It's been a while since I wrote about a straightforward historical novel, without fantasy and/or fairy-tale elements. Michael Cox's The Meaning of Night, which I bought years ago and have finally got around to reading, is as straightforward as they come. Written in the style of a Victorian novel, and set in Victorian England (London, mostly) it was - judging by what I've read while trailing Amazon reviews - a labour of love on the author's part, reputedly thirty years in the making. I'm favourably disposed to fellow ardent fans of the Victorian novel, but although the prose style was thankfully not as knotty as pastiches of this type of novel often are, I nearly gave up after finishing the first section of the book. There was mainly one reason for this: the hero's lack of likeability.
Edward Glyver aka Glapthorn, the protagonist, is something of a puzzle. He has an inflated sense of self-worth, is arrogant, and jumps to conclusions on scant evidence. When he is being blackmailed he immediately suspects his neighbour, the somewhat Heep-ish Fordyce Jukes, of being the culprit for no better reason than that he doesn't like him, and attacks Jukes when he thinks he's caught him in the act. Edward also underappreciates his lovely mistress while sighing for a woman we don't meet for hundreds of pages. What's more, the whole novel starts with Edward killing an innocent stranger merely as a rehearsal for a murder he plans to commit later on. This is such a mindbogglingly stupid idea, even coming from an opium addict, that I for one had no doubt of two things: one, that the reader is not supposed to sympathise with Edward, and two, that he would turn out to be an unreliable narrator, mainly because he would be prone to delude himself as well as the reader. I admit that one reason I persevered with the novel was that I looked forward to the part where it dawns on the conceited Glapthorn just how wrong he has been about everything.
Because that's usually the point of unreliable narrators, isn't it? Either we are constantly interpreting scenes related by them in another way than they do themselves, or there is a great rug-pull waiting for us further down the line where it is revealed that the narrator has either deliberately lied or been mistaken about most things. The fallout is that we're left with a completely different story than it first appeared to be. To make the narrator hard to like is a related ploy, so we won't feel too sorry for them when their world view falls apart. Edward Glyver or Glapthorn fits pretty neatly into this kind of narrator category- or so I imagined.
But what can I say? Edward turns out to be not as deluded as all that. Yes, there are some twists - the major one of which I called, more or less - but quite a few that I was sure would happen never materialised. The absence of more twists became a twist itself. When I realised that we are not meant to completely disregard Edward's judgement after all, I felt a little baffled, though more intrigued than cheated. If Edward is in fact essentially correct in many of what appears to be his far-flung fantasies, why make him such a narcissistic jerk to begin with? It's either a sophisticated double bluff, playing on the reader's expectations, or it's just... well, different.
In the end, I quite enjoyed The Meaning of Night, in spite of never warming to Edward (he does get a little more bearable in the course of the story). The novel is long-winded, and starting the narrative with a long section about the murder of the stranger and its consequences, when we have zero investment in the murderer's fate, feels like a mistake. However, I rather liked not being fed a clear-cut message. If you like the sound of a Victorian revenger's tragedy, this could be worth trying out. After all, revengers are usually bastards, aren't they?
Thursday, 26 September 2019
Saturday, 14 September 2019
The final Toy Story (surely)
Yes, I have seen the Downton Abbey film, but I won't be blogging about it just yet - I need to reflect on this important topic, and maybe rewatch the film so as to be able to offer my considered opinion as a Downton fan and one-time Downton obsessive.
Instead I'll be musing on another film I saw recently, which is part of a franchise I'm considerably less enthusiastic about: Toy Story 4. Don't get me wrong, I like the Toy Story films just fine. They're cleverly constructed, and a lot of effort obviously went into both character development and what nerds (and thus I) call world building. It's just I've never liked the premise. Granted, I wouldn't be surprised if most kids haven't at some point or other fantasised about their toys living a secret life once they turn their back on them. This common fantasy, and the notion that your beloved toys somehow love you back, are charming - up to a point. The Toy Story films go way beyond that point, though: instead they illustrate just why it's a good thing that toys aren't alive, as the life of a toy as they describe it is hardly appealing.
The tone was set at the start of the first Toy Story, where the toys of Andy, owner of the films' protagonists for the first three films, anxiously spy on his birthday party, fearing that he will get new exciting toys which will replace them in his heart. The neediness of cowboy toy Woody and co. becomes increasingly unsettling as the films progress and we see toys emotionally scarred by being neglected, discarded, replaced or never played with in the first place. In this universe, children unwittingly come across as cruel little despots. It's not only Andy's neighbour Sid, who physically disassembles his toys and then reassembles them in creative if scary ways, who is unflatteringly portrayed, although he's the only kid who is downright punished. (And for what? In the real world, nothing Sid does - except when he's a jerk to his sister - is reprehensible. How was he to know the toys were alive?) In Toy Story 2, the cowgirl Jessie sings an affecting ballad about Emily, the girl who once owned her, and their special relationship - that is, until Jessie was first forgotten for years, then given away to charity. The viewer is left feeling upset with poor Emily, who did nothing worse than - quite naturally - outgrow a toy. This is one of the instances where the Toy Story franchise's message is not only confusing, but downright harmful. As I've mentioned before, scenes like this encourage our irrational feelings of guilt towards toys we've abandoned, for no use that I can see. If you want to put the best spin possible on the message of the Toy Story films, it would be something like: "The bond between a child and its toy is strong and true, but it doesn't last, and that's OK". The films don't really do much with the last "and that's OK" part of the equation, though, except for the admittedly affecting end scene in Toy Story 3 when Andy, now old enough to start college, hands his toys over to another child.
This is a long preamble to get to Toy Story 4, but part of why I like this film more than I expected is that it to an extent breaks with the usual Toy Story formula. Usually, the perfect life for a toy is depicted as the one when they're played with and loved by one specific child. In Toy Story 2, Woody fears rejection from Andy, to whom he remains obsessively devoted throughout the films, and momentarily considers becoming a prized exhibit in a toy museum, admired by hundreds of kids. But the other toys find him and persuade him to come back, and it turns out Andy still cares for him, so we never question if Woody made the right call. In Toy Story 3, Andy's other toys are tempted by life at a day-care centre, until they find out their lot is to be manhandled by rough toddlers while toys higher up in the pecking order get the cuddles from the older kids. In the end, they are passed on to Bonnie, a charming little girl they can form a special bond to.
When I saw the trailers, then, where Woody and Bonnie's new, self-made toy Forky - who not unreasonably thinks of himself as trash and for a long time only longs to be thrown away - are lost during a camping trip and trying to get back to Bonnie, I thought I knew exactly how the plot would play out. When Woody runs into his old flame Bo Peep and she tries to sell him the wonders of a life as a lost toy, where you can travel with a fairground and see the world, I was sure that he would reject the idea in the end, after some agonising. After all, following the logic of the previous films, his life belongs to Bonnie now, doesn't it? This would make the temptress Bo a strong candidate for the Surprise Villain of the piece, as the toy that tries to persuade the heroes to Abandon Their Child so often turns out to be.
I'm happy to say I was wrong, and the story goes in another direction. An important part of the different dynamic of the plot is that Woody is not as important to Bonnie as he was to Andy - at the start of the film, we see him get left behind in the wardrobe as Bonnie takes out other toys to play with and pins his sheriff badge on Jessie. He's not entirely forgotten yet, but he's not a favourite. Bonnie's still a sweet kid, and Woody does what he can to make her happy behind the scenes, but it doesn't seem entirely reasonable that he should sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of playing a periferal part in his new owner's life. Woody once put his owner's needs before his relationship with Bo, back in the Andy days. When he's faced with the same choice again, circumstances are decidedly different. Bonnie needs Forky, that much is clear, but she may not need Woody.
