My parents got hold of "Downton Abbey" when they were last in London (BBC take note: the ITV people had the series out on DVD about a day after it had stopped being aired), and as anticipated I enjoy it hugely. We've seen three episodes so far, and it gets better and better. Not that it was bad to begin with: it is gorgeously shot, well acted and sets up an intriguing drama right from the start. Even so, a little too much time was spent at first pondering the question whether the Earl of Grantham would "smash the entail" of his estate Downton Abbey. Like Mr Bennet in "Pride and Prejudice", the earl has only daughters, but as the eldest daughter was engaged to the male heir, that was all right - until the heir in question goes down with the Titanic. Now, I would have been more interested if I understood what breaking the entail, well, entailed. Can you smash an entail? If yes, how do you go about it? Why didn't Mr Bennet do it - what is the downside? The earl ends up not breaking the entail because he worries that it would harm the estate - but how could it do that, exactly? This is not explained, so the earl's decision looks idiotic rather than upright. But this is a minor quibble, as is the fact that the other plot line in episode one - where a possible suitor for Mary is revealed to have other interests entirely - bears a great resemblance to one of the lesser-known black-and-white episodes of "Upstairs Downstairs".
The series owes quite a heavy debt to "Upstairs Downstairs", and is very much in the tradition of the sumptuous costume drama. It is not "fresh" or "innovative", and that is exactly why it's so enjoyable. I don't care that we have seen hunting scenes, bullying cooks, loyal-to-the-death butlers, unpleasant blackmailers (good job on that one, earl - care to come by Middlemarch one day in a costume-drama crossover?), American heiresses and haughty matriarchs before. I'm happy to see more of them. It's also good to make the acquaintance of a Decent Toff for a change. As I've already hinted in this blog, I'm not exactly the President of the Scarlet Pimpernel Society for Preserving Our Beloved Nobility, but even I think the treatment the nobs have been getting in crime dramas such as "Midsomer Murders", "Morse" and "Lewis" - where they are continually portrayed as depraved and heavy-handedly snooty - is a bit unfair.
The characterisation could be more subtle - unlike, say, "Upstairs Downstairs", the characters are often clearly labelled as Good or Bad - but it doesn't really matter. In fact, the one character that really annoys me is supposed to be one of the Complex ones. Of the earl's three daugthers, the youngest, Sybil, is sweet-natured, and the middle one, Edith, is sour and envious. And then there's the eldest, Mary. I think I know what we're supposed to feel about her: that she is not as upper-class-bitchy as she seems, and that she only puts up a front to hide an inner vulnerability. She is redeemable, a bit like Bella Wilfer in "our Mutual Friend", and we're supposed to warm to her after initially having disliked her. Well, it doesn't work for me. I'm still on the initial dislike stage. There's little to suggest that this chilly beauty really has that much inner depth, and I certainly don't think she deserves to end up with the earl's new likeable, middle-class heir Matthew, which seems to be the way is the story is heading. They're already sparring in time-honoured, romance-starts-with-a-fight fashion. It would be nice if Matthew decided to go for sweet Sybil instead. Anyway, why aren't the earl and the countess making more of an effort in placing all three girls instead of just hawking Mary to all and sundry? Embittered Edith could make a comfortable match with some rich and patient fellow (a love match would probably go sour in a month, so a marriage of convenience seems to be the best thing you could hope for in her case), and Sybil is just as pretty as her eldest sister and good deal pleasanter to have around. Mrs Bennet would certainly not have made the mistake of putting all potential suitor eggs in one basket.
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Sunday, 28 November 2010
Do we need yet another take on "A Christmas Carol"?
As established in the previous blog entry, The Doctor and Dickens make a great duo. So why am I not 100% excited by the news that the Doctor Who Christmas Special will contain references to "A Christmas Carol"? Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm a little tired of "A Christmas Carol".
The two most famous and most read works by Dickens are probably "Oliver Twist" and "A Christmas Carol". I know it could be great deal worse. These are good stories. It would have been terrible if Dickens would have been chiefly famous for, say, "Martin Chuzzlewit". Still, "Twist" and "Carol" leave people with the impression that Dickens was first and foremost a Great Revealer of Social Ills, who wrote about poor folk, preferably orphans. Dickens did rail against (real and perceived) social ills, but this is only one aspect of his writing, and in my view not the best or the most interesting one. His books aren't rag-fests at all: they mostly have middle-class settings and middle-class main characters, who are more psychologically complex than people realise. We hear a lot about Dickensian "grotesques", but it is not the quirks that make a Dickens character interesting, but the personality that lies beneath. This is the author who said the last word on bitterness and what it does to you, but what is he known as? Someone who wrote about ragged, implausibly good children, who may or may not die.
What I like about "A Christmas Carol" is the fact that Scrooge's redemption is the most important thing in it. The ghosts don't haunt him for the sake of Bob Cratchit, or of Tiny Tim, or of any deserving poor who will benefit from his change of heart and sudden generosity. They haunt him for his own sake, to save his soul. The idea of redeeming someone by showing him glimpses of his past, present and future is pure genius, which is probably why the story has such potency and why there are so many versions of it about. There is also a hint of the old Dickensian "bitterness is bad for you" theme: Scrooge must learn not only to defeat his greed, but also his cynicism and misanthropy. Nevertheless, those who see "Carol" as a straightforward morality tale about how how we must be nice to the needy, especially at Christmas, are not that far wrong. Dickens's Christmas books generally are more sugary, more moralistic and more psychologically simplistic than his novels, and "Carol" suffers from this too. For one thing, Scrooge cracks far too easily: the first Christmas spirit already has him blubbing. And how did Mr Fezziwig's jolly apprentice become so cold and hard-hearted? We never get a satisfactory explanation. I read a short story sequel to "Carol" (included in the anthology "Death by Dickens") by Lillian Stewart Carl, where it is revealed that Mr Fezziwig's firm failed. Now that would explain a lot, wouldn't it? But it isn't in the original story. Dickens can do bitterness in his sleep, but like many authors he is less convincing on greed: it doesn't seem to be a very inspiring vice.
But the main problem with "A Christmas Carol" is something it can't help: it has become over-familiar. We have had countless straightforward film and TV adaptions, musical adaptations, stage adaptations, a version set in modern times, a Disney version, a muppet version, a Blackadder version were the central character goes from good to bad instead of the other way around (not that funny actually), a romcom version, and a flood of other popular culture references. I have read comics where both Peg-Leg Pete and The Big Bad Wolf get the Scrooge treatment, though with indifferent success. The only other story that gets rehashed almost as often at Christmas time is "It's a Wonderful Life", which also, to give it its due, has a great premise. (It would be fun, once in a while, if a bad character got the you-have-never-been-born-treatment instead of the ghosts. In many instances, life would not turn out better for the good characters if their nemesis did not exist: quite the reverse.)
