally. I'm sure the "Dombey and Son" adaptation that never was would have caught on famously. Try telling that to the Beeb, though.

torsdag 13 oktober 2011

Forget Bond - Timothy Dalton is the ultimate Mr Rochester

The new "Jane Eyre" film with Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender does most things right. It doesn't mess around with the story and tells it effectively. It is well acted and beautifully shot. It certainly beats the feature film with Charlotte Gainsbourg and William Hurt hands down (though she was good). And yet, it can't really replace the TV adaptation from the 1980s with Zelah Clarke and Timothy Dalton in my affections.

One problem is the film format, of course. Films should not drag on forever, so there's limited time to tell the story in. It is easy to get restless in a cinema, where you are a more or less captive audience with limited access to loos. A TV series, on the other hand, can go on for as long as the producer's on board, so there's more time to let the action unfold. Apart from that, though, it's just difficult for any production - on film or on TV - to beat the pairing of Clarke and Dalton.

It's strange that Mr Rochester should be so hard to get right. In the many "Jane Eyre" adaptations I've seen, Jane has mostly been convincing, though it's hard to match Clarke's fairy looks and fiery temperament. But Rochester is trickier. As I've already mentioned somewhere long ago, he is one of the few heroes I really have time for. Ironically, though, his status as "the thinking woman's crumpet" may be part of the problem. William Hurt, Toby Stephens and the latest Rochester Michael Fassbender are all good-looking in a typically brainy way. I'd happily drool over at least the latter two in any role you care to mention, but I must admit they may not be quite saturnine enough for Mr Rochester. I did not care for Ciarán Hinds's Rochester at all, but like it or not, looks-wise he comes a great deal closer to what Charlotte Brontë had in mind than slim and polished Stephens.

Then there's Rochester's manner. Though he should be brainy, he should also be Byronic. Hurt is wet, Stephens is very likeable but not overly passionate, and Fassbender also seems to hold back. They all appear slightly embarrassed by Rochester's Byronic side and tend to downplay his more volcanic outbursts.

Now Dalton, on the other hand, gives them everything he's got. He is not ashamed of his lines and sees no reason to appear apologetic when he talks about cords snapping and inward bleeding. A man who can carry off the gypsy scene doesn't have to be afraid of anything. He also has a good deal of warmth and humour. The disgust with which he pronounces St John's name in his jealous fit at the end - "that man Rivers! SIN-John Rivers" - is unforgettable. Finally, he has the advantage of looking properly dark and wild. He's too handsome for Rochester, of course, but then so is nearly everyone who's played him. Jane's "No sir", as answer to the question whether she finds Mr Rochester handsome, seldom rings quite true (well, maybe with Orson Welles).

There is a lot of carping about Timothy Dalton's take on Bond, and I admit he's not quite my idea of 007, though that is not necessarily a bad thing. (Also, Dalton was hardly to blame for the ghastly "Licence to Kill" which wasn't Bond-like in the least - exploding petrol tanks and drug-dealing instead of cats and eccentric sidekicks? Horror!) But who cares if he nailed Bond? He did one better - he nailed Mr Rochester.

tisdag 4 oktober 2011

The cake wasn't the problem with Marie Antoinette

I've finally got round to watching Sofia Coppola's film about Marie Antoinette, and I must admit I quite enjoyed it. I had no high hopes as I'm not a fan of the lady (Marie Antoinette, that is - I have no views on Coppola) and I gloomily foresaw a whitewash. It's true the film is more for than against the sorely tried - and trying - queen, but it's not too overdone, and what's more, it wisely ends in 1789, when the king and queen are forced by an angry mob to move from Versailles to Paris. In other words, long before the revolution got in full swing and heads started to roll.

When the film was released many reviews complained about it ending where it did, and at the time I sympathised with them. A film about Marie Antoinette without a guillotine in it? Come on! Now, though, I can see the advantage of stopping short in 1789. True, you lose the scenes where the ex-queen is separated from her son in prison, where sick-making allegations are made about her in court and where she is driven proudly to her death. All touching stuff. On the other hand, you don't have to explain the fact that she handed over France's military secrets to Austria.

Anyone who tries to defend Marie Antoinette starts out by pointing out that she never said "let them eat cake". Which is true, she didn't. Then, they continue, she had absolutely no part in "the affair of the necklace" which made her so unpopular in her own time. Nope, she did not. I've read two accounts of "the affair of the necklace", both too tangled to be any fun, but one person who was not mixed up in it was Marie Antoinette. I believe I've also heard it said that she did not play at being shepherdess at Petit Trianon. I'm a little less inclined to take this as read, but let's face it, even if she did it's hardly a great crime - shepherdesses of the Bo Peep variety were "in" at the time and no-one thought for a moment they had anything in common with real herders of cattle. In the end, though, Marie Antoinette wasn't executed for a silly quote, or for a diamond necklace, or for playing shepherdess. She was executed for treason, and she committed it.

By dwelling on Marie Antoinette's pre-revolutionary life, Coppola's film can concentrate on the allegations made against her at that time - i.e. that she was very extravagant. The film doesn't deny this: many scenes are taken up with the princess's and later the queen's spending sprees. It does list a number of extenuating circumstances, though, like her youth (her eighteenth birthday party takes place about halfway into the film) and her troubles with her husband who at first didn't know how to go about making her pregnant. I read Stefan Zweig's biography of Marie Antoinette once upon a time, and he really went to town on the sufferings of the poor girl who had to endure Louis "tiring himself out on her young body" to no avail night after night. The initial marital problems are a little less graphically depicted here, but the film makes a point which the gallant Zweig missed: the way the court blamed Marie Antoinette for not trying harder to get Louis off the mark, and the strain that must have been for a teenager had no way of knowing anything about seduction techniques. Also, we are duly informed that the real drain on the nation's finances was not the queen's hats and shoes but backing the Americans against the English in the War of Independence.

It's not an action-packed film, more of a mood piece in very pretty surroundings. The clothes and the food look exquisite - the cakes especially, ironically enough. The stifling court atmosphere is well captured: in one scene, the queen fantasises girlishly about her lover von Fersen amid disjointed court gossip which you really couldn't make head or tail of if you tried. The queen's best friends, the sweet princess de Lamballe and the sluttish but fun duchess de Polignac, are nicely individualised. All the same, if I hadn't had any interest in the revolutionary period and in seeing how the royal family got along before they ran into worse trouble than back-stabbing each other, I would probably have been bored - the film is pretty slow.

Kirsten Dunst is charming as ever in the lead role, but I couldn't help thinking that the "poor giddy little thing who doesn't know what she's doing" card was overplayed. By 1789, Marie Antoinette was thirty-four, and unfortunately she no longer took a back seat in political matters. The film shows her proclaiming gravely, when she is advised to take shelter abroad: "My place is at the king's side." Honey, it would have been better for the king if your place had been anywhere but at his side.