The moving away from the whole child-obsession theme and towards a plot where toys have adventures of their own was something of a relief to me. Here, not being the greatest fan of the other films made me more appreciative of the final film than I would otherwise have been. I've seen ardent Toy Story fans be disappointed by the lack of strong, emotional scenes relating to the toy-child relationship in this film, but for the reasons given above, I was more than happy with the change of direction.
Objectively speaking, this is probably not the best Toy Story film, but it's a fun caper and a good ending point for the series. I was also grateful that there was no Surprise Villain - at this stage, I will actually prefer no villain at all (the obvious antagonist Gabby Gabby, though morally questionable, turns out to be redeemable) to the tired Surprise Villain cliché. Well worth a watch if you like animated films - Inside Out it ain't, but it's certainly a step up from The Good Dinosaur.
Instead I'll be musing on another film I saw recently, which is part of a franchise I'm considerably less enthusiastic about: Toy Story 4. Don't get me wrong, I like the Toy Story films just fine. They're cleverly constructed, and a lot of effort obviously went into both character development and what nerds (and thus I) call world building. It's just I've never liked the premise. Granted, I wouldn't be surprised if most kids haven't at some point or other fantasised about their toys living a secret life once they turn their back on them. This common fantasy, and the notion that your beloved toys somehow love you back, are charming - up to a point. The Toy Story films go way beyond that point, though: instead they illustrate just why it's a good thing that toys aren't alive, as the life of a toy as they describe it is hardly appealing.
The tone was set at the start of the first Toy Story, where the toys of Andy, owner of the films' protagonists for the first three films, anxiously spy on his birthday party, fearing that he will get new exciting toys which will replace them in his heart. The neediness of cowboy toy Woody and co. becomes increasingly unsettling as the films progress and we see toys emotionally scarred by being neglected, discarded, replaced or never played with in the first place. In this universe, children unwittingly come across as cruel little despots. It's not only Andy's neighbour Sid, who physically disassembles his toys and then reassembles them in creative if scary ways, who is unflatteringly portrayed, although he's the only kid who is downright punished. (And for what? In the real world, nothing Sid does - except when he's a jerk to his sister - is reprehensible. How was he to know the toys were alive?) In Toy Story 2, the cowgirl Jessie sings an affecting ballad about Emily, the girl who once owned her, and their special relationship - that is, until Jessie was first forgotten for years, then given away to charity. The viewer is left feeling upset with poor Emily, who did nothing worse than - quite naturally - outgrow a toy. This is one of the instances where the Toy Story franchise's message is not only confusing, but downright harmful. As I've mentioned before, scenes like this encourage our irrational feelings of guilt towards toys we've abandoned, for no use that I can see. If you want to put the best spin possible on the message of the Toy Story films, it would be something like: "The bond between a child and its toy is strong and true, but it doesn't last, and that's OK". The films don't really do much with the last "and that's OK" part of the equation, though, except for the admittedly affecting end scene in Toy Story 3 when Andy, now old enough to start college, hands his toys over to another child.
This is a long preamble to get to Toy Story 4, but part of why I like this film more than I expected is that it to an extent breaks with the usual Toy Story formula. Usually, the perfect life for a toy is depicted as the one when they're played with and loved by one specific child. In Toy Story 2, Woody fears rejection from Andy, to whom he remains obsessively devoted throughout the films, and momentarily considers becoming a prized exhibit in a toy museum, admired by hundreds of kids. But the other toys find him and persuade him to come back, and it turns out Andy still cares for him, so we never question if Woody made the right call. In Toy Story 3, Andy's other toys are tempted by life at a day-care centre, until they find out their lot is to be manhandled by rough toddlers while toys higher up in the pecking order get the cuddles from the older kids. In the end, they are passed on to Bonnie, a charming little girl they can form a special bond to.
When I saw the trailers, then, where Woody and Bonnie's new, self-made toy Forky - who not unreasonably thinks of himself as trash and for a long time only longs to be thrown away - are lost during a camping trip and trying to get back to Bonnie, I thought I knew exactly how the plot would play out. When Woody runs into his old flame Bo Peep and she tries to sell him the wonders of a life as a lost toy, where you can travel with a fairground and see the world, I was sure that he would reject the idea in the end, after some agonising. After all, following the logic of the previous films, his life belongs to Bonnie now, doesn't it? This would make the temptress Bo a strong candidate for the Surprise Villain of the piece, as the toy that tries to persuade the heroes to Abandon Their Child so often turns out to be.
I'm happy to say I was wrong, and the story goes in another direction. An important part of the different dynamic of the plot is that Woody is not as important to Bonnie as he was to Andy - at the start of the film, we see him get left behind in the wardrobe as Bonnie takes out other toys to play with and pins his sheriff badge on Jessie. He's not entirely forgotten yet, but he's not a favourite. Bonnie's still a sweet kid, and Woody does what he can to make her happy behind the scenes, but it doesn't seem entirely reasonable that he should sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of playing a periferal part in his new owner's life. Woody once put his owner's needs before his relationship with Bo, back in the Andy days. When he's faced with the same choice again, circumstances are decidedly different. Bonnie needs Forky, that much is clear, but she may not need Woody.
The moving away from the whole child-obsession theme and towards a plot where toys have adventures of their own was something of a relief to me. Here, not being the greatest fan of the other films made me more appreciative of the final film than I would otherwise have been. I've seen ardent Toy Story fans be disappointed by the lack of strong, emotional scenes relating to the toy-child relationship in this film, but for the reasons given above, I was more than happy with the change of direction.
Objectively speaking, this is probably not the best Toy Story film, but it's a fun caper and a good ending point for the series. I was also grateful that there was no Surprise Villain - at this stage, I will actually prefer no villain at all (the obvious antagonist Gabby Gabby, though morally questionable, turns out to be redeemable) to the tired Surprise Villain cliché. Well worth a watch if you like animated films - Inside Out it ain't, but it's certainly a step up from The Good Dinosaur.
Wednesday, 28 August 2019
All you need is The Beatles (almost)
I want to be as positive as I can about Richard Curtis's newest film Yesterday. Together with About Time, it marks his return to the genre he does best - the heartwarming rom-com - after the terrible blip of The Boat That Rocked and that awful "No Pressure" commercial. It's also pretty cute that Danny Boyle, a director I associate primarily with grim and gritty fare like Trainspotting and its sequel - films which, alluring cast choices notwithstanding, I've not been able to bring myself to watch - agreed to direct something as lighthearted as Yesterday and stood the course. No "creative differences" here. (Also, I assume it's thanks to Boyle that we get an uncredited cameo from Robert Carlyle, albeit covered in prosthetics. Squee!) Finally, the film has a prominent Beatles theme, and I'm a huge fan of the fab four.
So when I say that I had problems with both the romance and the comedy parts of this rom-com, I know that sounds harsh, but I did enjoy it, honest. Neither Yesterday nor About Time reaches the heights of Four Weddings and A Funeral and Notting Hill (rom-com perfection) or Love Actually (a bit more flawed, but still very, very good). However, they are pleasant to watch, and I appreciate their underlying sweetness. Curtis, in my view, is at his best when he doesn't shy away from sentiment. I'll keep wishing and hoping (to quote a non-Beatles song) that he'll come up with another rom-com masterpiece, and if he doesn't, films in the style of Yesterday will do just fine.
The premise of the film is that its hero, Jack Malik (Himesh Patel), a failing musician, is just about to give up his music career when the whole world has a power shortage at exactly the same time and he's run over by a bus. He survives, but when he wakes up he finds that only he remembers The Beatles and their songs. The film isn't really interested in what exactly happened during that power shortage. It's less a sci-fi conundrum, more of a plot convenience so as to be able to set up the main story. There's also a running joke about random other phenomena who are unknown in this new reality. Fair enough: geek as I am, I still realise that a Beatles-themed rom-com is hardly the time or place to get into parallel universes and alternate realities. So, we just take it as read that Jack knows about The Beatles and everyone else (almost ) doesn't.