In a word, we could need a little rest from "A Christmas Carol". Why not give "The Haunted Man", another Christmas book by Dickens, a try? It is bleak at times, but it all turns out well in the end. I'm not sure I buy the argument - that the bad things that happen to us make us better people and are a crucial part of the web of life - but it is forcefully argued all the same. I'd give "The Chimes" a miss, though.
The two most famous and most read works by Dickens are probably "Oliver Twist" and "A Christmas Carol". I know it could be great deal worse. These are good stories. It would have been terrible if Dickens would have been chiefly famous for, say, "Martin Chuzzlewit". Still, "Twist" and "Carol" leave people with the impression that Dickens was first and foremost a Great Revealer of Social Ills, who wrote about poor folk, preferably orphans. Dickens did rail against (real and perceived) social ills, but this is only one aspect of his writing, and in my view not the best or the most interesting one. His books aren't rag-fests at all: they mostly have middle-class settings and middle-class main characters, who are more psychologically complex than people realise. We hear a lot about Dickensian "grotesques", but it is not the quirks that make a Dickens character interesting, but the personality that lies beneath. This is the author who said the last word on bitterness and what it does to you, but what is he known as? Someone who wrote about ragged, implausibly good children, who may or may not die.
What I like about "A Christmas Carol" is the fact that Scrooge's redemption is the most important thing in it. The ghosts don't haunt him for the sake of Bob Cratchit, or of Tiny Tim, or of any deserving poor who will benefit from his change of heart and sudden generosity. They haunt him for his own sake, to save his soul. The idea of redeeming someone by showing him glimpses of his past, present and future is pure genius, which is probably why the story has such potency and why there are so many versions of it about. There is also a hint of the old Dickensian "bitterness is bad for you" theme: Scrooge must learn not only to defeat his greed, but also his cynicism and misanthropy. Nevertheless, those who see "Carol" as a straightforward morality tale about how how we must be nice to the needy, especially at Christmas, are not that far wrong. Dickens's Christmas books generally are more sugary, more moralistic and more psychologically simplistic than his novels, and "Carol" suffers from this too. For one thing, Scrooge cracks far too easily: the first Christmas spirit already has him blubbing. And how did Mr Fezziwig's jolly apprentice become so cold and hard-hearted? We never get a satisfactory explanation. I read a short story sequel to "Carol" (included in the anthology "Death by Dickens") by Lillian Stewart Carl, where it is revealed that Mr Fezziwig's firm failed. Now that would explain a lot, wouldn't it? But it isn't in the original story. Dickens can do bitterness in his sleep, but like many authors he is less convincing on greed: it doesn't seem to be a very inspiring vice.
But the main problem with "A Christmas Carol" is something it can't help: it has become over-familiar. We have had countless straightforward film and TV adaptions, musical adaptations, stage adaptations, a version set in modern times, a Disney version, a muppet version, a Blackadder version were the central character goes from good to bad instead of the other way around (not that funny actually), a romcom version, and a flood of other popular culture references. I have read comics where both Peg-Leg Pete and The Big Bad Wolf get the Scrooge treatment, though with indifferent success. The only other story that gets rehashed almost as often at Christmas time is "It's a Wonderful Life", which also, to give it its due, has a great premise. (It would be fun, once in a while, if a bad character got the you-have-never-been-born-treatment instead of the ghosts. In many instances, life would not turn out better for the good characters if their nemesis did not exist: quite the reverse.)
In a word, we could need a little rest from "A Christmas Carol". Why not give "The Haunted Man", another Christmas book by Dickens, a try? It is bleak at times, but it all turns out well in the end. I'm not sure I buy the argument - that the bad things that happen to us make us better people and are a crucial part of the web of life - but it is forcefully argued all the same. I'd give "The Chimes" a miss, though.
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Who's the geek? I am!
Yes, I know, I know. I'm overdue for a blog entry on books, instead of on TV. But that would give the impression that I've spent a lot of my free time lately reading. I haven't. Instead, I've been watching the new "Doctor Who" series, as unable as ever to save a few episodes up, knowing it will be a long stretch before any new ones come along. The box set arrived Wednesday, and I've already bolted down all 13 episodes.
Just what is it that makes this series so addictive? An interesting central character helps. Mind you, it's not that I'm a blind devotee of the Doctor. It's hard not to like this amiable alien, but he is contradictory to say the least. One minute, he is acting like the bodyguard of the human race and grimly blasting our enemies to kingdom come; the next he's acting as a kind of Alien Rights ambassador and appears to be deeply chocked over our lack of fellow-feeling towards other species. At one time, he's full of admiration for human endeavour and inventiveness; at another, he's doing the tiresome Superior Species Turn well-known from other sci-fi shows and seems to despise us. In one episode he shows a definite streak of cruelty, and that's fine, because after all he is an alien; only a few episodes further along the way, he does the annoying hippie-dippy no-guns-no-salutes-act. Come again? I bet The Family of Blood ("We wanted to live forever... So the Doctor made sure that we did") would welcome a nice, clean bullet through the heart just about now. However, this complexity is no bad thing. It keeps you on your toes, trying to figure out who the Doctor really is.
The new one, Matt Smith, isn't at all bad. He does the nutty professor part of the character very well and looks the part. He can't do the rattling-off-brilliant-ideas-at-the-top-of-his-head-at-lightning-speed part as well as David Tennant, but on the plus side, much of the swollen-headedness which became a problem with the Tenth Doctor is gone. By the time of the fourth series, the Doctor had become something of an insufferable know-it-all, always moral and always right and the hippie-dippy element lamentably strong. Also, Russell T Davies (the head script-writer during Tennant's time, and very good he was too) piled on the Messianic references a bit thick. The Doctor is a very nice Time Lord, but he's not the Messiah. The Eleventh Doctor seems more aware of his limitations in comparison. It doesn't stop David Tennant from being a great Doctor and a hard act to follow, but I think my favourite (and I've only watched the new series, so I only have three Docs to choose from) is Christopher Eccleston. He did the "Boo hoo I'm all alone and the last of my species" scenes with much more conviction than his successors: his was a plausibly sad and angry Doctor who was not too peace-and-lovey to charge up at one time to the (as he thought) last Dalek in the Universe and point at it with a GREAT BIG GUN.
