onsdag 28 november 2012

Sweet Barnaby (shame about the other good guys)

How very vexing. I've seen the whole series three of Downton Abbey now, but because of Swedish Television's scheduling, my fellow Swedes won't be finished watching it until Christmas - which means, for the sake of loyalty, I'll have to postpone any further blogging about it until after the Christmas special (ages away). Maybe it's just as well - a Downton blog post at this stage would probably just turn into a list of twenty-odd more or less good excuses for rooting for a dolt (sterling acting; O'Brienishly manipulative script; hormonal imbalance on part of villain-loving viewer - that's three already). Come the new year, I may be in a more reasonable state of mind. Or not.

So, moving on to something completely different. For the past weeks, I've been rereading Barnaby Rudge. I thought it moved a bit slowly the first time I read it, and I was interested to see whether I'd matured and gained some patience since last time. The answer is, not really. It's a novel that's big on atmosphere but a bit short on pace. The Gordon Riots, which form the backdrop of the second half of the book, slow things down considerably. The truth is a little of angry-crowd-in-fire-scenes go a very long way with me, especially as Dickens insists on embellishing them with long, semicolon-full sentences. Yes, they contain powerful images, but there is only so much of those you can take in, and anyway I can't say I care that much. I want to get on with the story. After all, if I wanted to read up on the Gordon Riots, I'd probably choose a more trustworthy source that the opinionated Dickens.

All the same, even if you're not really into angry-mob scenes as told by a shocked model citizen, there is much in Barnaby Rudge to enjoy. Barnaby himself is an acquaintance worth making. The Wise Fool is one of my least favourite stock characters normally, but with Barnaby the conceit works because he's not such a fool as all that. He's not "wanting" as people used to say; his wits are over-heated rather than slow. A madman with a surfeit of imagination and a certain instinct for what is right - though it leads him astray more than once - he easily engages the reader's sympathy, not least when he's bravely but wrong-headedly fighting for a misguided cause.

A shame the characters who are in their senses aren't always as compelling. I seem to remember an Amazon review complaining that the villains in Barnaby Rudge weren't really up to Dickens's usual standards. In my view, the villains do their job well enough: it's the good characters, aside from Barnaby, who are the problem. The two young heroes are ciphers, especially Edward Chester (Joe Willet shows a little more spirit, but he's not what you'd call a memorable personality). Edward's love Emma Haredale is just as colourless. Dolly Varden, the other heroine, at least has some humanising flaws - she's a flirty piece - but if you are a woman, and straight, it's hard to share Dickens's cooing admiration of her charms. I felt more than a little sympathy with her mother's latently malevolent (and plain) maid, Miss Miggs, who has no time for her young mistress. Emma's gloomy, hard-done-by uncle Geoffrey Haredale stands out by his uningratiating manners; given that he is such a bear it's not so strange that various villains should take against him (especially as they're of the Dickensian, easily-slighted kind). Barnaby's suffering mother is such a model of hand-wringing selflessness it's almost ridiculous. And don't get me started on the awful John Grueby, staunch British-bulldog servant of the deluded Lord George Gordon. One of my main pleasures when I'm in a how-would-I-adapt-this-novel-for-television fantasising mood and am thinking of Barnaby Rudge is to imagine how I would cut out John Grueby completely from the story.

The main good character besides Barnaby, Gabriel Varden, is one of two examples in the book of a tried and tested Dickensian recipe for a character not working out quite as well as it usually does. Varden shares many characteristics with famous good Dickens characters such as Mr Pickwick. He is good-natured; he is generous; he is quick to forgive; he likes to spread good cheer wherever he goes. The phrase P.G. Wodehouse used about Dickensian characters - "yeasty benevolence" - springs to mind. And yet somehow he doesn't quite "take". I couldn't warm to him, and yes, I do warm occasionally to good characters in Dickens as well as the bad ones. Part of the problem is Varden's role in the story. The tale of how a locksmith refused to help the rioting crowd pick the lock to Newgate was what inspired Dickens to the idea of Barnaby Rudge in the first place; the trouble is, once we get to the Newgate bit, we want the prison to be taken. Why, Barnaby's in there! Gabriel Varden's refusal to comply with the mob's demands doesn't inspire the thrill of admiration for his courage which it's probably supposed to.