Jack is unable to resist passing off The Beatles' work as his own, and in time he achieves huge success. However, he feels dreadfully guilty. What's more, his new career takes him away from sweet schoolteacher Ellie (Lily James), his friend and (somewhat implausibly) manager during the lean years, whom he has just realised that he loves.
Yes, it's that old chestnut. The main problems with this film has to do with the story. First, the hero is a real whinger. Patel sings well - which is important - but struggles to make a convincing romantic lead, and no wonder. Even Hugh Grant in his heyday would have had his work cut out trying to make the glum Jack, who's miserable when he's a failure and miserable when he's a success, appealing. When Ellie, in good old Curtis-heroine fashion, takes the first step and confesses her love, Jack freezes instead of responding - not once, but twice. What's the poor girl to think except that he's just not that into her?
Second, the "fame and fortune versus true love" setup is not only a cliché, it's a very irritating one. It always bugs me when protagonists are called upon to sacrifice worldly pleasures like money, fame or power for the sake of their loved ones. Because why would their loved ones demand that of them? What kind of bastards are they, that they can't be happy when someone near to them hits the big time? An image which has stayed with me as an illustration of this kind of storyline is from a Barbara Taylor Bradford adaptation: the successful heroine's husband is lounging by the swimming pool while complaining via phone to her that he never sees her. Well, how do you think she pays for that pool, you jerk? Ellie gives mixed signals regarding her feelings about Jack's fame - she claims that she's thrilled for him, but at the same time asks him to stay with her when he has important meetings to attend, as a sort of evidence that he does care for her. I suspect his success isn't really the issue here, and that had he simply said "I love you and I want you to be by my side" at the right time, she could have got used to a life in luxury in California fairly easily.
For these reasons, the Jack-Ellie romance didn't grip me, and as for the comedy, I could have done with more of Curtis's trademark wit. The dialogue doesn't dazzle in, say, Notting Hill fashion (and speaking of Notting Hill, Anna Scott got to keep her movie career and get her man - only sayin'). Many of the funny lines go to Jack's American manager, who's blunt and unapologetically greedy, but her schtick gets old after a while, and when we see the last pop-eyed freeze-frame of her we realise how one-dimensional the character was all along.
What does work, and saves the film, is the admiration and affection it shows for The Beatles. Not only do we get to hear a great number of their songs, as rendered very creditably by Patel, Jack is hailed as "the greatest songwriter of all time" on the basis of their output. Curtis is never one for half-measures: just like Vincent van Gogh according to the Curtis-scripted Doctor Who episode "Vincent and the Doctor" was the best painter ever, so The Beatles, in his view, is obviously the best band ever. Reviewers have speculated that the film would have been more interesting if Jack had failed to make the Beatles songs popular in the modern age; in my opinion, they're missing the point. By having Jack's audiences being wild about Beatles songs, Curtis not only tips his hat to the band and its enduring appeal, he shows a touching faith in the taste of the masses. Like all his rom-coms (I'm not counting Boat) and "Vincent and the Doctor", Curtis's latest film is life-affirming.
Patel is at his most convincing too as a Beatles fan. I can partly make peace with Jack's misery because he clearly hates stealing from John, Paul, George and Ringo, although in his reality they're unaware of it. One of the best scenes in the film is when he meets the two other people in the world who remember The Beatles, and things unfold in another way than he feared.
Seeing as how he managed to coax Paul McCartney into singing "Hey Jude" at the 2012 Olympics inauguration ceremony, I expect Boyle shares Curtis's enthusiasm. Ultimately, you could say, they're just two fanboys, standing in front of a band, asking it to love them.
So when I say that I had problems with both the romance and the comedy parts of this rom-com, I know that sounds harsh, but I did enjoy it, honest. Neither Yesterday nor About Time reaches the heights of Four Weddings and A Funeral and Notting Hill (rom-com perfection) or Love Actually (a bit more flawed, but still very, very good). However, they are pleasant to watch, and I appreciate their underlying sweetness. Curtis, in my view, is at his best when he doesn't shy away from sentiment. I'll keep wishing and hoping (to quote a non-Beatles song) that he'll come up with another rom-com masterpiece, and if he doesn't, films in the style of Yesterday will do just fine.
The premise of the film is that its hero, Jack Malik (Himesh Patel), a failing musician, is just about to give up his music career when the whole world has a power shortage at exactly the same time and he's run over by a bus. He survives, but when he wakes up he finds that only he remembers The Beatles and their songs. The film isn't really interested in what exactly happened during that power shortage. It's less a sci-fi conundrum, more of a plot convenience so as to be able to set up the main story. There's also a running joke about random other phenomena who are unknown in this new reality. Fair enough: geek as I am, I still realise that a Beatles-themed rom-com is hardly the time or place to get into parallel universes and alternate realities. So, we just take it as read that Jack knows about The Beatles and everyone else (almost ) doesn't.
Jack is unable to resist passing off The Beatles' work as his own, and in time he achieves huge success. However, he feels dreadfully guilty. What's more, his new career takes him away from sweet schoolteacher Ellie (Lily James), his friend and (somewhat implausibly) manager during the lean years, whom he has just realised that he loves.
Yes, it's that old chestnut. The main problems with this film has to do with the story. First, the hero is a real whinger. Patel sings well - which is important - but struggles to make a convincing romantic lead, and no wonder. Even Hugh Grant in his heyday would have had his work cut out trying to make the glum Jack, who's miserable when he's a failure and miserable when he's a success, appealing. When Ellie, in good old Curtis-heroine fashion, takes the first step and confesses her love, Jack freezes instead of responding - not once, but twice. What's the poor girl to think except that he's just not that into her?
Second, the "fame and fortune versus true love" setup is not only a cliché, it's a very irritating one. It always bugs me when protagonists are called upon to sacrifice worldly pleasures like money, fame or power for the sake of their loved ones. Because why would their loved ones demand that of them? What kind of bastards are they, that they can't be happy when someone near to them hits the big time? An image which has stayed with me as an illustration of this kind of storyline is from a Barbara Taylor Bradford adaptation: the successful heroine's husband is lounging by the swimming pool while complaining via phone to her that he never sees her. Well, how do you think she pays for that pool, you jerk? Ellie gives mixed signals regarding her feelings about Jack's fame - she claims that she's thrilled for him, but at the same time asks him to stay with her when he has important meetings to attend, as a sort of evidence that he does care for her. I suspect his success isn't really the issue here, and that had he simply said "I love you and I want you to be by my side" at the right time, she could have got used to a life in luxury in California fairly easily.
For these reasons, the Jack-Ellie romance didn't grip me, and as for the comedy, I could have done with more of Curtis's trademark wit. The dialogue doesn't dazzle in, say, Notting Hill fashion (and speaking of Notting Hill, Anna Scott got to keep her movie career and get her man - only sayin'). Many of the funny lines go to Jack's American manager, who's blunt and unapologetically greedy, but her schtick gets old after a while, and when we see the last pop-eyed freeze-frame of her we realise how one-dimensional the character was all along.
What does work, and saves the film, is the admiration and affection it shows for The Beatles. Not only do we get to hear a great number of their songs, as rendered very creditably by Patel, Jack is hailed as "the greatest songwriter of all time" on the basis of their output. Curtis is never one for half-measures: just like Vincent van Gogh according to the Curtis-scripted Doctor Who episode "Vincent and the Doctor" was the best painter ever, so The Beatles, in his view, is obviously the best band ever. Reviewers have speculated that the film would have been more interesting if Jack had failed to make the Beatles songs popular in the modern age; in my opinion, they're missing the point. By having Jack's audiences being wild about Beatles songs, Curtis not only tips his hat to the band and its enduring appeal, he shows a touching faith in the taste of the masses. Like all his rom-coms (I'm not counting Boat) and "Vincent and the Doctor", Curtis's latest film is life-affirming.