So, complex central character, good. The sidekicks aren't bad either, and the script is continually intelligent and witty. Plus, of course, there's time travel. The Doctor meets Madame de Pompadour! And Shakespeare! And Dickens! There's also a sense of up-beatness to the series, even if some of the scenarios from the future aren't that rosy, and we know everything will go to pot three hundred billion years from now. Three hundred billion years is a long time, after all. This up-beatness and the warmth between the main characters are what's missing from the misery-laden "Torchwood", which I couldn't get through the first series of, even though it's a Doctor Who spin-off. As far as "Torchwood" is concerned, life's a bitch and then you die and then after-life's a bitch. ("There's something out there in the dark and it's moving" - because "it all goes black" wasn't depressing enough, apparently.) In "Doctor Who", by contrast, there's always a sense of hope.
Another aspect I like about "Doctor Who", and what I believe got me hooked in the first place, is the "what's wrong with this picture?" element. An adventure starts out, and everything seems fine. Then, increasingly, strange things start to happen, and the Doctor and his companion du jour have to try to figure out which peril they are facing this time. It's a kind of crime story element, similar to when a witness says "Of course... that was strange" and goes on to reveal a detail you can't at first make sense of. That's a reason why I like "introducing a companion" episodes, which start out as a day in the life of a typically gutsy girl and then get weirder and weirder, or "dystopian society" episodes, where humans trudge on and seem to live ordinary lives - adaptable as we are - in a setting which gets more sinister by the minute.
All right, enough geeky gushing, and believe me, you haven't heard half of it - as for instance why it doesn't much matter that a lot of the aliens are quite naff (the Slitheen were a real low point). Let me just finish with this memorable exchange from the Dickens episode "The Unquiet Dead".
DICKENS: My books... Will they last?
DOCTOR: Oh yes.
DICKENS: How long?
DOCTOR (beaming): Forever.
Aaah. One can't not love an alien like that.
Just what is it that makes this series so addictive? An interesting central character helps. Mind you, it's not that I'm a blind devotee of the Doctor. It's hard not to like this amiable alien, but he is contradictory to say the least. One minute, he is acting like the bodyguard of the human race and grimly blasting our enemies to kingdom come; the next he's acting as a kind of Alien Rights ambassador and appears to be deeply chocked over our lack of fellow-feeling towards other species. At one time, he's full of admiration for human endeavour and inventiveness; at another, he's doing the tiresome Superior Species Turn well-known from other sci-fi shows and seems to despise us. In one episode he shows a definite streak of cruelty, and that's fine, because after all he is an alien; only a few episodes further along the way, he does the annoying hippie-dippy no-guns-no-salutes-act. Come again? I bet The Family of Blood ("We wanted to live forever... So the Doctor made sure that we did") would welcome a nice, clean bullet through the heart just about now. However, this complexity is no bad thing. It keeps you on your toes, trying to figure out who the Doctor really is.
The new one, Matt Smith, isn't at all bad. He does the nutty professor part of the character very well and looks the part. He can't do the rattling-off-brilliant-ideas-at-the-top-of-his-head-at-lightning-speed part as well as David Tennant, but on the plus side, much of the swollen-headedness which became a problem with the Tenth Doctor is gone. By the time of the fourth series, the Doctor had become something of an insufferable know-it-all, always moral and always right and the hippie-dippy element lamentably strong. Also, Russell T Davies (the head script-writer during Tennant's time, and very good he was too) piled on the Messianic references a bit thick. The Doctor is a very nice Time Lord, but he's not the Messiah. The Eleventh Doctor seems more aware of his limitations in comparison. It doesn't stop David Tennant from being a great Doctor and a hard act to follow, but I think my favourite (and I've only watched the new series, so I only have three Docs to choose from) is Christopher Eccleston. He did the "Boo hoo I'm all alone and the last of my species" scenes with much more conviction than his successors: his was a plausibly sad and angry Doctor who was not too peace-and-lovey to charge up at one time to the (as he thought) last Dalek in the Universe and point at it with a GREAT BIG GUN.
So, complex central character, good. The sidekicks aren't bad either, and the script is continually intelligent and witty. Plus, of course, there's time travel. The Doctor meets Madame de Pompadour! And Shakespeare! And Dickens! There's also a sense of up-beatness to the series, even if some of the scenarios from the future aren't that rosy, and we know everything will go to pot three hundred billion years from now. Three hundred billion years is a long time, after all. This up-beatness and the warmth between the main characters are what's missing from the misery-laden "Torchwood", which I couldn't get through the first series of, even though it's a Doctor Who spin-off. As far as "Torchwood" is concerned, life's a bitch and then you die and then after-life's a bitch. ("There's something out there in the dark and it's moving" - because "it all goes black" wasn't depressing enough, apparently.) In "Doctor Who", by contrast, there's always a sense of hope.
Another aspect I like about "Doctor Who", and what I believe got me hooked in the first place, is the "what's wrong with this picture?" element. An adventure starts out, and everything seems fine. Then, increasingly, strange things start to happen, and the Doctor and his companion du jour have to try to figure out which peril they are facing this time. It's a kind of crime story element, similar to when a witness says "Of course... that was strange" and goes on to reveal a detail you can't at first make sense of. That's a reason why I like "introducing a companion" episodes, which start out as a day in the life of a typically gutsy girl and then get weirder and weirder, or "dystopian society" episodes, where humans trudge on and seem to live ordinary lives - adaptable as we are - in a setting which gets more sinister by the minute.
All right, enough geeky gushing, and believe me, you haven't heard half of it - as for instance why it doesn't much matter that a lot of the aliens are quite naff (the Slitheen were a real low point). Let me just finish with this memorable exchange from the Dickens episode "The Unquiet Dead".
DICKENS: My books... Will they last?
DOCTOR: Oh yes.
DICKENS: How long?
DOCTOR (beaming): Forever.
Aaah. One can't not love an alien like that.
Sunday, 7 November 2010
The "From Lark Rise to Candleford" drinking game
Yay, finally - Amazon is sending me my "Doctor Who" box set ten days early! Am I looking forward to it: the preachiness of "Fame", the clevery camouflaged right-on-ness of "The West Wing" and the sheer length of "North and South" (US civil war version) are beginning to pall. As to English series, there is very little going on at the moment. But Swedish TV is sending "From Lark Rise to Candleford", and I suppose one has to be grateful to be able to watch any costume drama at all.
