This may not be the ideal time to express admiration for a politician who puts his career before his country, but it can’t be helped. The third part of Robert Harris’s Cicero trilogy, Dictator, confirms what I already suspected in Lustrum: Gaius Julius Caesar is the Roman for a villain-loving girl like me. He’s intelligent, charming, elegant, multi-talented and keen on handing out strategically thought-through pardons (to Romans, that is, not to Gallic tribes: I’m sad to say they’re pretty much history once their paths cross with Caesar’s). Perhaps most importantly of all, he also has a sense of humour. He enjoys Cicero’s jokes, even when they’re at his own expense, and you suspect that this is one reason why he has more patience with Cicero’s political to-ing and fro-ing than one would expect. Sometimes I could not help thinking that Cicero would have done better to stick with Caesar from the beginning, though I can see why some of his actions – like starting a civil war and, once in power, proclaiming himself a god – would be a little hard to swallow.
I re-read Imperium and Lustrum before moving on to Dictator and was reminded of how much I enjoyed dwelling in the world of Cicero’s Rome, as told by Harris. It’s mostly down to the author’s skill, of course. He’s a dab hand at both gripping prose and strong characterization, and the dialogues are blissfully down-to-earth and not written in the stilted historical fictionese which blights so much of the genre.The political intrigues manage to be both riveting and educational (did you know there were two Brutuses?). Descriptions related to life in Ancient Rome only occur when they’re directly relevant to the story of Cicero and his faithful slave and secretary (and the trilogy’s narrator) Tiro, who is finally granted his freedom in this last novel. But Harris is also helped by the nature of his heroes. Cicero is far from being a saint: sometimes, he even comes across as a bit of a turncoat. Tiro, who existed but whose personality is in all probability imagined by Harris, is a sweet man and perhaps the most humane of the characters – he is the only one in Cicero’s circle who shows any regret for “Caesar the man” when the latter is assassinated – but his loyalty to Cicero keeps him from ever getting on his high horse in moral matters, because then he’d be forced to judge his wily master as well.
In his sympathetic telling of the career of a man who tries to do the decent thing but doesn’t always succeed (I’m talking about Cicero here: Caesar didn’t care a scrap about doing the decent thing), Harris avoids being bogged down with an obvious moral message. I’ve read three other Harris novels apart from the Cicero trilogy: An Officer and A Spy, The Ghost and most recently, for my sins, Fatherland. They are all good, An Officer and A Spy especially: Harris always delivers on the readability front. But though he’s careful not to preach overtly, I did occasionally feel, in particular with Fatherland, like I was having my fingers slapped by a ruler wielded by a teacher with a moral mission. Moreover, Harris’s heroes tend to be dour types, intelligent but humourless – a bit like Octavian in Dictator, as a matter of fact. The more easy-going Cicero and Tiro are easily the protagonists you would most like to spend an evening at a restaurant (or a taverna) with.
Having said that, another of my favourite characters in the Cicero trilogy is Caesar’s polar opposite, the unkempt, uncompromising idealist Cato. Everyone thinks he’s a pain with his unbending adherence to an often wrong-headed moral code, but there is an engaging bluntness to his truth-telling, which has a rhetorical power of his own. Here’s a man whose moral fibre does impress me. Perhaps the trick of getting readers to swallow a dose of morality is not to try too hard.
onsdag 6 juli 2016
onsdag 22 juni 2016
Doctor Thorne without the thorns - and all the better for it
It isn't surprising that Julian Fellowes has a soft spot for Anthony Trollope. They operate within the same genre, after all - the (often genteel) comedy of manners. Why Fellowes would choose to adapt Doctor Thorne of all Trollope novels is a mystery to me, though. I read it so I would be able to make a comparison between the novel and the adaptation, and did not only find it tedious - I positively disliked it. Not only did it suffer from well-known Trollopian drawbacks such as long-windedness, superfluous sub-plots and some far-from-fascinating characters, I also found it unpleasantly snobbish.
How, you might ask, can a novel that promotes a match between the squire's son and the illegitimate niece of a country doctor - who also happens to be the niece of an alcoholic ex-stonemason - be called snobbish? Did I miss the satirical thrusts directed at the De Courcys, from whom the squire's wife hails, and at the Duke of Omnium, who can't be bothered to entertain his guests? No, but the kind of snobbishness displayed in Doctor Thorne - I'm tempted to call it the English kind - is more concerned about ancient lineage and customs than rank. Mary Thorne, the doctor's niece, is implicitly on a par with Frank Gresham the squire's son because both the Thornes and the Greshams are old county families. The De Courcys are more recent, and Whigs too (as is the Duke of Omnium), which is why they can be comfortably sneered at.
Early on, there is an apparently irony-free endorsement of the British feudal spirit. Elsewhere, we have the plot-unrelated lamenting of the demise of an old coach town in the uncouth age of commerce and railways. Augusta Gresham's bourgeois fiancé, Mr Moffat, is derided, but to quote Elizabeth Bennet, his guilt and his descent appear to be the same: he is accused of nothing worse than of being the son of a tailor. When he jilts Augusta for mercenary reasons, it is hard to find it so very terrible since her reasons for agreeing to a marriage were equally mercenary. Yet not only are we supposed to like Frank for horsewhipping the absconded suitor, we're supposed to find it funny too.
Then there's the patronising treatment of the Scatcherds. Sir Roger Scatcherd is the drunk stonemason who makes good thanks to his engineering skills and becomes both a baronet and a very rich man, albeit still drunk. He is one of the more memorable characters, but his successes are never given their due: rather, it is heavily hinted that he would have been better off if he had known his place and remained a stonemason. Why, one might ask, as he is destined to die by the bottle anyway? Better then. surely, to die in affluence and comfort than in poverty and hardship? And what about all those buildings, railways and bridges he has built: isn't the country better off with them than without? Why is it so lamentable that Sir Roger's son is not taught to fend for himself, when he receives exactly the same kind of education as young Frank, who as it happens is more in need of gaining his own bread? Why is it a "joke" that the good and honest Lady Scatcherd is called "my lady"?