Patel is at his most convincing too as a Beatles fan. I can partly make peace with Jack's misery because he clearly hates stealing from John, Paul, George and Ringo, although in his reality they're unaware of it. One of the best scenes in the film is when he meets the two other people in the world who remember The Beatles, and things unfold in another way than he feared.
Seeing as how he managed to coax Paul McCartney into singing "Hey Jude" at the 2012 Olympics inauguration ceremony, I expect Boyle shares Curtis's enthusiasm. Ultimately, you could say, they're just two fanboys, standing in front of a band, asking it to love them.
Thursday, 15 August 2019
Spinning a tale without the spinner
OK. So. Obviously, I was not expecting some hotted-up, Once Upon A Time-style sorcerer, with or without scales (though considering Naomi Novik's Once-y take on Beauty and the Beast in Uprooted, there was some room for hope). But something along the more traditional line? Gnome? Goblin? To (reluctantly) quote Shrek, "curly-toed weirdo"? C'mon, is it too much to ask from a novel called Spinning Silver, where the inspirational fairy tale is referenced in the very first sentence?
Surely, even a normal person must find it a bit odd that a novel which takes inspiration from the story of Rumplestiltskin or Rumpelstiltskin (the latter spelling seems to be more common, although as a Oncer I stubbornly stick to the first one) fails to include any version of the title character. Granted, there are other interesting aspects of the story - like, say The Frog King, it's a fairy tale hearteningly devoid of a moral. The heroine doesn't achieve happiness by being good or kind but through sheer dumb luck, and strangely enough seems perfectly content with being hitched to the mercenary king who threatened to kill her three times if she didn't fulfil an impossible task. "Marry a bastard and you can still be happy" - now that is a message I can get behind. But remove the helpful but malevolent gold-spinner from the mix, and you're not left with much of a plot - or of anything. Nice as it is to see elements of the story pop up in new contexts in Spinning Silver - Ooh, there's the ring and necklace! Wow, three questions a day, that's classy, it's not even from the Grimm version! - they also remind you of the one element that is missing. This is my only major gripe, but me being me, it is major.
Spinning Silver is best enjoyed as an entirely independent tale with folklore and fairy-tale touches. As such, it is immensely readable, and just as good as Uprooted. Though I think Uprooted is my personal favourite, as it delivered on the sorcerer front, Spinning Silver is more ambitious in a way, as it's told from the point of view of multiple characters. Miryem is the granddaughter of a successful moneylender, and the daughter of a rubbish one. Her father being too kind-hearted to squeeze his clients, who duly take advantage of him, Miryem's family live in poverty while the people her father's lent money to prosper and look down on their benefactor at the same time. When she's sixteen, Miryem finally has enough and takes over the reins. She proves superb at making money, and saves her parents from penury - not that they're very happy about it, as it involves her becoming tough and hard-hearted. Refreshingly, the novel is very much on Miryem's side here. The villagers who complain about her are a whingey lot, and you gradually realise the reason they treated her father like dirt wasn't only because he was a moneylender, but because he is a Jew. But the hostile villagers aren't the only problem. The country - fairy-taley Russia-something (plus Lithuania? The name used for it is "Lithvas") - is plagued by the Staryk, inhabitants of a magical winter kingdom who go on raids for gold and leave cold and destruction in their wake. The Staryk King overhears a conversation where Miryem's father claims she can turn silver into gold, and makes her an offer she is in no position to refuse. Three times he leaves her silver from his kingdom. She must return the same amount of gold to him or die. If she succeeds, he will marry her.
Luckily, the Staryk silver has magical properties and proves valuable. With the help of a silversmith who hopes to marry her cousin, Miryem hawks an exquisite ring, then a necklace, then a crown, to the Duke of the nearest large town (where her grandfather lives). These items make his mousy, neglected daughter Irina seem entrancing, and give him hope of being able to marry her off to the Tsar himself. The only problem is, the outwardly young and handsome Tsar is an even worse bet marriage-wise than the Staryk King.
The third heroine of the story, besides Miryem and Irina, is Wanda, who becomes Miryem's servant when Wanda's father can't pay his debt. She seems simple compared to her wily mistress, but does in fact have a lot of good peasant common sense. Favourably disposed to Miryem, and even more to Miryem's kindly parents, Wanda and in time her brothers have an important part to play when it comes to helping Miryem - and, indirectly, Irina - out of what appears to be a hopeless situation.
Miryem and Irina are good, resourceful heroines, but seeing as they are seventeen at most when the story takes place, they are almost over-capable. I can buy Miryem being so sharp and bright, but when Irina proves to be a master political plotter who can outwit the whole of the Tsar's court I did think Novik overstrained the "sisters are doing it for themselves" theme a bit. The book blurb hints that the heroines may find love, and at one point I thought Miryem and Irina would fall for each other - they are quite alike in many ways. That's not the way the story goes, though, and I confess I was quite grateful that the two super-girls were allowed some interest in the opposite sex. I think my favourite of the heroine bunch is Wanda - also strong and capable, but in a more stolid, believable way, and with a touching affection for those who show affection to her.
With well-drawn characters, fascinating settings - among them the Staryk's land, where Miryem has to wrap her head around an alien culture, and the witch's house that exists in the Staryk land and the non-magic world at the same time - and a twisting plot, there's a lot to like about Spinning Silver. Also, the Staryk King - though no Sarkan or Solya - is a great deal more appealing than Katherine Arden's version of the Winter King and makes for a more than passable villain (or is he?). But although he has some Rumple-like traits - like always keeping his side of a bargain - the function he fills in the story is essentially the one of the gold-mad king. He may not reveal his name, but I'm pretty sure that there's one we can rule out.
Surely, even a normal person must find it a bit odd that a novel which takes inspiration from the story of Rumplestiltskin or Rumpelstiltskin (the latter spelling seems to be more common, although as a Oncer I stubbornly stick to the first one) fails to include any version of the title character. Granted, there are other interesting aspects of the story - like, say The Frog King, it's a fairy tale hearteningly devoid of a moral. The heroine doesn't achieve happiness by being good or kind but through sheer dumb luck, and strangely enough seems perfectly content with being hitched to the mercenary king who threatened to kill her three times if she didn't fulfil an impossible task. "Marry a bastard and you can still be happy" - now that is a message I can get behind. But remove the helpful but malevolent gold-spinner from the mix, and you're not left with much of a plot - or of anything. Nice as it is to see elements of the story pop up in new contexts in Spinning Silver - Ooh, there's the ring and necklace! Wow, three questions a day, that's classy, it's not even from the Grimm version! - they also remind you of the one element that is missing. This is my only major gripe, but me being me, it is major.
Spinning Silver is best enjoyed as an entirely independent tale with folklore and fairy-tale touches. As such, it is immensely readable, and just as good as Uprooted. Though I think Uprooted is my personal favourite, as it delivered on the sorcerer front, Spinning Silver is more ambitious in a way, as it's told from the point of view of multiple characters. Miryem is the granddaughter of a successful moneylender, and the daughter of a rubbish one. Her father being too kind-hearted to squeeze his clients, who duly take advantage of him, Miryem's family live in poverty while the people her father's lent money to prosper and look down on their benefactor at the same time. When she's sixteen, Miryem finally has enough and takes over the reins. She proves superb at making money, and saves her parents from penury - not that they're very happy about it, as it involves her becoming tough and hard-hearted. Refreshingly, the novel is very much on Miryem's side here. The villagers who complain about her are a whingey lot, and you gradually realise the reason they treated her father like dirt wasn't only because he was a moneylender, but because he is a Jew. But the hostile villagers aren't the only problem. The country - fairy-taley Russia-something (plus Lithuania? The name used for it is "Lithvas") - is plagued by the Staryk, inhabitants of a magical winter kingdom who go on raids for gold and leave cold and destruction in their wake. The Staryk King overhears a conversation where Miryem's father claims she can turn silver into gold, and makes her an offer she is in no position to refuse. Three times he leaves her silver from his kingdom. She must return the same amount of gold to him or die. If she succeeds, he will marry her.