"Lark Rise" is not really a favourite series of mine, but it has its charm. This is a series which lives on its cosiness. Inserting any "darkness" to speak of would be fatal. It's what you see on a dark Monday night when you're feeling exhausted and a little depressed and are not up for any intellectual challenges. Once in a while, the series throws in a plot line which is not entirely predictable and exceeds my expectations - which admittedly are not that high. A well-known trick is to suddenly flesh out the emotional life on one of its paper-thin characters. Nevertheless, very much remains the same in both Lark Rise and Candleford. I've heard of "drinking games" being constructed around series like "Friends", when you're supposed to take a drink every time a particular event takes place - when a character displays a certain mannerism, say, or uses a certain catch phrase. "Lark Rise" seems an ideal candidate for a game like that. Please take a drink every time:
1) Laura intones something ominous in the voice-over which starts and ends every episode, though no great momentous change is in fact forthcoming
2) Miss Lane dispenses good advice with a brave smile
3) Miss Lane puts someone in their place with a triumphant smile (not unlike the brave one)
4) Twister does something kooky
5) Thomas Brown says something supposedly pious but trite with somewhat fake fervour ("It is our CHRISTIAN DUTY to take out the trash" say - not that he's said that yet)
6) The Pratt sisters show up in matching over-the-top clothes
7) The Pratt sisters spread malicious gossip or complain about the service at the post office
8) Laura flirts with someone who is not her childhood sweetheart Alfie
9) Mrs Arless fritters away money with some jolly "seize the day" excuse
10) In the first season: Sir Timothy very inappropriately confides in Miss Lane about his marriage problems, or his wife stalks jealously out after having caught him being over-friendly to Miss Lane
11) In the second season: Mr Dowland is spooning around and not daring to confess his love to Miss Lane
12) Laura's proud artisan father is grumbling over some perceived slight or voicing opinions which make him sound like the most left-wing 19th century "liberal" you are likely to meet anywhere
I could go on. I suppose the familiarity adds to the cosiness factor of the series, but it also makes it suffer from the "status quo syndrome". In one episode, Miss Lane fell passionately in love with a radical school teacher, but when he was sacked and had to move away, she didn't move away with him. Why not? Lately, Laura's latest flame has left town, and she doesn't follow him. Again, why not?? At least Miss Lane is the proprietor of a post office which she has inherited by her father: Laura had nothing to keep her, except a decent-ish job - and the status quo rule. The series relies on Miss Lane and Laura staying where they are and continuing to do exactly what they are doing, which means their romance prospects are severy limited. You find the same kind of thing in other series: it's no surprise, for instance, that every single time one of the students in "Fame" goes to an audition which could mean his/her big break, he/she blows it. Well naturally: if they made it, they would have to leave the school - and the series. The series which suffered most from the status quo syndrome, as I remember, was "Doctor Bramwell": not only could she not find love until the series was over, not even her nurse was allowed to walk down the aisle. The only one who braved the Bramwell curse was the doctor's charming dad, who found a new wife: this change actually improved the series and got it out of a depressing "Doctor Bramwell has good intentions but messes up" phase. There's a lesson there somewhere: a bit of change now and then does no harm to a series. In the next episode of "Lark Rise", Mr Dowland apparently finally proposes to Miss Lane. This could be the start of a new era where Miss Lane and Mr Dowland take on the challenges of a shared life. Or not. I'm not holding my breath.
"Lark Rise" is not really a favourite series of mine, but it has its charm. This is a series which lives on its cosiness. Inserting any "darkness" to speak of would be fatal. It's what you see on a dark Monday night when you're feeling exhausted and a little depressed and are not up for any intellectual challenges. Once in a while, the series throws in a plot line which is not entirely predictable and exceeds my expectations - which admittedly are not that high. A well-known trick is to suddenly flesh out the emotional life on one of its paper-thin characters. Nevertheless, very much remains the same in both Lark Rise and Candleford. I've heard of "drinking games" being constructed around series like "Friends", when you're supposed to take a drink every time a particular event takes place - when a character displays a certain mannerism, say, or uses a certain catch phrase. "Lark Rise" seems an ideal candidate for a game like that. Please take a drink every time:
1) Laura intones something ominous in the voice-over which starts and ends every episode, though no great momentous change is in fact forthcoming
2) Miss Lane dispenses good advice with a brave smile
3) Miss Lane puts someone in their place with a triumphant smile (not unlike the brave one)
4) Twister does something kooky
5) Thomas Brown says something supposedly pious but trite with somewhat fake fervour ("It is our CHRISTIAN DUTY to take out the trash" say - not that he's said that yet)
6) The Pratt sisters show up in matching over-the-top clothes
7) The Pratt sisters spread malicious gossip or complain about the service at the post office
8) Laura flirts with someone who is not her childhood sweetheart Alfie
9) Mrs Arless fritters away money with some jolly "seize the day" excuse
10) In the first season: Sir Timothy very inappropriately confides in Miss Lane about his marriage problems, or his wife stalks jealously out after having caught him being over-friendly to Miss Lane
11) In the second season: Mr Dowland is spooning around and not daring to confess his love to Miss Lane
12) Laura's proud artisan father is grumbling over some perceived slight or voicing opinions which make him sound like the most left-wing 19th century "liberal" you are likely to meet anywhere
I could go on. I suppose the familiarity adds to the cosiness factor of the series, but it also makes it suffer from the "status quo syndrome". In one episode, Miss Lane fell passionately in love with a radical school teacher, but when he was sacked and had to move away, she didn't move away with him. Why not? Lately, Laura's latest flame has left town, and she doesn't follow him. Again, why not?? At least Miss Lane is the proprietor of a post office which she has inherited by her father: Laura had nothing to keep her, except a decent-ish job - and the status quo rule. The series relies on Miss Lane and Laura staying where they are and continuing to do exactly what they are doing, which means their romance prospects are severy limited. You find the same kind of thing in other series: it's no surprise, for instance, that every single time one of the students in "Fame" goes to an audition which could mean his/her big break, he/she blows it. Well naturally: if they made it, they would have to leave the school - and the series. The series which suffered most from the status quo syndrome, as I remember, was "Doctor Bramwell": not only could she not find love until the series was over, not even her nurse was allowed to walk down the aisle. The only one who braved the Bramwell curse was the doctor's charming dad, who found a new wife: this change actually improved the series and got it out of a depressing "Doctor Bramwell has good intentions but messes up" phase. There's a lesson there somewhere: a bit of change now and then does no harm to a series. In the next episode of "Lark Rise", Mr Dowland apparently finally proposes to Miss Lane. This could be the start of a new era where Miss Lane and Mr Dowland take on the challenges of a shared life. Or not. I'm not holding my breath.
Sunday, 24 October 2010
The good, the bad and the downright bonkers
Promising news from the UK: it seems "Downton Abbey", the drama scripted by Julian Fellowes which apparently is a good old family saga in the "Upstairs Downstairs" style, is doing very well. Hmmm. So themes like family relationships, missing heirs and social tension set in a historical context are popular, are they? "Edgy" and "trendy" dramas not so hot anymore (if they ever were)? Feel silly about axing "Dombey and Son" yet, BBC?