What's more, the protagonists aren't that easy to warm to. Frank is puppyish and flirts with other women. The possibility of making money rather than marrying it enters his dim brain very late in the day, and then the best he can come up with is a notion to take over one of his father's tenant farms: this in a situation where his family risks losing the estate, tenant farms and all. Mary is accused of pertness by one of the De Courcy ladies, and not without reason. Doctor Thorne himself is supposed to be the moral heart of the book, but it is hard to be too impressed. One of the reasons we are given to think him noble is that he does his best to keep Sir Roger's son Louis alive, when he secretly wishes the wretch could die so Mary can get her mitts on Sir Roger's money and marry Frank. But there is nothing very admirable in suppressing such a wish: in fact it's pretty disgraceful to harbour it in the first place. What earthly right has Mary to Sir Roger's money - Sir Roger, whom Doctor Thorne considered beneath her and never introduced her to - compared to Louis Scatcherd, who though a wash-out is after all Sir Roger's only child?
All this fuming gives me little room to discuss the TV adaptation, but you may have guessed where I'm heading. Fellowes has done an admirable job in excising and smoothing over all the irritating aspects of the book. Gone is Frank's infirmity of purpose and inconstancy and Mary's initial coldness: their love is the real thing from the word go. Gone are the tedious subplots about the feud between Doctor Thorne and another country doctor, questionable campaigning in the local elections and ducal dinners. Chapter upon chapter of exposition are neatly summarised in a few exchanges - though this simplification does land Mr Gresham with a vice he didn't have in the book (gambling) in order to explain the dire state of his finances. Gone is Frank's idiotic idea of taking over a farm. Gone is the horsewhipping of Mr Moffat. And, crucially, the Scatcherds - father and son - are given the time of day. Unlike Trollope, Fellowes seems genuinely impressed by Sir Roger's achievements.
In an interview, Fellowes unwisely invited a comparison between Trollope and Dickens (why do Trollopians do this?) by saying that Dickens's heroines were "whiter than white" and his villains "blacker than black". This implies that Trollope's offerings are somehow more complex. However, the Trollope villains I've come across are just as morally objectionable as any villain in Dickens, while not being half as much fun. In fact, they're a bit rubbish. I would back the worst Dickens can come up with baddie-wise against the best Trollope can come up with any day - even Bounderby would have made a better fist of the Parliament appearances that Melmotte (the most creditable Trollope villain effort I've come across) bungled. Maybe the rubbishness of Trollope's bad guys is deliberate - perhaps he did not wish to glamourise wickedness, even in the interest of good storytelling - but lack of panache is hardly the same as complexity.
Louis Scatcherd, Sir Roger's weak and pathetic son who has inherited his alcoholism but none of his talents, is a case in point. So what does Fellowes do but oomph him up a bit? After all, he knows what a successful villain looks like (which makes the Dickens comment even more of a faux pas). Instead of despising Louis with all his might, Doctor Thorne (Sir Roger's business advisor and Louis's guardian) is uncomfortably aware that he may be guilty of neglecting the Scatcherd interest for the benefit of the Greshams, and shows sympathy towards the wayward young man, as does Mary and ultimately even Frank. Louis is given a bitter diatribe where he flings his justified grievances in the faces of assembled goodies - much like those "blacker than black" Dickens villains, in fact. "Don't you pity me", he spits to Frank, giving the viewer a pleasureable sense of Downton déjà-vu, before he gallops off and is killed not by drink but by a riding accident, which acquits the doctor of wishing the life out of his body. Louis Scatcherd à la Fellowes still isn't much cop, but a considerable improvement on the one in the novel, and as played by Edward Franklin not unfetching.
As costume dramas go, Doctor Thorne is pleasant and well-acted, with all the annoying bits from the novel taken out. What remains, though, is a not very remarkable love story, given a bit of extra polish by the likes of Tom Hollander as Thorne, Ian McShane as Sir Roger and Rebecca Front - always a delight - as firm matriarch Arabella Gresham. In the end, I can't help harbouring the catty suspicion that one of the reasons Fellowes chose to adapt this novel is because it was so easy to improve on.
How, you might ask, can a novel that promotes a match between the squire's son and the illegitimate niece of a country doctor - who also happens to be the niece of an alcoholic ex-stonemason - be called snobbish? Did I miss the satirical thrusts directed at the De Courcys, from whom the squire's wife hails, and at the Duke of Omnium, who can't be bothered to entertain his guests? No, but the kind of snobbishness displayed in Doctor Thorne - I'm tempted to call it the English kind - is more concerned about ancient lineage and customs than rank. Mary Thorne, the doctor's niece, is implicitly on a par with Frank Gresham the squire's son because both the Thornes and the Greshams are old county families. The De Courcys are more recent, and Whigs too (as is the Duke of Omnium), which is why they can be comfortably sneered at.
Early on, there is an apparently irony-free endorsement of the British feudal spirit. Elsewhere, we have the plot-unrelated lamenting of the demise of an old coach town in the uncouth age of commerce and railways. Augusta Gresham's bourgeois fiancé, Mr Moffat, is derided, but to quote Elizabeth Bennet, his guilt and his descent appear to be the same: he is accused of nothing worse than of being the son of a tailor. When he jilts Augusta for mercenary reasons, it is hard to find it so very terrible since her reasons for agreeing to a marriage were equally mercenary. Yet not only are we supposed to like Frank for horsewhipping the absconded suitor, we're supposed to find it funny too.
Then there's the patronising treatment of the Scatcherds. Sir Roger Scatcherd is the drunk stonemason who makes good thanks to his engineering skills and becomes both a baronet and a very rich man, albeit still drunk. He is one of the more memorable characters, but his successes are never given their due: rather, it is heavily hinted that he would have been better off if he had known his place and remained a stonemason. Why, one might ask, as he is destined to die by the bottle anyway? Better then. surely, to die in affluence and comfort than in poverty and hardship? And what about all those buildings, railways and bridges he has built: isn't the country better off with them than without? Why is it so lamentable that Sir Roger's son is not taught to fend for himself, when he receives exactly the same kind of education as young Frank, who as it happens is more in need of gaining his own bread? Why is it a "joke" that the good and honest Lady Scatcherd is called "my lady"?