Luckily, the Staryk silver has magical properties and proves valuable. With the help of a silversmith who hopes to marry her cousin, Miryem hawks an exquisite ring, then a necklace, then a crown, to the Duke of the nearest large town (where her grandfather lives). These items make his mousy, neglected daughter Irina seem entrancing, and give him hope of being able to marry her off to the Tsar himself. The only problem is, the outwardly young and handsome Tsar is an even worse bet marriage-wise than the Staryk King.
The third heroine of the story, besides Miryem and Irina, is Wanda, who becomes Miryem's servant when Wanda's father can't pay his debt. She seems simple compared to her wily mistress, but does in fact have a lot of good peasant common sense. Favourably disposed to Miryem, and even more to Miryem's kindly parents, Wanda and in time her brothers have an important part to play when it comes to helping Miryem - and, indirectly, Irina - out of what appears to be a hopeless situation.
Miryem and Irina are good, resourceful heroines, but seeing as they are seventeen at most when the story takes place, they are almost over-capable. I can buy Miryem being so sharp and bright, but when Irina proves to be a master political plotter who can outwit the whole of the Tsar's court I did think Novik overstrained the "sisters are doing it for themselves" theme a bit. The book blurb hints that the heroines may find love, and at one point I thought Miryem and Irina would fall for each other - they are quite alike in many ways. That's not the way the story goes, though, and I confess I was quite grateful that the two super-girls were allowed some interest in the opposite sex. I think my favourite of the heroine bunch is Wanda - also strong and capable, but in a more stolid, believable way, and with a touching affection for those who show affection to her.
With well-drawn characters, fascinating settings - among them the Staryk's land, where Miryem has to wrap her head around an alien culture, and the witch's house that exists in the Staryk land and the non-magic world at the same time - and a twisting plot, there's a lot to like about Spinning Silver. Also, the Staryk King - though no Sarkan or Solya - is a great deal more appealing than Katherine Arden's version of the Winter King and makes for a more than passable villain (or is he?). But although he has some Rumple-like traits - like always keeping his side of a bargain - the function he fills in the story is essentially the one of the gold-mad king. He may not reveal his name, but I'm pretty sure that there's one we can rule out.
Wednesday, 31 July 2019
The Glums (or, Les Misérables Andrew Davies style)
Yes, I know that I claimed to be looking forward to watching the Andrew Davies adaptation of Les Misérables. When it finally aired on Swedish television starting at the end of February, though, I wasn't exactly raring to go. What with the first episode being slow-moving, it has taken me this long to finally watch the rest of them, after they'd languished on my TiVo recorder box for months. The pace and story did pick up, but the adaptation remains easier to admire than to love. From the reviews I read before I watched it, I gathered that it was gloomy, that Jean Valjean was great and that it was difficult to get a handle on Javert. And guess what? The adaptation is gloomy, Jean Valjean is great and it's difficult to get a handle on Javert.
You could argue that it's no surprise when a programme with the title Les Misérables turns out to be on the glum side. The thing about Victor Hugo's original novel, though, was that it was such an exciting story full of colourful characters. That's what I've always felt was appealing about Les Mis, not any wallowing in the miserable state of some of the characters' lives. So the slowness and unrelenting seriousness of the first episode put me off rather, though in theory it's a clever idea to tell the back stories of Jean Valjean, Fantine and Marius in tandem. The glimpses from Marius's childhood don't really pay off much later, incidentally, which is a shame. The second episode, when the story gets going properly, is an improvement, but did we actually have to witness Fantine's teeth being pulled?
The one who carries this adaptation through some rough patches is Dominic West as Jean Valjean. He's been good in other parts where I've seen him, but here, freed from the "handsome lead" label, he really shines. Whether as a threatening convict, a shy and awkward do-gooder or the loving, possessive guardian of Cosette, he completely nails the characters. Of the Jean Valjeans I've seen - and there have been a couple - I believe he's the best, at least when it comes to the "straight" non-musical adaptations of the novel.
What about Javert, then? I have to admit I was one of those who raised my eyebrows enquiringly when they went with a black Javert, since he is not black in the novel. In fairness, though, if you want to do an ethnic switch, Javert is not a bad candidate - it fits neatly enough into his back story of an underdog who works himself up to an important position in the French police force. Also, fortunately, David Oyelowo is a strong actor, and manages to sell his overall Javert-ness better than, say, John Malkovich in the adaptation with Gérard Depardieu as Valjean. In fact, the credibility is more stretched by the general multiethnicity of the casting than the specific case of Javert. I can buy that 19th-century France wasn't uniformly white, but no way was it as diverse as this. It's a bit distracting, but there are rewards to accepting that a greater percentage of the characters have complicated back stories than is entirely probable. For instance, Adeel Akhtar's portayal of Thénardier is so spot on - the whole Thénardier clan is a success - that I'll gladly swallow their having a more exotic family tree than you'd usually find among French, small-town, 19th-century tavern keepers. After all, stranger things have happened.
To get back to Javert, Oyelowo puts in a good performance, but the problem lies in the way the character is written. One advantage with having trudged through the unabbreviated version of the novel - battles, sewers and all - is you get an answer to the question why Javert is seemingly so obsessed with a petty criminal (what's more, who's made good) like Valjean. The answer is: he isn't. The plot demands that the characters are confronted with each other time and again, but this is largely through coincidence. Whenever Javert chances on Valjean's trail, then of course he wants to nab him - after all, Valjean's the one who got away. But Javert's life isn't all about putting this one felon behind bars.
It would be truly novel if an adaptation chose to highlight this instead of depicting the Valjean-Javert relationship as the feud to end all feuds. Instead, Davies has gone the opposite route and made Javert more obsessed with Jean Valjean than in any other adaptation. Fair enough, but in that case there had better be an explanation as to why a stellar police officer would act so irrationally - a strange twist is that here, even Javert's spying on the barricade is tied up with his hunt for Jean Valjean. His motives are largely left a mystery, though. It's a pity, because there are promising hints here and there which would have been worthwhile following up on. When Jean Valjean saves Fantine from jail and takes care of her, after she's insulted him, Javert is flummoxed - "I don't understand you" is all he can say. Here's something one could have made something of: Jean Valjean as a puzzle, the only thing that doesn't fit Javert's orderly world view, and therefore a threat. But the adaptation never quite makes this case, or any other, in order to account for Javert's idée fixe.
As a mostly faithful adaptation, this series works well enough, but I'm not sure I'd recommend it to someone who isn't already interested in Hugo's novel. For newcomers to Les Mis, I'd first recommend the musical (a stage version, where everyone can actually sing, rather than the film version), then the 1998 film with Liam Neeson as Valjean and Geoffrey Rush as the ultimate Javert. For all that it's six hours and a bit long, the Davies adaptation doesn't offer us that many more insights into the characters than the musical he despises. Marius and Cosette remain pretty uninteresting, though there's a forced attempt to give Cosette some "agency" at the end. The students still seem supremely silly in their willingness to die - and kill - for a lost cause (it was the same in the novel, though). At least in the musical they had some rousing songs. Lily Collins's Fantine is fine, but so is Uma Thurman in the Neeson film and pretty much any Fantine you get to see in the West End/on Broadway.