The other character who follows a Dickensian recipe but isn't a whole-hearted success is Gashford, a typical fawning Dickens villain on the make who somehow does not attain the dizzying heights of Uriah or Carker. But more of him and the other Barnaby Rudge villains some other time.

torsdag 15 november 2012

Tom, Tom, turn around - you can't beat O'Brien

All right, so it's not the most shocking or sad thing to happen in the third series of Downton Abbey. However, I admit that I'm still grieving for the demise of the Old Villain Alliance. Miss O'Brien the spiteful lady's maid and Thomas the wicked valet (formerly footman) have fallen out.

As I've purchased the DVDs, I have been able to cheat and watch ahead of other Swedish fans of Downton. I'm now on episode five while Swedish Television are showing episode three this weekend. I'll be a little careful with spoilers, if not overmuch.

The baddie falling-out already started in episode one, though. Poor old Thomas. Like Errol Flynn (according to a famous quote), you know where you are with him: he lets you down every time. I like the idea of a villainous footman/valet so much that I've always been inclined to cut Thomas a lot more slack than he deserves. But he is an idiot. If you think he could not possibly do anything stupider than not checking the goods he plans to sell as a war racketeer before sinking all of his savings in them, think again. Suddenly, he picks a quarrel with O'Brien, and for what? Because she brings in her nephew to the household as footman and wants him to advance to the position as valet eventually. Thomas is miffed because it took two whole series for him to become a valet proper, and he doesn't want anyone else to manage the jump in just one episode. Is that a good reason to antagonise someone who has been a good friend, and is known to make a formidable enemy? No, I should think not indeed.

Clearly, Fellowes couldn't resist the temptation of manufacturing a quarrel between his two head villains so they can tear each other's throats out. I wish he had resisted. A villain alliance that stands the test of time is a rare and beautiful thing, and I really enjoyed this one, as I've commented on before. What's more, it's an uneven fight. There is absolutely no contest: of course Miss O'Brien is going to win. She was the brains in the Downton villain club from the start, while Thomas followed her orders and quite often messed them up. He is officially toast. Not that he needs O'Brien to get into trouble. I can see the new Thomas Catastrophe on the horizon already, and it ain't gonna be pretty. One can always hope that the accident-prone Tom realises the pickle he's in, gets down on all fours and grovels to O'Brien before it's too late. But I'm not betting on it.

Things aren't helped by the fact that the cause of the unrest - O'Brien's nephew Alfred - is such a clod, the point of whom I still struggle to see. I think Fellowes is trying to set him up as a goodie, but the only worthwhile thing he has done so far is to say a nice thing about Edith at a time when it mattered. He spends most of his time flirting with a pretty new kitchen maid while being oblivious to the obviously yearning Daisy. Somehow, I don't think that will win him many viewers' hearts.

Otherwise, Downton delivers its usual pleasant mix of intrigues up- and downstairs. There are a few mysteries. For instance, why is everyone of the opinion that Sir Anthony Strallan is "too old" for Edith? One, as she herself points out, there aren't that many young fellows left after the war; two, in the first series the Granthams were quite happy at the prospect of marrying off any one of their daughters to Strallan (well, maybe not Sybil); three, he's not that old, is he? He's played by sweet-seeming Robert Bathurst, who was the yuppie in Cold Feet. What, are Helen Baxendale, James Nesbitt and Hermione Norris thought of as ancient too, now? And what happened to the threat of Sir Richard Carlisle? Did he decide not to print the scandalous story about Mary, and in that case, shouldn't someone mention it and give him some credit for his decision?

Well, Downton wouldn't be Downton if you couldn't pick holes in it. It's a pity though, to come back to the theme of villainy, that dastardly plans in Downton tend to be so - well, petty. The corrupt screw and drug-dealing prisoner who are harassing Mr Bates are no better than the baddie servants in this regard. Say what you like about dour Sir Richard, he was at least an adult. He didn't hide his Lordship's shirts, and had he been caught out in a drug racket he wouldn't whine "it's all his doing" about a burly innocent he'd been trying to frame. Come back, Carlisle, all is forgiven.

lördag 10 november 2012

Doctor addiction (contd.)

