Gregory and the good old historical novel

Seeing as my feelings about Philippa Gregory's novels (and the TV drama The White Queen, which was based on three of them) are mixed, it's a bit strange that I keep going back and trying yet another novel by her. I can be pretty sure that I won't love it, but I'll probably not hate it either, and sometimes that means a great deal. As I was rifling listlessly through the long-ago-bought but unread novels in my bookcase, Gregory's The White Princess was the one that managed to make me want to read on after the first few sentences. There's a professionalism about her writing which is easy to appreciate when you've waded through a fair share of surprisingly inept historical novels which somehow made it into print. Also, she focuses on the story and the characters without constantly showing off how much reading-up she has done about the period, and is interested in the kind of history I like: that of kings, queens and other powerful personages, and above all their personal relationships. It's ironic that this kind of history is often called "political history", when one of the beguiling things about it is that it isn't political - in the sense of charged with modern ideological concerns. Most welcome, in times when the BBC sees fit to politicise even something like an adaptation (or rather butchering) of one of my favourite Christies, The Pale Horse (I hated it). Gregory's a Yorkist, too, so I felt she could be trusted to tell the story of Elizabeth of York, the princess who was married off to Henry VII in order to strengthen his claim to the throne (or rather give him any claim whatsoever) and went on to found the Tudor dynasty with him.

I like Gregory's take on Elizabeth, except that she still claims the girl had an affair with her uncle, which I can't believe. This, at least, makes Elizabeth a staunch defender of Richard III and the York claim, and her marriage to the man who stole Richard's crown gets off to a very rocky start. It's an intriguing story, and I've always wanted to know more about Henry VII's reign. For all that he had no business to snatch the English crown and badly malign his predecessor, Henry was no fool, and I suspect that he made an annoyingly competent king. The White Princess more or less bears this out. It does harp on the fact that Henry didn't know how to make himself popular the way the Yorks (especially Elizabeth's father Edward IV) did and that he taxed the people and fined his noblemen heavily. But then, a king's foremost duty is perhaps not to make himself popular. Gregory's Henry is sensible enough, and as the marital relationship improves I couldn't help feeling relieved. Then the stakes are raised when the so-called Perkin Warbeck rebellion gathers momentum. Never one to turn down a historical theory because it sounds a bit fanciful, Gregory explores the possibility that the youth who headed the rebellion, far from being some low-born impostor, might actually have been who he claimed to be: Elizabeth's younger brother, escaped from The Tower (or rather, never sent there at all as his mother sent a page boy to take his place). 

Pretty fascinating stuff - and yet, I nearly gave up on The White Princess a couple of times. The novel feels overlong and repetitive. Gregory's characters sometimes insist on making the same statement over and over with a few variations - it's a rhetorical quirk which can work but easily palls. Early on, for instance, Elizabeth's mother intones: "A king cannot let a pretender live. No king can allow a pretender to live." We heard you the first time, love. Storywise, the same points are made again and again too. I kept wishing the novel had been severely edited down to 300 pages or so instead of 518.

Still, I must say, Gregory makes a good case for the young pretender at least not being a brat called Perkin Warbeck - it does seem likely there was no such person. A page taking young Prince Richard's place in The Tower feels a bit adventure novel, though, as does the boy resurfacing the way he did, by way of some silk merchant. Sounds a bit shady to me. Nevertheless, several crowned heads of Europe recognised his claims and took him to their hearts, noblemen defected to him in droves and Henry was seriously rattled. Not just any old guttersnipe, then.

Incidentally, Gregory's Elizabeth doesn't seem very eager to find out who did kill the Princes (or prince and page boy) in The Tower. It's enough for her to be certain that it wasn't Richard III wot dunnit. Fair enough, I suppose.        

Wish list for Doctor Who series 13

So, yes, I admit, a large chunk of this list will be wishes for retcons of things that happened in series 12, which aren't very probable, at least not while Chris Chibnall is show runner. However, I hope I'll have time and space for other reflections as well, which are less to do with damage limitation and more with what would make a good series. Here we go.

The Doctor is not The Timeless Child: One can dream, can't one? It's perfectly possible to back away from this idea. Problem is, Chibnall invented it, so why would he? But just in case he has second thoughts - or, maybe, was playing us for mugs all along - there are two ways to retcon the whole Timeless Child mess. 

The hard retcon would reveal that there is no connection between The Timeless Child and the Doctor. The Master lied about them being one and the same, or - more plausibly - misinterpreted his findings in the Matrix and was quite simply mistaken. If he lied, then the truth would have to be that he is The Timeless Child as he would still need a reason to destroy Gallifrey. Many fans have commented on how much better it were if the Master was The Timeless Child and his bitterness towards the Time Lords was due to the fact that his former self was exploited for experiments, so that they could live (almost) forever. I'm not sure about what I think about this, as it would mean that the Master is a truly ancient being rather than the Doctor's contemporary, but it does fit, and I'd settle for it as a solution. The best thing, though, in my opinion, would be if the identity of The Timeless Child became a mystery again, and the story arc would be the Doctor setting out to find it.