Where the adaptation wins over both musical and film is in the depiction of Jean Valjean and the Thénardiers. The latter hardly feature in the film and are grossly misrepresented - with the exception of Éponine, who gets a good press - in the musical. As for Jean Valjean, Davies gives due weight to some important issues which are usually glossed over in other Les Mis versions, such as the fact that Valjean does commit a theft (which he immediately regrets) after having met the Bishop of Digne - he steals a coin from a small boy. It is also made clear that he has no love for Marius. Beautiful as the ballad Bring Him Home from the musical is, Jean Valjean's feelings towards the young man who wants to take Cosette away from him are rather the exact reverse, which makes his saving of Marius all the more remarkable. And then there is West. If Jean Valjean is your favourite character from the story, the Davies adaptation is worth seeing for him alone.
You could argue that it's no surprise when a programme with the title Les Misérables turns out to be on the glum side. The thing about Victor Hugo's original novel, though, was that it was such an exciting story full of colourful characters. That's what I've always felt was appealing about Les Mis, not any wallowing in the miserable state of some of the characters' lives. So the slowness and unrelenting seriousness of the first episode put me off rather, though in theory it's a clever idea to tell the back stories of Jean Valjean, Fantine and Marius in tandem. The glimpses from Marius's childhood don't really pay off much later, incidentally, which is a shame. The second episode, when the story gets going properly, is an improvement, but did we actually have to witness Fantine's teeth being pulled?
The one who carries this adaptation through some rough patches is Dominic West as Jean Valjean. He's been good in other parts where I've seen him, but here, freed from the "handsome lead" label, he really shines. Whether as a threatening convict, a shy and awkward do-gooder or the loving, possessive guardian of Cosette, he completely nails the characters. Of the Jean Valjeans I've seen - and there have been a couple - I believe he's the best, at least when it comes to the "straight" non-musical adaptations of the novel.
What about Javert, then? I have to admit I was one of those who raised my eyebrows enquiringly when they went with a black Javert, since he is not black in the novel. In fairness, though, if you want to do an ethnic switch, Javert is not a bad candidate - it fits neatly enough into his back story of an underdog who works himself up to an important position in the French police force. Also, fortunately, David Oyelowo is a strong actor, and manages to sell his overall Javert-ness better than, say, John Malkovich in the adaptation with Gérard Depardieu as Valjean. In fact, the credibility is more stretched by the general multiethnicity of the casting than the specific case of Javert. I can buy that 19th-century France wasn't uniformly white, but no way was it as diverse as this. It's a bit distracting, but there are rewards to accepting that a greater percentage of the characters have complicated back stories than is entirely probable. For instance, Adeel Akhtar's portayal of Thénardier is so spot on - the whole Thénardier clan is a success - that I'll gladly swallow their having a more exotic family tree than you'd usually find among French, small-town, 19th-century tavern keepers. After all, stranger things have happened.
To get back to Javert, Oyelowo puts in a good performance, but the problem lies in the way the character is written. One advantage with having trudged through the unabbreviated version of the novel - battles, sewers and all - is you get an answer to the question why Javert is seemingly so obsessed with a petty criminal (what's more, who's made good) like Valjean. The answer is: he isn't. The plot demands that the characters are confronted with each other time and again, but this is largely through coincidence. Whenever Javert chances on Valjean's trail, then of course he wants to nab him - after all, Valjean's the one who got away. But Javert's life isn't all about putting this one felon behind bars.
It would be truly novel if an adaptation chose to highlight this instead of depicting the Valjean-Javert relationship as the feud to end all feuds. Instead, Davies has gone the opposite route and made Javert more obsessed with Jean Valjean than in any other adaptation. Fair enough, but in that case there had better be an explanation as to why a stellar police officer would act so irrationally - a strange twist is that here, even Javert's spying on the barricade is tied up with his hunt for Jean Valjean. His motives are largely left a mystery, though. It's a pity, because there are promising hints here and there which would have been worthwhile following up on. When Jean Valjean saves Fantine from jail and takes care of her, after she's insulted him, Javert is flummoxed - "I don't understand you" is all he can say. Here's something one could have made something of: Jean Valjean as a puzzle, the only thing that doesn't fit Javert's orderly world view, and therefore a threat. But the adaptation never quite makes this case, or any other, in order to account for Javert's idée fixe.
As a mostly faithful adaptation, this series works well enough, but I'm not sure I'd recommend it to someone who isn't already interested in Hugo's novel. For newcomers to Les Mis, I'd first recommend the musical (a stage version, where everyone can actually sing, rather than the film version), then the 1998 film with Liam Neeson as Valjean and Geoffrey Rush as the ultimate Javert. For all that it's six hours and a bit long, the Davies adaptation doesn't offer us that many more insights into the characters than the musical he despises. Marius and Cosette remain pretty uninteresting, though there's a forced attempt to give Cosette some "agency" at the end. The students still seem supremely silly in their willingness to die - and kill - for a lost cause (it was the same in the novel, though). At least in the musical they had some rousing songs. Lily Collins's Fantine is fine, but so is Uma Thurman in the Neeson film and pretty much any Fantine you get to see in the West End/on Broadway.
Where the adaptation wins over both musical and film is in the depiction of Jean Valjean and the Thénardiers. The latter hardly feature in the film and are grossly misrepresented - with the exception of Éponine, who gets a good press - in the musical. As for Jean Valjean, Davies gives due weight to some important issues which are usually glossed over in other Les Mis versions, such as the fact that Valjean does commit a theft (which he immediately regrets) after having met the Bishop of Digne - he steals a coin from a small boy. It is also made clear that he has no love for Marius. Beautiful as the ballad Bring Him Home from the musical is, Jean Valjean's feelings towards the young man who wants to take Cosette away from him are rather the exact reverse, which makes his saving of Marius all the more remarkable. And then there is West. If Jean Valjean is your favourite character from the story, the Davies adaptation is worth seeing for him alone.
Tuesday, 16 July 2019
(Somewhat girly) reasons for keeping my HBO Nordic subscription
Summer travelling and a summer cold are two explanations for my lack of blogging of late, but if the truth be told I'm always lazy blogging-wise during my precious four-week summer holiday. At least my cold has given me an excuse for a fair amount of irresponsible TV watching. One modest goal has been to find reasons why I shouldn't cancel the subscription to HBO Nordic, which I only got in the first place because of Game of Thrones.
I admit I've always been a bit suspicious of HBO as it's the home of so many of those "must-see" series which I have no burning wish to watch: The Sopranos (mafia in a domestic setting: apparently the guy dies); Six Feet Under (black humour in a funeral parlour); True Detective (truly depressed detectives solving truly depressing cases) and so on. Before my subscription, I'd tested Mad Men, which left me unimpressed, and The Wire, which I decided (to use the style of the script) was not my fucking cup of fucking tea. To sum up, I had reason to believe that this channel's image was a bit too edgy for the likes of me, and that I'd have been better off with an ABC Nordic subscription, if such a thing had existed.
However, it's really cheap. Also, the latest news on The Gilded Age, the new costume drama by Julian "Downton" Fellowes which has been an age in the making, is that it's been snapped up by HBO. When it finally airs (and I was probably over-optimistic in thinking it would be this year), I will want to see it as soon as possible, without having to wait for Swedish telly to air it or for the DVD box set - knowing as I do from my Once Upon a Time experiences how long that can take. And so, the hunt is on for HBO series that aren't too dark or too twisted. It's not that I expect sunshine all the way, I'd just rather be without a surfeit of dead kids or jokes involving making up stiffs so they look nice. Please?