What's more, the protagonists aren't that easy to warm to. Frank is puppyish and flirts with other women. The possibility of making money rather than marrying it enters his dim brain very late in the day, and then the best he can come up with is a notion to take over one of his father's tenant farms: this in a situation where his family risks losing the estate, tenant farms and all. Mary is accused of pertness by one of the De Courcy ladies, and not without reason. Doctor Thorne himself is supposed to be the moral heart of the book, but it is hard to be too impressed. One of the reasons we are given to think him noble is that he does his best to keep Sir Roger's son Louis alive, when he secretly wishes the wretch could die so Mary can get her mitts on Sir Roger's money and marry Frank. But there is nothing very admirable in suppressing such a wish: in fact it's pretty disgraceful to harbour it in the first place. What earthly right has Mary to Sir Roger's money - Sir Roger, whom Doctor Thorne considered beneath her and never introduced her to - compared to Louis Scatcherd, who though a wash-out is after all Sir Roger's only child?
All this fuming gives me little room to discuss the TV adaptation, but you may have guessed where I'm heading. Fellowes has done an admirable job in excising and smoothing over all the irritating aspects of the book. Gone is Frank's infirmity of purpose and inconstancy and Mary's initial coldness: their love is the real thing from the word go. Gone are the tedious subplots about the feud between Doctor Thorne and another country doctor, questionable campaigning in the local elections and ducal dinners. Chapter upon chapter of exposition are neatly summarised in a few exchanges - though this simplification does land Mr Gresham with a vice he didn't have in the book (gambling) in order to explain the dire state of his finances. Gone is Frank's idiotic idea of taking over a farm. Gone is the horsewhipping of Mr Moffat. And, crucially, the Scatcherds - father and son - are given the time of day. Unlike Trollope, Fellowes seems genuinely impressed by Sir Roger's achievements.
In an interview, Fellowes unwisely invited a comparison between Trollope and Dickens (why do Trollopians do this?) by saying that Dickens's heroines were "whiter than white" and his villains "blacker than black". This implies that Trollope's offerings are somehow more complex. However, the Trollope villains I've come across are just as morally objectionable as any villain in Dickens, while not being half as much fun. In fact, they're a bit rubbish. I would back the worst Dickens can come up with baddie-wise against the best Trollope can come up with any day - even Bounderby would have made a better fist of the Parliament appearances that Melmotte (the most creditable Trollope villain effort I've come across) bungled. Maybe the rubbishness of Trollope's bad guys is deliberate - perhaps he did not wish to glamourise wickedness, even in the interest of good storytelling - but lack of panache is hardly the same as complexity.
Louis Scatcherd, Sir Roger's weak and pathetic son who has inherited his alcoholism but none of his talents, is a case in point. So what does Fellowes do but oomph him up a bit? After all, he knows what a successful villain looks like (which makes the Dickens comment even more of a faux pas). Instead of despising Louis with all his might, Doctor Thorne (Sir Roger's business advisor and Louis's guardian) is uncomfortably aware that he may be guilty of neglecting the Scatcherd interest for the benefit of the Greshams, and shows sympathy towards the wayward young man, as does Mary and ultimately even Frank. Louis is given a bitter diatribe where he flings his justified grievances in the faces of assembled goodies - much like those "blacker than black" Dickens villains, in fact. "Don't you pity me", he spits to Frank, giving the viewer a pleasureable sense of Downton déjà-vu, before he gallops off and is killed not by drink but by a riding accident, which acquits the doctor of wishing the life out of his body. Louis Scatcherd à la Fellowes still isn't much cop, but a considerable improvement on the one in the novel, and as played by Edward Franklin not unfetching.
As costume dramas go, Doctor Thorne is pleasant and well-acted, with all the annoying bits from the novel taken out. What remains, though, is a not very remarkable love story, given a bit of extra polish by the likes of Tom Hollander as Thorne, Ian McShane as Sir Roger and Rebecca Front - always a delight - as firm matriarch Arabella Gresham. In the end, I can't help harbouring the catty suspicion that one of the reasons Fellowes chose to adapt this novel is because it was so easy to improve on.
onsdag 8 juni 2016
Give Theseus a break - he's not that bad
A recent London trip has left me spoilt for choice when it comes to things to spend a blog post grumbling about. The three nights I stayed in and watched telly, I came across an unfunny Midsummer Night's Dream, a costume drama about Louis XIV's private life (Versailles) that managed to be boring, and an Alice in Wonderland film completely devoid of charm. My choice falls on the Midsummer Night's Dream, as adapted by Russell T Davies. My gripes regarding the other programmes can be too easily summarised (Versailles - bad script, Alice in Wonderland - nothing to do with Alice, plus are we really supposed to root for the ghastly White Queen?). Besides, when Theseus in the Dream is turned into a Fascist dictator, I feel a line has been crossed.
I feared the worst for this Dream when Lysander's joke about Demetrius possessing Hermia's father's love - "do you marry him" - fell completely flat. It continued in the same vein: I sat stony-faced through Bottom's grandstanding, the Athenian girls' cat fight in the woods, Titania's infatuation and the rude mechanicals' play. There were nice touches in this adaptation - the feral nature of the fairies; Puck's uncharacteristically disinterested attempt to mediate between Oberon and Titania; a moment during the concluding masque when Puck removes Demetrius's flower enchantment - and he still stays in love with Helena (yep, one does sort of worry about that enchantment and how durable it is). But, as they would have said in The West Wing, they left out the funny.
I love Davies's work on Doctor Who, so this was a major disappointment. His attempts to force some same-sex romance into the Dream were ham-fisted, too. I'm sorry, but Titania and Hippolyta? It simply doesn't work.