Speaking of family sagas, I've now started watching "North and South" again - not Gaskell's this time, but the TV series made on the basis of John Jakes's American civil war potboilers "North and South" and "Love and War". The problem with the series is that each episode is so long - about 1 hour 30 minutes - and you don't always feel up to spending that much time in the company of the families Main and Hazard. But it is a nostalgic delight for me, because I saw it as a schoolgirl and analysed it at length with one of my best friends. It's nice to see that the things that annoyed us then still annoy me now. Subtle this series is not. The good characters are good, the bad ones are bad, and there's an end to it - no psychology or nuances needed. The whole series starts as it means to go on - we see two little girl playing one sunny day on the Main plantation. One little girl (dark-haired) robs a bird's nest. The other (blonde) urges her to give the bird its egg back. You've guessed it: they are The Good Sister and The Bad Sister of Orry Main, one of the series' heroes. It's a rotten job (in both cases), but someone has to do it. Good Sister grows up to be loyal, loving, kind to slaves etc., Bad Sister grows up to be sly, wanton, war-mongering, greedy and downright murderous. She also grins a lot.
With a setup as schematic as this, you can't really hope for any interesting villains, and so it proves. There are two things that can be said for the two head baddies Elkannah Bent and Justin La Motte: they've got great villain-y names, and they are not a pain to look at (though you tire of Bent's self-satisfied mug ere long). And that's it, really. As a girl, I used to try to feel some sympathy for Justin, mainly because he was saddled with Madeline, Orry's flame, as a wife. I had a strong dislike for Madeline back then, but I realise now that I was a bit too hard on her, and that her hubby is a lost cause villain-wise. Never mind giving your wife enough cause for adultery: Justin gives Madeline enough cause to throw a Roman orgy every other Saturday had she wished it, which of course she doesn't. He beats her. He rapes her. He cheats on her with a slave girl (who is probably none too willing, seeing he is no great friend of slaves). Later on, he kills her trusted woman servant/mother surrogate and drugs Madeline into becoming an obedient wife (actually, that part was rather fun). You really can't blame Madeline for hooking up with Orry - who is of course not only a lay but Her One True Love. Gosh, she is annoying, though. That breathiness. That sick-making goody-goody-ness. During the war, it isn't enough that she helps refugees (mainly black ones, to ensure their deserving status). She has to beggar herself doing so. Yuk.
There is one character who is even more annoying than Madeline, though, and that is Bent. Justin seems low-key and measured in comparison to this supremely irritating loony. You've got to hand it to John Jakes, though: if he wanted to create a villain whom nobody, not even the most hardened villain groupie, could like, he pulled it off. I and my friend were very scathing about Bent's over-the-topness even as schoolchildren, from the all-too-obvious name of his all-too-obviously vicious black horse at West Point to the scene where he runs into a burning building full of gunpowder bellowing "I'm gonna save my empire". Kinda stupid, wouldn't you say?
Enough criticism though: within its limits, "North and South" is great entertainment, and it does two things surprisingly well. One, it manages to give a balanced account about the North-South conflict. Not all abolitionists are wonderful people, for instance: Virgilia, the sister of the series' other hero George Hazard, is fanatically anti-South on account of the slave issue, and at one time joins John Brown, he whose body lies a'mouldering in the grave. Not a very nice character, it turns out. On the other hand, slavery is not in any way excused. Sadistic slave owners and ditto slave overseers are not the only problem either: as soon as Lincoln proclaims the abolition of slavery during the war, the ex-slaves of the oh-so-decent Main family leave, just like everywhere else. You don't say no to freedom, however nice your former owners may be. At the same time, we are given to understand that the war wasn't just about slavery: other issues were at stake, such as the wish of the southern states to be independent of the North. You get the distinct feeling that much more could have been done on both sides to promote unity and good will.
Two, the friendship between the two heroes Orry and George is really touching. I didn't care about this as a girl. Friendship was boring (in TV dramas, that is, though very important in one's own life): what I wanted from a drama was romance. There are romances aplenty in "North and South", but they are not as central to the plot as George's and Orry's friendship. When Orry and George part at one time and look dejectedly at each other, not knowing if they will ever meet again and if so if their friendship can be saved, it is as sad as a love scene: far sadder, in fact, than any of the crises between Orry and the swooning Madeline.
Speaking of family sagas, I've now started watching "North and South" again - not Gaskell's this time, but the TV series made on the basis of John Jakes's American civil war potboilers "North and South" and "Love and War". The problem with the series is that each episode is so long - about 1 hour 30 minutes - and you don't always feel up to spending that much time in the company of the families Main and Hazard. But it is a nostalgic delight for me, because I saw it as a schoolgirl and analysed it at length with one of my best friends. It's nice to see that the things that annoyed us then still annoy me now. Subtle this series is not. The good characters are good, the bad ones are bad, and there's an end to it - no psychology or nuances needed. The whole series starts as it means to go on - we see two little girl playing one sunny day on the Main plantation. One little girl (dark-haired) robs a bird's nest. The other (blonde) urges her to give the bird its egg back. You've guessed it: they are The Good Sister and The Bad Sister of Orry Main, one of the series' heroes. It's a rotten job (in both cases), but someone has to do it. Good Sister grows up to be loyal, loving, kind to slaves etc., Bad Sister grows up to be sly, wanton, war-mongering, greedy and downright murderous. She also grins a lot.
With a setup as schematic as this, you can't really hope for any interesting villains, and so it proves. There are two things that can be said for the two head baddies Elkannah Bent and Justin La Motte: they've got great villain-y names, and they are not a pain to look at (though you tire of Bent's self-satisfied mug ere long). And that's it, really. As a girl, I used to try to feel some sympathy for Justin, mainly because he was saddled with Madeline, Orry's flame, as a wife. I had a strong dislike for Madeline back then, but I realise now that I was a bit too hard on her, and that her hubby is a lost cause villain-wise. Never mind giving your wife enough cause for adultery: Justin gives Madeline enough cause to throw a Roman orgy every other Saturday had she wished it, which of course she doesn't. He beats her. He rapes her. He cheats on her with a slave girl (who is probably none too willing, seeing he is no great friend of slaves). Later on, he kills her trusted woman servant/mother surrogate and drugs Madeline into becoming an obedient wife (actually, that part was rather fun). You really can't blame Madeline for hooking up with Orry - who is of course not only a lay but Her One True Love. Gosh, she is annoying, though. That breathiness. That sick-making goody-goody-ness. During the war, it isn't enough that she helps refugees (mainly black ones, to ensure their deserving status). She has to beggar herself doing so. Yuk.