Staying away from the ponderous historical dramas which I suspect are there to fill the Game of Thrones gap, as they seem really po-faced, I've managed to unearth three series which form a good enough excuse to keep on paying for HBO - for now:
Big Little Lies I started to watch this series because I expected enjoyable rich-bitch infighting in luxurious venues, but got something else - and was pleasantly surprised by it. Settings like a wealthy US East Coast town and characters like the yummy mummies who live there are usually the starting point of satire, but this series takes its protagonists seriously and sympathises with their trials. There is a surprising amount of female solidarity, and sometimes (not always) cat fights can be put to rest simply by the two combatants levelling with each other. I found myself warming to all the main female characters - meddling but loyal Madeline, fragile Celeste, tough newcomer Jane and the short-tempered hotshot Renata. Even Bonnie, introduced as the annoyingly perfect hippieish wife of Madeline's ex, turns out to have inner depths. A mildly addictive series which is also mildly depressing (the domestic violence plot line is pretty grim), but perked up by a sharp script and the characters' ability for survival.
Killing Eve I'm still not 100% sure about this series. It's apparently adapted from a book series about one of its protagonists, the female assassin with the code name Villanelle. She is very convincingly portrayed by Jodie Comer as a psychopath who takes an almost childish delight in her job, but once you know that's what Villanelle's all about, little that she does seems that interesting or shocking. The main reason I continue to watch is Sanda Oh's Eve, the agent who is set to hunt down Villanelle with very few resources and no official backing. I loved Sandra Oh's Christina in Grey's Anatomy - she's one of the reasons I kept watching that series for as long as I did - and she still has that enjoyably dry delivery as Eve. The script's good too. I'll finish season one and see how it goes.
Sex and the City I didn't watch this when I was younger because I suspected that I'd feel envious of the main characters both when it came to the sex part and the city part (the city in question being New York). And I probably would have. When I watched the very first episode and only laughed once, I thought "I'm too old for this". From episode two onwards, though, I started to enjoy this light-hearted sitcom more and more. It's not the least bit relatable to me - the four female leads all live in Manhattan, have glamorous jobs and get as much action as you'd expect from the title. But somehow it doesn't matter. It's restful with a TV programme where, unlike say in Big Little Lies, the stakes are never that high. No matter how many dating disasters the quartet goes through, there seems to be plenty more Manhattan bachelors on offer. It's blissfully unedgy escapism and ideal viewing for when you have a cold. Plus, I'm not that envious of the characters anymore - their lifestyle seems a bit exhausting. And the guys, though good-looking enough, lack that certain wow factor for me. Sour grapes, I suppose.
I admit I've always been a bit suspicious of HBO as it's the home of so many of those "must-see" series which I have no burning wish to watch: The Sopranos (mafia in a domestic setting: apparently the guy dies); Six Feet Under (black humour in a funeral parlour); True Detective (truly depressed detectives solving truly depressing cases) and so on. Before my subscription, I'd tested Mad Men, which left me unimpressed, and The Wire, which I decided (to use the style of the script) was not my fucking cup of fucking tea. To sum up, I had reason to believe that this channel's image was a bit too edgy for the likes of me, and that I'd have been better off with an ABC Nordic subscription, if such a thing had existed.
However, it's really cheap. Also, the latest news on The Gilded Age, the new costume drama by Julian "Downton" Fellowes which has been an age in the making, is that it's been snapped up by HBO. When it finally airs (and I was probably over-optimistic in thinking it would be this year), I will want to see it as soon as possible, without having to wait for Swedish telly to air it or for the DVD box set - knowing as I do from my Once Upon a Time experiences how long that can take. And so, the hunt is on for HBO series that aren't too dark or too twisted. It's not that I expect sunshine all the way, I'd just rather be without a surfeit of dead kids or jokes involving making up stiffs so they look nice. Please?
Staying away from the ponderous historical dramas which I suspect are there to fill the Game of Thrones gap, as they seem really po-faced, I've managed to unearth three series which form a good enough excuse to keep on paying for HBO - for now:
Big Little Lies I started to watch this series because I expected enjoyable rich-bitch infighting in luxurious venues, but got something else - and was pleasantly surprised by it. Settings like a wealthy US East Coast town and characters like the yummy mummies who live there are usually the starting point of satire, but this series takes its protagonists seriously and sympathises with their trials. There is a surprising amount of female solidarity, and sometimes (not always) cat fights can be put to rest simply by the two combatants levelling with each other. I found myself warming to all the main female characters - meddling but loyal Madeline, fragile Celeste, tough newcomer Jane and the short-tempered hotshot Renata. Even Bonnie, introduced as the annoyingly perfect hippieish wife of Madeline's ex, turns out to have inner depths. A mildly addictive series which is also mildly depressing (the domestic violence plot line is pretty grim), but perked up by a sharp script and the characters' ability for survival.
Killing Eve I'm still not 100% sure about this series. It's apparently adapted from a book series about one of its protagonists, the female assassin with the code name Villanelle. She is very convincingly portrayed by Jodie Comer as a psychopath who takes an almost childish delight in her job, but once you know that's what Villanelle's all about, little that she does seems that interesting or shocking. The main reason I continue to watch is Sanda Oh's Eve, the agent who is set to hunt down Villanelle with very few resources and no official backing. I loved Sandra Oh's Christina in Grey's Anatomy - she's one of the reasons I kept watching that series for as long as I did - and she still has that enjoyably dry delivery as Eve. The script's good too. I'll finish season one and see how it goes.
Sex and the City I didn't watch this when I was younger because I suspected that I'd feel envious of the main characters both when it came to the sex part and the city part (the city in question being New York). And I probably would have. When I watched the very first episode and only laughed once, I thought "I'm too old for this". From episode two onwards, though, I started to enjoy this light-hearted sitcom more and more. It's not the least bit relatable to me - the four female leads all live in Manhattan, have glamorous jobs and get as much action as you'd expect from the title. But somehow it doesn't matter. It's restful with a TV programme where, unlike say in Big Little Lies, the stakes are never that high. No matter how many dating disasters the quartet goes through, there seems to be plenty more Manhattan bachelors on offer. It's blissfully unedgy escapism and ideal viewing for when you have a cold. Plus, I'm not that envious of the characters anymore - their lifestyle seems a bit exhausting. And the guys, though good-looking enough, lack that certain wow factor for me. Sour grapes, I suppose.
Wednesday, 26 June 2019
Reflections on the Downton Abbey film (or movie) trailers
Much of my TV time recently has been spent on rewatching programmes which I've already blogged about comprehensively. I've revisited Steven Moffat's whole stint as a Doctor Who show runner (minus the Chibnall-scripted Silurian two-parter which I couldn't face), which has made me really miss Moffat - one might not agree with all of his ideas and conceptions, but boy, the man can write. Also, I've finally finished a drawn-out rewatch of Downton Abbey, interrupted in the middle and taken up again during the spring/summer, in time for the film's/movie's release in September.
My aim was to prep myself and be able to give the kind of predictions that I've done before the later series of Downton the TV drama. Looking at the two recent trailers, though - and if you've missed them, you can find them here and here - I suspect that the film will be as standalone as one can expect and will not feature resolutions to dangling plot threads from the series. We are unlikely to find out why the first Mrs Bates really killed herself, if Sir Richard Carlisle ever published that story about Kemal Pamuk bedding Lady Mary and dying in the attempt (I suppose not, but doesn't his reticence deserve a mention in that case?) or if poor Sir Evelyn Napier will finally get over his Mary crush and marry someone else. I'll wager neither Michael Gregson nor Bertie Pelham's "artistic" and "delicate" Cousin Peter, both unconvincingly killed off off-stage in the TV series, will disconcert the Crawleys by coming back from the dead. Instead, the main thrust of the story seems to be centred on a royal visit to Downton Abbey, which means you won't have to know all the ins and outs of the TV series in order to follow the plot of the film, although you'll be much more invested if you're actually familiar with the Crawley family and their servants (as I assume they won't waste time reintroducing characters that most of us know pretty well by now to newcomers).While I understand why Fellowes and co. have made this decision - they don't want the boyfriends and girlfriends of old Downton fans, who get dragged along to the cinema though they've not really followed the show themselves, to die of boredom - I think it's a pity in a way, and I'll try to explain why.