"I thought you had run out of ways to make me sick. But... hello again. You think hatred is beautiful?"

Yes, the Doctor is back! And facing off the Daleks in the very first episode - whose head bozo calmly points out, as an answer to the comment above, that this strange concept of beauty is probably why they haven't killed off the Doc long ago. This week's highlight has undoubtedly been the first five episodes of Doctor Who series seven, all of which I watched in three nights (I'd have made it in two, only I came home late on Monday).

Much is the same, which is remarkable in itself. I and I think many others had expected the Steven Moffat take-over from Russell T. Davies as head script-writer would mean less plot holes: after all, the Moffat episodes during the Davies years tended to be tightly plotted ("Blink" above all). But no, series five, six and seven have contained as many plot holes the size of the Doctor's lost home planet Gallifrey as the Davies era, if not more. Whereas Davies sensibly had one overall story arc per series which was wound up in a grand finale in the two or three final series episodes, Moffat's has a complicated continuing story-arc where some things, but not everything, are cleared up in the series finale. It is frustrating, because you never know if a puzzling plot-line will be dropped completely or explained maybe twenty episodes later. It's a relief to read an article like this one in the Telegraph, which sums up the questions a poor bewildered viewer might be asking her/himself right now (don't read it unless you've already watched the latest episodes - spoilers...). YES, I wonder about the Clerics too! I'm glad it's not just me.

On the plus side, the wit, cleverness, warmth and sheer madness of the Davies era are still present, too. After having (yet again) rewatched series one to four, I must confess that I'm conventional enough to think that, on the whole, Tennant's stint as the Doctor was probably the best. Not just because of Tennant himself, though he was brilliant - all the Doctors I've seen have been good - but because I like the Tenth Doctor's adventures and, above all, companions the best. I've never really warmed to Amy as much as to Donna and Martha (and, occasionally, Rose). But for all that, series five to seven are full of high points, and few programmes - if any - can match Doctor Who for quality in my book.

So why is it considered to be a TV series for children? I've never really got my head round this. One of the reasons that Amy had a hard time winning my heart is because the youthful Karen Gillan, who plays her, was roped in as new companion at the same time as Matt Smith (still in his twenties back then) became the new Doctor. And why? Because, supposedly, "kids" relate better to younger protagonists, which makes it desirable to pick companions who look like they've just finished school.

Now, for fast-moving, clever dialogue, Doctor Who is only out-done by The West Wing. How is it possible that British kids get all this? Are they all potential Mensa members? Of course, it's wonderful that growing generations watch and enjoy a program as intellectually testing as this. But when the kid audience of Doctor Who is hauled in either to explain a market move, as above, or as an argument when critics try to cut down the series to size, it is a bit annoying if you happen to be a Who-addict in her thirties. "Its just a children's programme after all". No, it's not!

And, incidentally, script-writers have shown precious little consideration for their supposed core audience of "kids" in the past. There are Doctor Who episodes that can be traumatising even for the toughest child. The "The Impossible Planet" two-parter in series two was way, way, way too scary. The "Silence in the Library" two-parter was, in a way, sneakier, because while "The Impossible Planet" tackled a primal fear for children and adults alike, "Silence in The Library" played on childhood-specific fears. Never mind the flesh-eating shadows. Far more disturbing are scenes where a little girl is told that her nightmares are real, while what she thinks of as real life is a lie, and where she accidentally zaps her concerned daddy out of existence in a fit of pique. "Midnight" is a psychological chiller which, with its un-Doctorish pessimistic view on human nature, would have been more at home in a Torchwood series. I could go on at some length. "The God Complex"? "The Girl who Waited"? Strewth, "The Doctor's Wife"? Is this really the kind of stuff you sit your children in front of after they've grown too old for Bob the Builder?