There is one character who is even more annoying than Madeline, though, and that is Bent. Justin seems low-key and measured in comparison to this supremely irritating loony. You've got to hand it to John Jakes, though: if he wanted to create a villain whom nobody, not even the most hardened villain groupie, could like, he pulled it off. I and my friend were very scathing about Bent's over-the-topness even as schoolchildren, from the all-too-obvious name of his all-too-obviously vicious black horse at West Point to the scene where he runs into a burning building full of gunpowder bellowing "I'm gonna save my empire". Kinda stupid, wouldn't you say?
Enough criticism though: within its limits, "North and South" is great entertainment, and it does two things surprisingly well. One, it manages to give a balanced account about the North-South conflict. Not all abolitionists are wonderful people, for instance: Virgilia, the sister of the series' other hero George Hazard, is fanatically anti-South on account of the slave issue, and at one time joins John Brown, he whose body lies a'mouldering in the grave. Not a very nice character, it turns out. On the other hand, slavery is not in any way excused. Sadistic slave owners and ditto slave overseers are not the only problem either: as soon as Lincoln proclaims the abolition of slavery during the war, the ex-slaves of the oh-so-decent Main family leave, just like everywhere else. You don't say no to freedom, however nice your former owners may be. At the same time, we are given to understand that the war wasn't just about slavery: other issues were at stake, such as the wish of the southern states to be independent of the North. You get the distinct feeling that much more could have been done on both sides to promote unity and good will.
Two, the friendship between the two heroes Orry and George is really touching. I didn't care about this as a girl. Friendship was boring (in TV dramas, that is, though very important in one's own life): what I wanted from a drama was romance. There are romances aplenty in "North and South", but they are not as central to the plot as George's and Orry's friendship. When Orry and George part at one time and look dejectedly at each other, not knowing if they will ever meet again and if so if their friendship can be saved, it is as sad as a love scene: far sadder, in fact, than any of the crises between Orry and the swooning Madeline.
Sunday, 17 October 2010
Darcymania - still going strong
Phew. I started my new job Monday this week, and although it's good to have a reliable source of income again, working is - well, hard work. A lot of self-indulgence literature is needed to sweeten those half-hours of lunch. I have recently ordered a new batch of sequels to or reworkings of Jane Austen's novels - a kind of fanfiction in print, in other words. This has become a huge genre, and is a good source for light reads. One may wonder why Austen's work is especially popular in this context: other authors, such as the great Victorians, aren't nearly as much of a draw to sequel/prequel/story-from-another-point-of-view/story-reset-in-modern-times writers. But I'm not complaining: I like Austen, but not enough to feel protective of her or her characters, which makes me the ideal market for these kind of books.
One thing you can't help noticing when looking for light reads inspired by Austen at, say, Amazon, is the predominance of Pride and Prejudice-themed books in general, and Mr Darcy-themed books in particular. "Loving Mr Darcy", "To Conquer Mr Darcy", "Seducing Mr Darcy", "Mr Darcy's Tempation", "Mr Darcy's Obsession", "Mr Darcy's Decision", "Mr Darcy's Diary"... These are only a few of the mass of titles containing the name of Pride and Prejudice's famous hero. Now, I'm a little ambivalent when it comes to this trend. On the one hand, I like to see other women - the authors of these books are mostly female - admitting to having a literary crush and indulging their fantasies. It makes me feel less of a freak for salivating over entirely fictional male characters. And as heroes go, Mr Darcy isn't that bad. He's intelligent, interestingly flawed and capable of improving under the benevolent influence of his love for Elizabeth: a very romantic and appealing idea. Of course, the Davies TV adaptation of "Pride and Prejudice" did a lot for Mr Darcy, not only because of the famous "wet shirt scene" (it is really very chaste - I don't quite see what the fuss is about), but because it depicted Mr Darcy's sulky behaviour as owing more to a feeling of unease at social gatherings than to family pride. Mr Darcy, one feels, would absolutely hate to attend a modern cocktail party, and that is undoubtedly an endearing characteristic.
However, I have some problems with Mr Darcy as well: family pride is a flaw I have difficulty in forgiving anyone, and he does have it in spades. When he is acting as if Meryton society is beneath him, it's because he really thinks it is. Elizabeth's "inferior connections" pain him, and by that he means the fact that her uncles are mere - gasp - merchants and solicitors. He is only nice to the Gardiners later in the book because he wants to curry favour with Elizabeth. Moreover, I don't think he ever did properly apologise for separating Bingley from Jane. All this is forgivable, certainly, and I still feel friendly towards Mr Darcy, not least because he broke the mould for how a hero had to behave. But if, like me, one does not positively fancy Mr Darcy, then Darcymania can become a bit wearing.
My own interest in Austen sequels is shallow enough - I'm fascinated by the matchmaking element. Perhaps there is a reason why "Emma" is my favourite Austen novel. When I read a "Pride and Prejudice" sequel, it is because I want to see how the love lives of Georgiana, Kitty, Mary and the other girls who were unattached at the end of "P&P" develop. Little dramas within the already settled marriages are welcome as well, as long as everything turns out all right. Just because a marriage is happy doesn't mean that the couple in question has to spend all its time billing and cooing. I'm equally interested in sequels to the other Austen novels. However, the prevailing Darcy obsession being what it is, much of the Austen sequel/reworking market is focused on how good Mr Darcy is in bed with Elizabeth, and on novels which retell "P&P" from his viewpoint. I can understand the existence of the first kind of Darcy novels: though I find Darcy/Elizabeth sex scenes extremely embarrassing myself, this is obviously a matter of taste, and I would probably feel very differently if I read an equally graphic scene featuring one of my favourite Dickens villains who had finally managed to score. But a retelling of "P&P" from Darcy's viewpoint? Is it really necessary? Doesn't Austen manage to cover his angle quite well in the original? A retelling from the point of view of one of Austen's bêtes noires - Mrs Bennet? Mr Collins? Lady Catherine? - would yield more surprising insights. Yet there seem to be dozens of variations on the Darcy's diary-theme.
But why whine when it could have been so much worse. There are heroes who would have deserved an enormous female fan club much less. Knightleymania - now that would really have been hard to understand.