Which sort of brings us to Theseus. First of all, if I never see another Fascist Dictator spin on a Shakespeare play, it will be too soon. There's nothing clever about it. There have always been dictators and tyrants throughout history, but that doesn't mean their ideas have much in common with Fascism. Ian McKellen famously played a Fascist/Nazi Richard III, but Shakespeare's Richard isn't wedded to any ideology, however abhorrent. He's simply power-hungry and opportunistic. The parallel didn't make any sense to me, though it had the merit of further distancing Shakespeare's Richard III from the historical one (I have mentioned they have nothing in common, haven't I?). We do not need similarities between historical/fictional tyrants and their modern-day counterparts to be hammered home - we're not stupid. By the way, not all modern dictators have been Fascists, have they?
As for poor Theseus, there's no evidence that's he's a tyrant at all, let alone a Fascist one. He upholds the Athenian law - the "ancient privilege of Athens", so presumably not of his own making - but for a ruler to disobey the laws of his realm on a whim would be to act like - oh, I don't know, a dictator? He reasons quite patiently with Hermia, because he doesn't wish her to die or to join the cult of Diana (Artemis, surely?) and have to abjure the company of men. The scene where her case is discussed ends with him taking away Hermia's father Egeus and Demetrius to talk of "something nearly that concerns yourselves", so it seems likely he tries to reason with them too. Egeus is the character it's toughest for a modern audience - or perhaps any audience - to get their head round. Maybe he has his own reasons for thinking Demetrius a better match than Lysander for Hermia; maybe he distrusts Lysander's motives; maybe he's just trying to call his daughter's bluff. All the same, he does seem quite ready to have his girl put to death (and does not even mention the cult of Diana/Artemis option).
It's often assumed that Hippolyta lends Hermia her silent support and is irritated with her husband-to-be for confirming Egeus's rights. Charles Spencer, the now sadly retired theatre critic of the Telegraph, praised a Dream production where Hippolyta did not, as is the custom, "glower" at Theseus, and I couldn't agree more. Yes, Hippolyta is a strong woman, but she has also been a ruler, and she must surely know the pressures of office. There is nothing in the play to suggest that she is anything but perfectly fine with wedding Theseus. So, he wooed her with his sword. How else would you woo an Amazon? Flowers and chocolate? It stands to reason that she should fall for a successful warrior. There may be different mythological stories about how Theseus came by Hippolyta's hand, and in the end he unwisely ditched her for Phaedra, but the couple we see in Shakespeare's play seem happy enough. Davies's vision of Hippolyta as a strait-jacketed prisoner of war is nowhere in evidence.
There's nothing wrong with having a good think about any of Shakespeare's plays, but the Dream is supposed to be the Shakespearean equivalent of a rom-com, frothy and fun. If Davies gets unstuck over a crustily misogynist piece of ancient Athenian law-making, then I wouldn't trust him with adapting any of Shakespeare's more problematic plays. I'd be glad to see his return to Doctor Who any day of the week, though.
I feared the worst for this Dream when Lysander's joke about Demetrius possessing Hermia's father's love - "do you marry him" - fell completely flat. It continued in the same vein: I sat stony-faced through Bottom's grandstanding, the Athenian girls' cat fight in the woods, Titania's infatuation and the rude mechanicals' play. There were nice touches in this adaptation - the feral nature of the fairies; Puck's uncharacteristically disinterested attempt to mediate between Oberon and Titania; a moment during the concluding masque when Puck removes Demetrius's flower enchantment - and he still stays in love with Helena (yep, one does sort of worry about that enchantment and how durable it is). But, as they would have said in The West Wing, they left out the funny.
I love Davies's work on Doctor Who, so this was a major disappointment. His attempts to force some same-sex romance into the Dream were ham-fisted, too. I'm sorry, but Titania and Hippolyta? It simply doesn't work.
Which sort of brings us to Theseus. First of all, if I never see another Fascist Dictator spin on a Shakespeare play, it will be too soon. There's nothing clever about it. There have always been dictators and tyrants throughout history, but that doesn't mean their ideas have much in common with Fascism. Ian McKellen famously played a Fascist/Nazi Richard III, but Shakespeare's Richard isn't wedded to any ideology, however abhorrent. He's simply power-hungry and opportunistic. The parallel didn't make any sense to me, though it had the merit of further distancing Shakespeare's Richard III from the historical one (I have mentioned they have nothing in common, haven't I?). We do not need similarities between historical/fictional tyrants and their modern-day counterparts to be hammered home - we're not stupid. By the way, not all modern dictators have been Fascists, have they?
As for poor Theseus, there's no evidence that's he's a tyrant at all, let alone a Fascist one. He upholds the Athenian law - the "ancient privilege of Athens", so presumably not of his own making - but for a ruler to disobey the laws of his realm on a whim would be to act like - oh, I don't know, a dictator? He reasons quite patiently with Hermia, because he doesn't wish her to die or to join the cult of Diana (Artemis, surely?) and have to abjure the company of men. The scene where her case is discussed ends with him taking away Hermia's father Egeus and Demetrius to talk of "something nearly that concerns yourselves", so it seems likely he tries to reason with them too. Egeus is the character it's toughest for a modern audience - or perhaps any audience - to get their head round. Maybe he has his own reasons for thinking Demetrius a better match than Lysander for Hermia; maybe he distrusts Lysander's motives; maybe he's just trying to call his daughter's bluff. All the same, he does seem quite ready to have his girl put to death (and does not even mention the cult of Diana/Artemis option).
It's often assumed that Hippolyta lends Hermia her silent support and is irritated with her husband-to-be for confirming Egeus's rights. Charles Spencer, the now sadly retired theatre critic of the Telegraph, praised a Dream production where Hippolyta did not, as is the custom, "glower" at Theseus, and I couldn't agree more. Yes, Hippolyta is a strong woman, but she has also been a ruler, and she must surely know the pressures of office. There is nothing in the play to suggest that she is anything but perfectly fine with wedding Theseus. So, he wooed her with his sword. How else would you woo an Amazon? Flowers and chocolate? It stands to reason that she should fall for a successful warrior. There may be different mythological stories about how Theseus came by Hippolyta's hand, and in the end he unwisely ditched her for Phaedra, but the couple we see in Shakespeare's play seem happy enough. Davies's vision of Hippolyta as a strait-jacketed prisoner of war is nowhere in evidence.