When I'm in the middle of rewatching Downton, I'm struck by how good it really is; when it comes to getting me engaged in the characters, it knocks spots off Game of Thrones any day of the week. This tends to come as a bit of a surprise, though, because when I'm not rewatching Downton, I sometimes wonder whether I haven't hyped it a bit too much and whether it was worth it being obsessed with the series for years. I think part of the reason why it's so easy to forget how good this series can be is that there are, in a manner of speaking, two Downtons. Not an upstairs and a downstairs Downton - they're well intertwined - but what you could call the complex Downton and the simple Downton. Complex Downton has fascinating character development and character interactions, strong scenes and moving lines, sometimes containing a deeper wisdom. Simple Downton seems to share the outlook of the decent but naïve Earl of Grantham when it comes to world events as well as members of the Crawley household. Isn't the Dowager Countess funny? Aren't the Bateses sweet? Isn't Carson a loveable old curmudgeon? Isn't it awful that the good old days are coming to an end and the great landowners have to sell off their homes? Why can't Thomas just be nicer? Taking these things as read, simple Downton offers us whimsical plot lines centred on small household crises rather than high drama, points that are hammered home by repetitive events or exchanges, characters who act like caricatures of themselves and sentiments that don't always feel earned.
I understand that Downton is supposed to be light entertainment, and I would certainly not have wanted it "grittier". The mixture of drama and whimsy is the old Dickensian "streaky bacon" recipe, and some of the simple Downton elements work really well, mostly thanks to great performances by the actors stuck in the more whimsical plots. Kevin Doyle as Molesley has first-rate comic timing, which I suspect is a reason why his character was expanded to such a degree in the later series, and sparks fly in the scenes between Sue Johnston's Denker and Jeremy Swift's Spratt, although the Denker-Spratt wars have little relevance for the Crawley household saga. Nevertheless, I often feel that Downton sells itself short by going down the simple route. After all, you can be funny and give the characters their due, as evidenced by the plot line where an unwilling Mrs Patmore acts as a go-between between Mrs Hughes and Carson and tries to figure out whether he expects "a full marriage" from Mrs Hughes. It's hilarious, but also moving, and shows these three characters from the best possible light.
So, to finally get to the point: a royal visit to Downton Abbey, complete with a "scary butler" and stuck-up chef from the royal household, feels like a simple Downton plot. It will provide sumptuous scenes and downstairs antics set to jaunty music, but this isn't something that has - or should have - any profound impact on the protagonists' personal lives. What difference does it make, in the long run, if the visit is a success or not? And why on earth should Mary have to call in Carson - what's he supposed to achieve that Thomas can't? I'm afraid a lot of time will be wasted on the Royal Visit Plot which could have been better spent on more high-stakes drama and on exploring the lives of the characters we have come to know and love. Fellowes should trust his fans more. We're not in it for the spectacle, honest, though a few glamorous dance scenes are nice. He can afford to dig a little deeper.
On the other hand, now it's finally here, I intend to enjoy the Downton film to the utmost and not look a gift horse in the mouth. There are elements of the trailers that look very promising indeed. Let's hope Tom Branson's new love interest is really The One (or more accurately The Second One After Sybil) and not another dud. And it looks as if Thomas is finally gettin' some tail! Hurrah!
My aim was to prep myself and be able to give the kind of predictions that I've done before the later series of Downton the TV drama. Looking at the two recent trailers, though - and if you've missed them, you can find them here and here - I suspect that the film will be as standalone as one can expect and will not feature resolutions to dangling plot threads from the series. We are unlikely to find out why the first Mrs Bates really killed herself, if Sir Richard Carlisle ever published that story about Kemal Pamuk bedding Lady Mary and dying in the attempt (I suppose not, but doesn't his reticence deserve a mention in that case?) or if poor Sir Evelyn Napier will finally get over his Mary crush and marry someone else. I'll wager neither Michael Gregson nor Bertie Pelham's "artistic" and "delicate" Cousin Peter, both unconvincingly killed off off-stage in the TV series, will disconcert the Crawleys by coming back from the dead. Instead, the main thrust of the story seems to be centred on a royal visit to Downton Abbey, which means you won't have to know all the ins and outs of the TV series in order to follow the plot of the film, although you'll be much more invested if you're actually familiar with the Crawley family and their servants (as I assume they won't waste time reintroducing characters that most of us know pretty well by now to newcomers).While I understand why Fellowes and co. have made this decision - they don't want the boyfriends and girlfriends of old Downton fans, who get dragged along to the cinema though they've not really followed the show themselves, to die of boredom - I think it's a pity in a way, and I'll try to explain why.
When I'm in the middle of rewatching Downton, I'm struck by how good it really is; when it comes to getting me engaged in the characters, it knocks spots off Game of Thrones any day of the week. This tends to come as a bit of a surprise, though, because when I'm not rewatching Downton, I sometimes wonder whether I haven't hyped it a bit too much and whether it was worth it being obsessed with the series for years. I think part of the reason why it's so easy to forget how good this series can be is that there are, in a manner of speaking, two Downtons. Not an upstairs and a downstairs Downton - they're well intertwined - but what you could call the complex Downton and the simple Downton. Complex Downton has fascinating character development and character interactions, strong scenes and moving lines, sometimes containing a deeper wisdom. Simple Downton seems to share the outlook of the decent but naïve Earl of Grantham when it comes to world events as well as members of the Crawley household. Isn't the Dowager Countess funny? Aren't the Bateses sweet? Isn't Carson a loveable old curmudgeon? Isn't it awful that the good old days are coming to an end and the great landowners have to sell off their homes? Why can't Thomas just be nicer? Taking these things as read, simple Downton offers us whimsical plot lines centred on small household crises rather than high drama, points that are hammered home by repetitive events or exchanges, characters who act like caricatures of themselves and sentiments that don't always feel earned.
I understand that Downton is supposed to be light entertainment, and I would certainly not have wanted it "grittier". The mixture of drama and whimsy is the old Dickensian "streaky bacon" recipe, and some of the simple Downton elements work really well, mostly thanks to great performances by the actors stuck in the more whimsical plots. Kevin Doyle as Molesley has first-rate comic timing, which I suspect is a reason why his character was expanded to such a degree in the later series, and sparks fly in the scenes between Sue Johnston's Denker and Jeremy Swift's Spratt, although the Denker-Spratt wars have little relevance for the Crawley household saga. Nevertheless, I often feel that Downton sells itself short by going down the simple route. After all, you can be funny and give the characters their due, as evidenced by the plot line where an unwilling Mrs Patmore acts as a go-between between Mrs Hughes and Carson and tries to figure out whether he expects "a full marriage" from Mrs Hughes. It's hilarious, but also moving, and shows these three characters from the best possible light.
So, to finally get to the point: a royal visit to Downton Abbey, complete with a "scary butler" and stuck-up chef from the royal household, feels like a simple Downton plot. It will provide sumptuous scenes and downstairs antics set to jaunty music, but this isn't something that has - or should have - any profound impact on the protagonists' personal lives. What difference does it make, in the long run, if the visit is a success or not? And why on earth should Mary have to call in Carson - what's he supposed to achieve that Thomas can't? I'm afraid a lot of time will be wasted on the Royal Visit Plot which could have been better spent on more high-stakes drama and on exploring the lives of the characters we have come to know and love. Fellowes should trust his fans more. We're not in it for the spectacle, honest, though a few glamorous dance scenes are nice. He can afford to dig a little deeper.
On the other hand, now it's finally here, I intend to enjoy the Downton film to the utmost and not look a gift horse in the mouth. There are elements of the trailers that look very promising indeed. Let's hope Tom Branson's new love interest is really The One (or more accurately The Second One After Sybil) and not another dud. And it looks as if Thomas is finally gettin' some tail! Hurrah!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