Child-friendly or not, plot-holey or not, morally erratic or not (in one episode, the Doctor cheerfully sends a mass-murdering pirate-merchant to his death, the next - the very next - he agonises during a whole episode about sacrificing a baddie's life to save a small town), I love this series. I sometimes think I love it because I can find things to criticise. I'm reminded of  Streatfeild's two dons in Ballet Shoes, who happily find plenty to disagree with in a mounting of A Midsummer Night's Dream "or they would not have enjoyed themselves at all".

torsdag 1 november 2012

Bond and Snow White

Yes, I know... Not the greatest blog subject in history. But it's been one of those weeks without any particular cultural highlight. Instead, making use of my local DVD rental's rent-more-than-one-film-and keep-them-for-a-week-deal, I rented A Quantum of Solace  - to get up to speed on Bond's development, with a view to possibly watching Skyfall at the cinema - and Snow White and the Huntsman. I'd already seen Mirror, Mirror and was interested to see what another take on the famous fairy-tale would look like.

When it comes to Bond, I know I'm not a connoisseur. Most of the Bond films I've seen are those I watched when I was still a kid or a teenager, which explains why I feel more warmly towards the flippant side of these films than most. I must be the only one in existence who doesn't double up with embarrassment over Jaws's love interest in Moonraker (why shouldn't he have a girlfriend? At least his redemption means Bond doesn't have to bump him off). I've never felt any need for Bond films to be "hard" and "gritty". Suave, non-thuggish, inner-depths-free Roger Moore was the kind of Bond I liked, as was Pierce Brosnan, especially in Goldeneye.

So, to get to the obvious point, Daniel Craig's Bond doesn't work for me. Yes, those icy blue eyes are attractive, but they don't make you forgive him everything. His looks and manner are definitely not the ones of the Bond of my girlhood. He is a grim, weather-beaten, psychologically damaged muscle-man, not a worldly-wise, witty, vodka martini-sipping gentleman spy. The troubling thing is, Craig may very well be closer to the "real" Bond, the one in Ian Fleming's books (which I haven't read), than the tamer version I've grown up with. I recall how shocked I was when Sean Connery's Bond locked a baddie in the sauna and turned up the heat - after said baddie had tried to do the same to him - in the early Bond film Thunderball, and how Bond actually chuckled with sadistic delight. But wait, he's the hero, isn't he supposed to be a bit more decent than the bad guys? I mean, boiling someone to death, who does that? A Quantum of Solace has a corresponding moment towards the end. Yes, the head villain is ultra-creepy (a bit my type, actually) and ruthless and bent on world domination and has killed one of Bond's squeezes etc. etc. Still, the way Bond handles him - again, who does that? I begin to suspect that were it not for the fact that Bond villains are so unbelievably wicked, there would be no reason to root for him at all. I'm in two minds about watching Skyfall on cinema now.

So, from Bond to Snow White. Get this - the evil queen in Snow White and the Huntsman has a nasty, white-haired brother sidekick. And I still thought the film was yawn-inducingly tedious.

I realise that fantasy - which is what most fairy-tale films resemble most nowadays - is a tricky genre. The attempts at humour in fantasy films (Two Towers, anyone?) can be so woeful that I can see why someone would want to dispense with light relief alltogether and go for straight-faced seriousness all the way. But the end result? Rain-soaked characters spouting earnest twaddle instead of getting on with the plot. Blimey, how dull. Character-building scenes are no good  when you really couldn't care less about the characters. It looks like a good idea, on paper, to big up the role of the huntsman a bit - in the original tale, Snow White does owe her life to him, and he takes quite a risk - but here, he is a dreary, wounded-macho specimen without much to recommend him. Snow White drifts around with a dreamlike, destiny-ridden look on her face (for the record, I thought the evil queen was fairer). The Prince (well, dukelet actually) is at a bit of a loose end, and who can blame him, when there's a rival for the hero part knocking about? We don't even get to know which of them Snow White picks, which some reviewers have seen as something very positive and indicative of the fact that she is a Person In Her Own Right. Is she? Could we please stop pretending that this moony girl will ever be the new Elizabeth I?

In the battle of the Snow Whites, Mirror, Mirror wins, though it can be very silly and the script could have been a great deal sharper (it's still Oscar Wilde compared with the Huntsman, though). It's got great costumes and Julia Roberts having a ball as the wicked stepmother. OK, so she doesn't have a nasty brother sidekick, but then one can't have everything.