There's nothing wrong with having a good think about any of Shakespeare's plays, but the Dream is supposed to be the Shakespearean equivalent of a rom-com, frothy and fun. If Davies gets unstuck over a crustily misogynist piece of ancient Athenian law-making, then I wouldn't trust him with adapting any of Shakespeare's more problematic plays. I'd be glad to see his return to Doctor Who any day of the week, though.
torsdag 26 maj 2016
Zootopia/Zootropolis vs The Good Dinosaur
To be honest, I didn't expect to be bowled over by either Disney's Zootopia (released as Zootropolis in Europe) or Pixar's The Good Dinosaur. What struck me when I saw the first trailers for these two films was that the underlying conceits seemed eerily similar. A world with animals in charge (and no humans) on the one hand, a world with dinosaurs in charge (and humans an animal species among the rest) on the other? Same difference! What's more, these ideas weren't original: in fact, they seemed downright lazy. How many children's books, comics and animated films aren't built around the animals-as-people idea? More, even, than there are films and television programmes cashing in on kids' fascination with dinosaurs. All in all, it looked like neither Disney nor Pixar had quite hit on the next great idea for an animated picture yet.
Well, once again I learned that one shouldn't doubt The Mouse. I was seriously impressed by Zootopia: as for The Good Dinosaur, it wasn't bad - I bawled my eyes out at least three times - but I retained more of my initial scepticism. Pixar films, though often profoundly moving, are generally considered as a little more brainy and challenging than heartstring-plucking Disney fare. I'm not sure I agree, but I can see that there's a case to be made along those lines - Inside Out was certainly a proof of just how brainboxy Pixar can be. This time round, though, I think I can say with some truth that Zootopia was a more cerebral offering than The Good Dinosaur.
The underlying message of Zootopia is that you should overcome your prejudices which, on the face of it, sounds ickily moralistic. But rather than serve up this message on a plate and force-feed the audience with it - as, believe me, so many Swedish books, films and TV programmes aimed at children do - Zootopia gets to grips with its subject and doesn't shrink away from some of the hard questions it poses. What if you are limited to some extent by a group identity, though you don't want to be - is a career as a cop really such a great idea for a rabbit? What if someone lives up to the preconceived opinions you are trying to free yourself from, and what if this happens more than once? What if you feel you have a justified grievance against a specific group, rather than specific individuals who happen to belong to it? When does keeping an open mind risk becoming silly, or downright dangerous? It's hard not to snigger as a naughty child when Nick, the film's cynical fox, ridicules the wide-eyed rabbit heroine Judy's idealistic views of predators and prey who "live in harmony and sing Kumbaya". (Before it gets confusing, I should add that predators don't actually eat prey in this film - they've evolved away from that, apparently - so harmony between the species is not an unachievable goal.) Of course, the film sticks to its anti-prejudice message, but it acknowledges that shedding your prejudices is a great deal easier said than done - "real life is messy" - and bothers to put up intelligent arguments for why it's still worthwhile.
Some viewers have found it confusing that the predators and prey of Zootopia can't be equated with real-life groups in the human world, but I find this one of the film's strengths: it makes you think about the nature of prejudice generally, rather than distracting you with tiresome parallels in the "immigrants as aliens" vein. It has been said that the film is about racism, but actually it casts the net wider than that. My thoughts turned more to sexism when I saw it: the problems faced by Judy Hopps and Vice-Mayor Bellwether (a sheep doing all the donkey work for the vain lion Mayor) are those typically faced by ambitious women in a male-dominated working environment, while the accusation which surfaces towards predators - that they are genetically programmed to be violent - is a slur many men will be familiar with. That the predators, who at first seem to be rather favoured in Zootopian society, end up as the target of a toxic hate campaign is a clever twist, reminding us that victims of prejudice aren't always "marginalised". There's more: hands up if you recognise the impulse that makes an anxious mother draw her child further away from a perfectly harmless tiger on the tube, after there's been a scare about predators running wild. I've certainly been there.
If all this sounds impossibly worthy - my point is rather that it isn't - you can simply see it as a sweet "buddy movie" starring a fox and a bunny taking on bad guys. There's a major plot hole, though: what do the predators actually eat? You can't tell me Mayor Lionheart grew big and strong on wilting carrots.
A beautiful friendship is at the heart of The Good Dinosaur too, and its saving grace. The message of this film is that you should overcome your fear, but the point is never forcefully argued. Admittedly, the protagonist, a young dinosaur herbivore called Arlo, is seriously wimpy, but his parents' ham-fisted attempts to help him man (or dino) up only put my back up, and to some extent Arlo's. The whole "making your mark" scheme - as the dinosaur children perform feats which help their family farm (these are evolved dinos, remember) they are allowed to put their footprint on the family's silo next to their parents' - is a terrible idea, which only confirms Arlo's place as the runt of the litter. Only when we leave the realms of dodgy dinosaur parenting and concentrate on Arlo's against-the-odds blossoming friendship with a feral human boy, Spot, does the film become engaging.
I had other issues with the film besides the simplistic "be a man/dinosaur" theme: the not overly interesting premise (what if the meteor had missed, and dinosaurs had evolved to become, erm, hillbilly farmers and ranchers?); the clunky title (I suppose it references the thriller The Good German, set in post-WWII Europe, but what's the connection exactly?) and the oddly ugly dinosaur animation - like child drawings, and that much more noticeable as the backdrops are stupendously ultra-realistic. Nevertheless, all my defences crumbled away when Arlo and Spot bonded over lost loved ones - a three-hanky scene. This time, then, the Debating Society's prize goes to Disney, while the Big Weepie prize goes to Pixar. Not that I didn't cry a bit over Zootopia, too.
Well, once again I learned that one shouldn't doubt The Mouse. I was seriously impressed by Zootopia: as for The Good Dinosaur, it wasn't bad - I bawled my eyes out at least three times - but I retained more of my initial scepticism. Pixar films, though often profoundly moving, are generally considered as a little more brainy and challenging than heartstring-plucking Disney fare. I'm not sure I agree, but I can see that there's a case to be made along those lines - Inside Out was certainly a proof of just how brainboxy Pixar can be. This time round, though, I think I can say with some truth that Zootopia was a more cerebral offering than The Good Dinosaur.