One thing you can't help noticing when looking for light reads inspired by Austen at, say, Amazon, is the predominance of Pride and Prejudice-themed books in general, and Mr Darcy-themed books in particular. "Loving Mr Darcy", "To Conquer Mr Darcy", "Seducing Mr Darcy", "Mr Darcy's Tempation", "Mr Darcy's Obsession", "Mr Darcy's Decision", "Mr Darcy's Diary"... These are only a few of the mass of titles containing the name of Pride and Prejudice's famous hero. Now, I'm a little ambivalent when it comes to this trend. On the one hand, I like to see other women - the authors of these books are mostly female - admitting to having a literary crush and indulging their fantasies. It makes me feel less of a freak for salivating over entirely fictional male characters. And as heroes go, Mr Darcy isn't that bad. He's intelligent, interestingly flawed and capable of improving under the benevolent influence of his love for Elizabeth: a very romantic and appealing idea. Of course, the Davies TV adaptation of "Pride and Prejudice" did a lot for Mr Darcy, not only because of the famous "wet shirt scene" (it is really very chaste - I don't quite see what the fuss is about), but because it depicted Mr Darcy's sulky behaviour as owing more to a feeling of unease at social gatherings than to family pride. Mr Darcy, one feels, would absolutely hate to attend a modern cocktail party, and that is undoubtedly an endearing characteristic.
However, I have some problems with Mr Darcy as well: family pride is a flaw I have difficulty in forgiving anyone, and he does have it in spades. When he is acting as if Meryton society is beneath him, it's because he really thinks it is. Elizabeth's "inferior connections" pain him, and by that he means the fact that her uncles are mere - gasp - merchants and solicitors. He is only nice to the Gardiners later in the book because he wants to curry favour with Elizabeth. Moreover, I don't think he ever did properly apologise for separating Bingley from Jane. All this is forgivable, certainly, and I still feel friendly towards Mr Darcy, not least because he broke the mould for how a hero had to behave. But if, like me, one does not positively fancy Mr Darcy, then Darcymania can become a bit wearing.
My own interest in Austen sequels is shallow enough - I'm fascinated by the matchmaking element. Perhaps there is a reason why "Emma" is my favourite Austen novel. When I read a "Pride and Prejudice" sequel, it is because I want to see how the love lives of Georgiana, Kitty, Mary and the other girls who were unattached at the end of "P&P" develop. Little dramas within the already settled marriages are welcome as well, as long as everything turns out all right. Just because a marriage is happy doesn't mean that the couple in question has to spend all its time billing and cooing. I'm equally interested in sequels to the other Austen novels. However, the prevailing Darcy obsession being what it is, much of the Austen sequel/reworking market is focused on how good Mr Darcy is in bed with Elizabeth, and on novels which retell "P&P" from his viewpoint. I can understand the existence of the first kind of Darcy novels: though I find Darcy/Elizabeth sex scenes extremely embarrassing myself, this is obviously a matter of taste, and I would probably feel very differently if I read an equally graphic scene featuring one of my favourite Dickens villains who had finally managed to score. But a retelling of "P&P" from Darcy's viewpoint? Is it really necessary? Doesn't Austen manage to cover his angle quite well in the original? A retelling from the point of view of one of Austen's bêtes noires - Mrs Bennet? Mr Collins? Lady Catherine? - would yield more surprising insights. Yet there seem to be dozens of variations on the Darcy's diary-theme.
But why whine when it could have been so much worse. There are heroes who would have deserved an enormous female fan club much less. Knightleymania - now that would really have been hard to understand.
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Whatever happened to Mandy (and other series casualties)?
Things are moving professionally. I have been offered a new job, but they seem to be in no particular hurry for me to start. In the meantime, I have leisure to clean my flat, go for walks, buy things I've wanted for a long time such as a new keyboard for my computer (which turns out to be just as rubbish as the old one - surely it can't be my typing that's at fault?), read and watch more Disney Channel than is strictly good for me.
This would have been a perfect time to discover a new exciting TV series, preferably available on a DVD box, which I could watch and blog about at some length. But there is little new stuff out there to my taste. While waiting for the new Doctor Who box set (15 November?? What is taking them so long? Are we foreign geeks condemned to be always six months behind English viewers?) I must settle for unearthing/re-watching old favourites such as "The West Wing" and "Fame".
Maybe this is as good a time as any to tackle a question which engages most of us TV-series viewers, namely How To Write A Character Out Of A Script. Or more specifically, how not to do it.
It took "Fame" some time, but half-way into season two we finally get a proper write-out of the sweet old drama teacher Crandall. He dies of a heart attack; Danny, whose favourite teacher he is, goes off the rails for a bit; the pupils do a celebration piece etc. etc. Excellent. This is how it should be done. But I was reminded of a line in the same episode: "Do I have to pass on before you can be reconciled to me?". The poor actor who played Crandall had actually died: when this happens, a series character can be pretty certain of getting a proper send-off. In other cases, though - when the actor playing a character has got another job, or left the series for another reason, or if the powers that be decide to get rid of a character because they feel he/she hasn't been a hit with the viewers - we often get no write-out at all. The series goes on without the character in question as if nothing has happened, and no-one even mentions him/her anymore. An example from "Fame" is the drama student Montgomery who was part of the Fame gang in the first season: in the second one, he is no longer there and none of his bosom pals even make a remark on the fact.
What TV series creators need to understand is that viewers don't care about what has happened backstage. They (the TV people) may not feel very charitable towards, say, an actor who has decided to abandon ship, but that doesn't mean that we viewers don't care about what happens to the character the actor plays. Even if the character him/herself is not a very popular one, the internal logic of the series demands that we are informed about what has happened when he/she is suddenly not around anymore. Take another example, Mandy in "The West Wing". Poor Mandy had a tough brief: I don't think she was allowed to be right about one single issue. She was the political consultant who had to point out how the administration's politics would "play in the media". In season two, she had suddenly disappeared. No warning and no comments made by the rest of the White House staff. It didn't damage the series: the political consultant figure was not really that necessary. But as a viewer you did ask yourself: where is Mandy? Just because she was underwritten, that doesn't mean that she didn't exist.
Here are the things I as a TV viewer would very much like TV series creators to consider when they want/have to ditch a character:
Do you really need to do it? In some cases, writing out a character from a series proves completely painless. It can also become a way to bring new people in and freshen up the plots. But in other cases, a series never quite recovers from a write-out of an important character. If the actor ups and leaves, there is little you can do, except in some cases replace him/her with another actor (the viewers will grumble at first, but we'll get used to it: we do see that there can be no Holmes without Watson and no Rumpole without Hilda, whoever plays the vital part). But if there is a question of a back-stage spat, do try to make things up before kicking ut the offending actor. When it comes to popularity, remember to give characters - especially new ones - time to develop. A rapid overturn of characters is a sure sign that a series is on its last legs. Also, it should be pretty obvious that not all characters are supposed to be particularly loveable. They may still have an important part to play plot-wise. Not everyone can be either cuddly or a charismatic villain (having said that, I'm glad they got rid of Caan in "Grey's Anatomy"- what a bitch!).