The underlying message of Zootopia is that you should overcome your prejudices which, on the face of it, sounds ickily moralistic. But rather than serve up this message on a plate and force-feed the audience with it - as, believe me, so many Swedish books, films and TV programmes aimed at children do - Zootopia gets to grips with its subject and doesn't shrink away from some of the hard questions it poses. What if you are limited to some extent by a group identity, though you don't want to be - is a career as a cop really such a great idea for a rabbit? What if someone lives up to the preconceived opinions you are trying to free yourself from, and what if this happens more than once? What if you feel you have a justified grievance against a specific group, rather than specific individuals who happen to belong to it? When does keeping an open mind risk becoming silly, or downright dangerous? It's hard not to snigger as a naughty child when Nick, the film's cynical fox, ridicules the wide-eyed rabbit heroine Judy's idealistic views of predators and prey who "live in harmony and sing Kumbaya". (Before it gets confusing, I should add that predators don't actually eat prey in this film - they've evolved away from that, apparently - so harmony between the species is not an unachievable goal.) Of course, the film sticks to its anti-prejudice message, but it acknowledges that shedding your prejudices is a great deal easier said than done - "real life is messy" - and bothers to put up intelligent arguments for why it's still worthwhile.
Some viewers have found it confusing that the predators and prey of Zootopia can't be equated with real-life groups in the human world, but I find this one of the film's strengths: it makes you think about the nature of prejudice generally, rather than distracting you with tiresome parallels in the "immigrants as aliens" vein. It has been said that the film is about racism, but actually it casts the net wider than that. My thoughts turned more to sexism when I saw it: the problems faced by Judy Hopps and Vice-Mayor Bellwether (a sheep doing all the donkey work for the vain lion Mayor) are those typically faced by ambitious women in a male-dominated working environment, while the accusation which surfaces towards predators - that they are genetically programmed to be violent - is a slur many men will be familiar with. That the predators, who at first seem to be rather favoured in Zootopian society, end up as the target of a toxic hate campaign is a clever twist, reminding us that victims of prejudice aren't always "marginalised". There's more: hands up if you recognise the impulse that makes an anxious mother draw her child further away from a perfectly harmless tiger on the tube, after there's been a scare about predators running wild. I've certainly been there.
If all this sounds impossibly worthy - my point is rather that it isn't - you can simply see it as a sweet "buddy movie" starring a fox and a bunny taking on bad guys. There's a major plot hole, though: what do the predators actually eat? You can't tell me Mayor Lionheart grew big and strong on wilting carrots.
A beautiful friendship is at the heart of The Good Dinosaur too, and its saving grace. The message of this film is that you should overcome your fear, but the point is never forcefully argued. Admittedly, the protagonist, a young dinosaur herbivore called Arlo, is seriously wimpy, but his parents' ham-fisted attempts to help him man (or dino) up only put my back up, and to some extent Arlo's. The whole "making your mark" scheme - as the dinosaur children perform feats which help their family farm (these are evolved dinos, remember) they are allowed to put their footprint on the family's silo next to their parents' - is a terrible idea, which only confirms Arlo's place as the runt of the litter. Only when we leave the realms of dodgy dinosaur parenting and concentrate on Arlo's against-the-odds blossoming friendship with a feral human boy, Spot, does the film become engaging.
I had other issues with the film besides the simplistic "be a man/dinosaur" theme: the not overly interesting premise (what if the meteor had missed, and dinosaurs had evolved to become, erm, hillbilly farmers and ranchers?); the clunky title (I suppose it references the thriller The Good German, set in post-WWII Europe, but what's the connection exactly?) and the oddly ugly dinosaur animation - like child drawings, and that much more noticeable as the backdrops are stupendously ultra-realistic. Nevertheless, all my defences crumbled away when Arlo and Spot bonded over lost loved ones - a three-hanky scene. This time, then, the Debating Society's prize goes to Disney, while the Big Weepie prize goes to Pixar. Not that I didn't cry a bit over Zootopia, too.
onsdag 18 maj 2016
Eurovision follow-up and ways of wasting time
Nope, sorry, I don't understand it either. Britain was robbed - not of a victory, perhaps, but of a place among the top ten, or at least somewhere mid-field. The Brits did everything they could this year - at least everything I would have recommended - and still ended up third last in the Eurovision Song Contest. I voted for them (and for Poland: yes, you can do that), but it didn't help much.
It's a pity, because a little pro-European spirit in the UK would have been welcome about now. As they say in Star Wars: I have a bad feeling about this. Um, maybe we could let them win at football, or something?
What of the winner, then? Well, I didn't see that one coming. There's nothing wrong with Ukrainian Jamala's voice, nor her sincerity, but worthiness aside, this is a song with a scream in it - albeit a well-modulated one. Not something you'll find yourself humming in the shower, then. But we've had worse winners (Hard Rock Hallelujah, anyone?) and for that matter worse songs with screams in them in this competition. What's more, I had no real hope Sweden would win this year - I'm not sure we could afford it, for one thing - and Germany didn't deserve to (I'm not complaining about that last place - cripes). So congratulations Ukraine, and good luck with the, er, diplomatic aftermath.
On the plus side, Swedish Frans did really well - better than I'd expected - and Poland and Austria were favourites with the televoters, which rescued them from the bottom of the list. Russian Sergey got most of the popular votes, which was only fair. The Swedes put on a great show, Petra Mede shone again, and the parody of a typical winning Eurovision song in the mid-act was particularly funny. The overall quality of the competing songs was high: I may even buy the CD. All in all, not a bad Eurovision year.
The Eurovision froth was welcome, as I'm not in the mood for straining any cultural muscles at the moment, either in my reading or in my television viewing. I've given up on two historical crime novels lately and settled instead for a rereading (Jude Morgan's Passion, which I haven't written about specifically but still feels like blog ground already covered - it's great, though) and Discworld novel number four (Mort, promising, especially as Death is one of my favourite Discworld characters). As for TV, I haven't really put my back into finding some new addictive TV series. Increasingly, I find other ways of wasting my time when off duty. Watching YouTube clips is a real time bandit: it's hard to resist intelligent if nerdy twentysomething males presenting well-argued theories on such subjects as Pixar films and Disney princesses (yes really). Not to mention Top Ten lists with a villain theme, where I continually make the mistake of taking a look at too general lists where not a single one of the baddies on offer is personally known to me. Perniciously, these clips tend to be 7-15 minutes long, so you don't really register how time passes. You think "just one more", and suddenly, there's a whole hour gone.
For more concentrated time-wasting, watching The Clone Wars on Netflix is preferable. It has no artistic or educational value and does not improve your mind one jot. It's too dull for kids and should be way too silly for grown-ups. But each episode is only about twenty minutes long, and the feeling that you have spent twenty minutes being no earthly use to anyone is oddly uplifting. I was even moved to do a modest stint of housework after one Clone session, muttering "every tuft of dust must be destroyed" in General Grievous-like tones in an effort to make hoovering feel less of a drag. Sadly, it didn't work.
It's a pity, because a little pro-European spirit in the UK would have been welcome about now. As they say in Star Wars: I have a bad feeling about this. Um, maybe we could let them win at football, or something?
What of the winner, then? Well, I didn't see that one coming. There's nothing wrong with Ukrainian Jamala's voice, nor her sincerity, but worthiness aside, this is a song with a scream in it - albeit a well-modulated one. Not something you'll find yourself humming in the shower, then. But we've had worse winners (Hard Rock Hallelujah, anyone?) and for that matter worse songs with screams in them in this competition. What's more, I had no real hope Sweden would win this year - I'm not sure we could afford it, for one thing - and Germany didn't deserve to (I'm not complaining about that last place - cripes). So congratulations Ukraine, and good luck with the, er, diplomatic aftermath.
On the plus side, Swedish Frans did really well - better than I'd expected - and Poland and Austria were favourites with the televoters, which rescued them from the bottom of the list. Russian Sergey got most of the popular votes, which was only fair. The Swedes put on a great show, Petra Mede shone again, and the parody of a typical winning Eurovision song in the mid-act was particularly funny. The overall quality of the competing songs was high: I may even buy the CD. All in all, not a bad Eurovision year.
The Eurovision froth was welcome, as I'm not in the mood for straining any cultural muscles at the moment, either in my reading or in my television viewing. I've given up on two historical crime novels lately and settled instead for a rereading (Jude Morgan's Passion, which I haven't written about specifically but still feels like blog ground already covered - it's great, though) and Discworld novel number four (Mort, promising, especially as Death is one of my favourite Discworld characters). As for TV, I haven't really put my back into finding some new addictive TV series. Increasingly, I find other ways of wasting my time when off duty. Watching YouTube clips is a real time bandit: it's hard to resist intelligent if nerdy twentysomething males presenting well-argued theories on such subjects as Pixar films and Disney princesses (yes really). Not to mention Top Ten lists with a villain theme, where I continually make the mistake of taking a look at too general lists where not a single one of the baddies on offer is personally known to me. Perniciously, these clips tend to be 7-15 minutes long, so you don't really register how time passes. You think "just one more", and suddenly, there's a whole hour gone.
For more concentrated time-wasting, watching The Clone Wars on Netflix is preferable. It has no artistic or educational value and does not improve your mind one jot. It's too dull for kids and should be way too silly for grown-ups. But each episode is only about twenty minutes long, and the feeling that you have spent twenty minutes being no earthly use to anyone is oddly uplifting. I was even moved to do a modest stint of housework after one Clone session, muttering "every tuft of dust must be destroyed" in General Grievous-like tones in an effort to make hoovering feel less of a drag. Sadly, it didn't work.
torsdag 12 maj 2016
Eurovision: A for effort to the UK (but Russia will probably win)
There's no doubting that Russia wants to win the Eurovision Song Contest. Year after year, they send blissfully mainstream, ultra-professional numbers that have me humming along reluctantly while fearing that my own mother country will be bested. (The bread-baking old ladies were a different but equal kind of threat.) And since it's only a matter of time until they win (again), maybe this year is as good a time as any. I don't think Sweden stands a chance - Frans is a sweet lad and the lyrics are clever, but I suspect the song is too low-key for massive European appeal - and the less said about Germany's entry, the better. Whereas Russia's ditty "You're the Only One", well-sung by the iceberg-climbing Sergey, is so catchy it has me jigging in my seat. Plus it's not about world peace, thankfully.
I can't help wondering, though, if the powers that be in Russia have really thought this through. Yes, "Russia wins Eurovision" would be great PR. "Eurovision fan arrested for waving rainbow flag" - not so much. For the Russian authorities, hosting this competition will be tricky to say the least - a little like hosting a multinational dog show in a country where the promotion of keeping pets is prohibited. Ah well, when there's a will, there's a way, and my goodness there's a will.
And it's not like the race is run yet; there are other strong contenders for the Eurovision crown. Here are a few (though please note that I've only heard the music video for some of them):
United Kingdom: Wouldn't it be marvellous if Britain won? Think about it: the timing really couldn't be better. Also, they've sent a good solid pop tune this year, professionally executed by two boyband-cute guys, without any archness or irony. To be honest, the song isn't my absolute favourite, but providing the boys don't tank completely live, I'm tempted to vote for them anyway. This kind of responsible Eurovision behaviour from the Brits should be encouraged and reinforced.
Azerbaijan: (yes, I've checked the spelling): There could be more power in the singing, but this is classic toe-tapping Eurovision fare. I wouldn't mind working out to this tune.
Austria: Far away, apparently, there is a lovely country, where they sing, and there are waving flowers on the ground... Yes, this number is extremely treacly. I suspect there are more hard-hitting My Little Pony cartoons. Having said that, the girl sings sweetly in beautiful French (do they speak French anywhere in Austria? The Alps, maybe?) and it's a real earworm.
Poland: The verse is a little dull, but I love the "Oh-oh-oh-oh" refrain, which in the video at least sounds really great. The rock power ballad vibe and suitably hirsute singer make me think of Queen.