Explain what has happened It doesn't have to be an elaborate explanation. "How is Mandy doing working with Senator so-and-so?" "I miss Montgomery, he would have known what to do. I hope the LA Drama School knows what it's got in him." That kind of thing. Clumsy exposition, yes, but far better than to pretend nothing's happened. If you know beforehand that an actor is going to disappear by the end of the season, use the knowledge in order to script the character's exit properly.
Don't make the explanation too dependent on new factors which the viewers cannot know about For years, I thought I had missed a couple of episodes of "Upstairs Downstairs" when I learned that the daughter in the house, Elizabeth, was not only in the States but married to a bloke I'd never heard of. I certainly don't grudge Elizabeth a husband, but it would have been less confusing if she had only just met another man at the beginning of the series where she didn't star - the marriage could come later (still off-stage).
Show the character some respect An affectionate (or otherwise) mention of an absentee character now and then does no harm to the story. There was an amusing take on the fact that discarded characters are next to never mentioned in a Doctor Who episode, where the Doctor and his then companion Rose met up with one of his old assistants, Sarah Jane. "That's funny, because he never mentioned you", Rose comments waspishly. "Wait, let me think... no, never." It does seem a bit strange, doesn't it?
By all means introduce a new character, but make sure he/she is not a surrogate for the old one Makers of TV series are usually aware of this, but you sometimes come across a character whose only reason for existence is, say, that Molly needs a new boyfriend. But maybe Molly doesn't need a new boyfriend, at least not before he can have some other function as well and be well integrated in the plot. To create a new character who has precisely the same function as an old one is mostly a mistake.
Now I really have to change my keyboard back to the old one - this one keeps bailing out. I'm going to have to write it off.
This would have been a perfect time to discover a new exciting TV series, preferably available on a DVD box, which I could watch and blog about at some length. But there is little new stuff out there to my taste. While waiting for the new Doctor Who box set (15 November?? What is taking them so long? Are we foreign geeks condemned to be always six months behind English viewers?) I must settle for unearthing/re-watching old favourites such as "The West Wing" and "Fame".
Maybe this is as good a time as any to tackle a question which engages most of us TV-series viewers, namely How To Write A Character Out Of A Script. Or more specifically, how not to do it.
It took "Fame" some time, but half-way into season two we finally get a proper write-out of the sweet old drama teacher Crandall. He dies of a heart attack; Danny, whose favourite teacher he is, goes off the rails for a bit; the pupils do a celebration piece etc. etc. Excellent. This is how it should be done. But I was reminded of a line in the same episode: "Do I have to pass on before you can be reconciled to me?". The poor actor who played Crandall had actually died: when this happens, a series character can be pretty certain of getting a proper send-off. In other cases, though - when the actor playing a character has got another job, or left the series for another reason, or if the powers that be decide to get rid of a character because they feel he/she hasn't been a hit with the viewers - we often get no write-out at all. The series goes on without the character in question as if nothing has happened, and no-one even mentions him/her anymore. An example from "Fame" is the drama student Montgomery who was part of the Fame gang in the first season: in the second one, he is no longer there and none of his bosom pals even make a remark on the fact.
What TV series creators need to understand is that viewers don't care about what has happened backstage. They (the TV people) may not feel very charitable towards, say, an actor who has decided to abandon ship, but that doesn't mean that we viewers don't care about what happens to the character the actor plays. Even if the character him/herself is not a very popular one, the internal logic of the series demands that we are informed about what has happened when he/she is suddenly not around anymore. Take another example, Mandy in "The West Wing". Poor Mandy had a tough brief: I don't think she was allowed to be right about one single issue. She was the political consultant who had to point out how the administration's politics would "play in the media". In season two, she had suddenly disappeared. No warning and no comments made by the rest of the White House staff. It didn't damage the series: the political consultant figure was not really that necessary. But as a viewer you did ask yourself: where is Mandy? Just because she was underwritten, that doesn't mean that she didn't exist.
Here are the things I as a TV viewer would very much like TV series creators to consider when they want/have to ditch a character:
Do you really need to do it? In some cases, writing out a character from a series proves completely painless. It can also become a way to bring new people in and freshen up the plots. But in other cases, a series never quite recovers from a write-out of an important character. If the actor ups and leaves, there is little you can do, except in some cases replace him/her with another actor (the viewers will grumble at first, but we'll get used to it: we do see that there can be no Holmes without Watson and no Rumpole without Hilda, whoever plays the vital part). But if there is a question of a back-stage spat, do try to make things up before kicking ut the offending actor. When it comes to popularity, remember to give characters - especially new ones - time to develop. A rapid overturn of characters is a sure sign that a series is on its last legs. Also, it should be pretty obvious that not all characters are supposed to be particularly loveable. They may still have an important part to play plot-wise. Not everyone can be either cuddly or a charismatic villain (having said that, I'm glad they got rid of Caan in "Grey's Anatomy"- what a bitch!).
Explain what has happened It doesn't have to be an elaborate explanation. "How is Mandy doing working with Senator so-and-so?" "I miss Montgomery, he would have known what to do. I hope the LA Drama School knows what it's got in him." That kind of thing. Clumsy exposition, yes, but far better than to pretend nothing's happened. If you know beforehand that an actor is going to disappear by the end of the season, use the knowledge in order to script the character's exit properly.
Don't make the explanation too dependent on new factors which the viewers cannot know about For years, I thought I had missed a couple of episodes of "Upstairs Downstairs" when I learned that the daughter in the house, Elizabeth, was not only in the States but married to a bloke I'd never heard of. I certainly don't grudge Elizabeth a husband, but it would have been less confusing if she had only just met another man at the beginning of the series where she didn't star - the marriage could come later (still off-stage).
Show the character some respect An affectionate (or otherwise) mention of an absentee character now and then does no harm to the story. There was an amusing take on the fact that discarded characters are next to never mentioned in a Doctor Who episode, where the Doctor and his then companion Rose met up with one of his old assistants, Sarah Jane. "That's funny, because he never mentioned you", Rose comments waspishly. "Wait, let me think... no, never." It does seem a bit strange, doesn't it?
By all means introduce a new character, but make sure he/she is not a surrogate for the old one Makers of TV series are usually aware of this, but you sometimes come across a character whose only reason for existence is, say, that Molly needs a new boyfriend. But maybe Molly doesn't need a new boyfriend, at least not before he can have some other function as well and be well integrated in the plot. To create a new character who has precisely the same function as an old one is mostly a mistake.
Now I really have to change my keyboard back to the old one - this one keeps bailing out. I'm going to have to write it off.
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