Australia: Much as I love Eurovision, I don't think I'd watch it in the middle of the night. For this dedication alone, the Australians deserve to participate a second time around. Also, they sent a really strong entry last year, and here they are again with another winner - a ballad that no music radio channel would have to feel ashamed about airing. If the Aussies become a permament Eurovision fixture, I for one wouldn't grumble. But if they win, which country will they team up with when it comes to holding the competition next year? It would have to be a really good loser to allow another country to celebrate its victory and host a show on their soil.
Other possibles are the guy from Hungary, who wouldn't look out of place down a Cornwall tin mine, the rockers from Cyprus (I'm a sucker for a wolf-themed number) and the girl from Belgium who's just like something out of Fame. Let battle commence.
I can't help wondering, though, if the powers that be in Russia have really thought this through. Yes, "Russia wins Eurovision" would be great PR. "Eurovision fan arrested for waving rainbow flag" - not so much. For the Russian authorities, hosting this competition will be tricky to say the least - a little like hosting a multinational dog show in a country where the promotion of keeping pets is prohibited. Ah well, when there's a will, there's a way, and my goodness there's a will.
And it's not like the race is run yet; there are other strong contenders for the Eurovision crown. Here are a few (though please note that I've only heard the music video for some of them):
United Kingdom: Wouldn't it be marvellous if Britain won? Think about it: the timing really couldn't be better. Also, they've sent a good solid pop tune this year, professionally executed by two boyband-cute guys, without any archness or irony. To be honest, the song isn't my absolute favourite, but providing the boys don't tank completely live, I'm tempted to vote for them anyway. This kind of responsible Eurovision behaviour from the Brits should be encouraged and reinforced.
Azerbaijan: (yes, I've checked the spelling): There could be more power in the singing, but this is classic toe-tapping Eurovision fare. I wouldn't mind working out to this tune.
Austria: Far away, apparently, there is a lovely country, where they sing, and there are waving flowers on the ground... Yes, this number is extremely treacly. I suspect there are more hard-hitting My Little Pony cartoons. Having said that, the girl sings sweetly in beautiful French (do they speak French anywhere in Austria? The Alps, maybe?) and it's a real earworm.
Poland: The verse is a little dull, but I love the "Oh-oh-oh-oh" refrain, which in the video at least sounds really great. The rock power ballad vibe and suitably hirsute singer make me think of Queen.
Australia: Much as I love Eurovision, I don't think I'd watch it in the middle of the night. For this dedication alone, the Australians deserve to participate a second time around. Also, they sent a really strong entry last year, and here they are again with another winner - a ballad that no music radio channel would have to feel ashamed about airing. If the Aussies become a permament Eurovision fixture, I for one wouldn't grumble. But if they win, which country will they team up with when it comes to holding the competition next year? It would have to be a really good loser to allow another country to celebrate its victory and host a show on their soil.
Other possibles are the guy from Hungary, who wouldn't look out of place down a Cornwall tin mine, the rockers from Cyprus (I'm a sucker for a wolf-themed number) and the girl from Belgium who's just like something out of Fame. Let battle commence.
fredag 6 maj 2016
The end of the costume-drama boom?
April does seem to be the cruellest month where blogging’s concerned. I have had legitimate reasons for having a blog rest – headaches, toothache, travel – but maybe I have also been put off by the depressing nature of my chosen blog post subject: the likely end of the English costume-drama trend we’ve been seeing for the last few years.
I remember grumbling about the lack of costume dramas back in 2010: well, something changed, and I bet it was thanks to Downton Abbey. It took some time, mind, before Downton had the desired effect, but finally we got there. The BBC stopped being sniffy and met ITV’s challlenge by churning out high-quality and watchable period dramas of its own, culminating in the superb Dickensian. But now – well, I may be imagining it, but it feels like we’ve reached the crest of the costume-drama wave, and that new meagre years lie ahead.
Granted, there will be a new series of Poldark eventually, and ITV has committed itself to a drama about the young Queen Victoria. But these are projects that have been in the pipeline for a while, and when it comes to Poldark, the Beeb couldn’t very well back down from at least a second series after all the scything fuss. At the same time, they’re not doing a second series of Dickensian. I’m not going to be too hard on them – it was a wonder that Dickensian was done at all, and I can see that it must have posed a challenge from a marketing point of view. Nevertheless, I can foresee that we’ll have to wait for a long time for something equally good costume-drama-wise, or simply drama-wise. As for ITV, they got a three-episode Trollope adaptation out of Fellowes. (I’ve not watched it yet: I made the mistake of reading the novel Doctor Thorne first. Don’t if you’re not already a Trollope fan. A TV version should be quite sufficient.) But apart from that, and the Victoria series starring Jenna “Clara” Coleman, they don’t seem to have anything new lined up to fill the gap – or rather the chasm – left by the end of Downton Abbey and Mr Selfridge. Maybe, because the BBC had such a success with The Night Manager, spy dramas will be the new black now for a while.
At least the final series of Mr Selfridge was good. It didn’t have the same frothy appeal as the first and second series, but this time around, when something serious happened you actually cared. Harry Selfridge himself remained a problem to the end; I could well understand the frustration of his enemies – a newspaper proprietor, a gambling agent and a share-holder representative, all with legitimate grievances. Nevertheless, when Selfridge was kicked out of his own company, it was a melancholy moment, not least because he was fully responsible for his own downfall. I’m glad they stopped the series before he got completely impoverished. Other characters, such as Mr Grove, Miss Mardle and Mr Crabb, have been around for long enough to earn our sympathy, if not to a Downton degree. (Someone give Ron Cook a lifetime award or something: he’s been excellent in everything I’ve seen him in, from cheeky boy actor in Will Shakespeare way back, via the debtor’s prison guard in Little Dorrit to Mr Crabb, who was little more than a function character to start with.)
We probably won’t get to see anything as engrossing as Downton again for a while – if ever – but with Mr Selfridge, ITV has shown that they can come up with a creditable long-running costume drama in its own right. There’s enough screenwriting and acting talent out there to make it happen again and again. So what are they waiting for?
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