The soft retcon would revolve around The Timeless Child indeed being the Doctor, but in essence a separate entity due to the mind wipe. It would be made clear that it's only from William Hartnell's incarnation onwards that the series protagonist truly becomes the Doctor, taking that title, running away with a TARDIS, travelling time and space while trying to help out etc. Both this solution and the previous one would demand that my second wish came true:

The Ruth Doctor is not pre-Hartnell: I didn't have time to get into the mystery of the Ruth Doctor in my previous post. To summarise, in the episode Fugitive of the Judoon, the Doctor runs into a woman who at first seemed to be an ordinary human, whose husband was possibly the said fugitive and an alien. It turns out, though, that she is the fugitive, and not just any old fugitive. After having her biology rewrite reversed and her memories restored, she introduces herself to the astounded Doctor as - the Doctor. When you're a time traveller with several lives, you're bound to run into yourself now and again, but puzzlingly, neither of the women can remember ever having been the other.

Now, while I liked the mystery and speculation around the Ruth Doctor as much as the next nerd, I wasn't too happy with this plot development. Unlike many fans, I just wasn't that impressed with Jo Martin's Doctor. Perhaps I was biased by my impression of her performance as Ruth: I had just remarked to myself that she seemed oddly flat and unengaging (to be fair, her hubby had just been disintegrated), when Ruth was suddenly revealed to be the Doctor. I mean, what? I assumed that we were being introduced to the future Fourteenth Doctor and wasn't much looking forward to her being around for three series or so.

With hindsight, however, this would have been better than what was soon hinted instead: that Jo Martin's Doctor predated Jodie Whittaker's. I've already explained how The Timeless Child lessens the impact of Whittaker's Doctor being a woman; the same could be said for the Ruth Doctor development. What's more, after we learned about The Timeless Child, the inference seemed to be that the Ruth Doctor was one of the Timeless Child incarnations of the character. But why was she already calling herself the Doctor? Why did she have a TARDIS in the shape of a police box? Is there no difference between the Timeless Child lives of the Doctor and the ones we know about?

It is profoundly unsatisfactory. For the sake of the future of the show, I would prefer the Ruth Doctor to indeed be the Fourteenth Doctor, although some plot details would have to be explained away. You can't expect to instantly love every version of the Doctor. I could warm to Martin's portrayal in time. She did perk up once the reveal was done, and maybe she was going for a "clueless human" effect in her performance as Ruth expressly meant to contrast with her Time Lord (or something) self, in the way Tennant contrasted John Smith with The Doctor in Human Nature/The Family of Blood. Martin would not have been my pick for the part, but if accepting her as the Fourteenth Doctor means the canon remains intact and Whittaker can still be the first female Doctor, then I'll take it. 

Sacha Dhawan's Master being before Missy in The Master's time line: Sometimes I wonder whether Chibnall watched series ten at all. The Master being Missy, or her and the Doctor getting close to healing the breach back when she was Michelle Gomez and he was Peter Capaldi, are circumstances never alluded to in series twelve. Instead, there appears to have been a reset: the Master is much more reminiscent of John Simm's version, and even the Simm Master wouldn't have destroyed Gallifrey. So what happened? I want to know.

Now, if the Doctor and the Master met in the wrong order time-wise, and Dhawan's Master has actually not become Missy yet, that would explain a lot, though not everything (Missy shows no sign of remembering having destroyed Gallifrey, for instance). My linear mind prefers a straight A to B character development, but at least this solution wouldn't effectively wipe away all the effort Moffat put into Missy's redemption arc. I mean, I can see a post-Missy Master turning bad again - Missy was never truly good, after all - but then surely he or she would be bad in a different way, and have different feelings towards the Doctor (more regret than hatred and envy)? If Dhawan is after Gomez, they'd better have a good explanation.

A story arc: Although The Timeless Child turned out to be a story arc I didn't care for, I still appreciated there being one in series twelve. The arc-lessness of series eleven really dragged it down. I know many fans are fed up with the "mystery box" arc in Doctor Who (What is Bad Wolf? What is Torchwood? Who is Harold Saxon? What is the Hybrid? Keep watching and we'll tell you!) I don't have any problems with it, frankly: it sparks many an inventive fan theory you can enjoy along the way. But yes, there are other kinds of arcs - the Doctor travelling to find the real Timeless Child for instance, or other Time Lords, survivors of the Master's attack, showing up here and there throughout the Doctor's adventures until she finds their new colony. I'm almost through the Classic Doctor "Key to Time" episodes, and something as simple as that - components of something that need to be found and then joined, with huge consequences in the finale - would work just fine.

Some old Doctor Who writers returning: Chibnall must be credited with finding some new, interesting talent, though they don't always deliver the second time around. But I miss the brilliance of Moffat's writing: couldn't he and Russell T Davies deliver standalone episodes to help out their successor? Toby Whithouse scripted several strong episodes as well - he's the one I would have chosen as show runner after Moffat. Mark Gatiss's record is more mixed, but there are several of his episodes I like very much (Night Terrors, The Crimson Horror, Robot of Sherwood and of course the Dickens episode, The Unquiet Dead, which I positively love). I'd be happy for him to return, as long as he doesn't introduce any Ice Warriors into his stories, 'cause they're boring. There are many others I could name: most of them may happen to be white and male, but they can write a story, and surely that's what matters. Let's see a little less worthiness and a bit more razzle dazzle. On that note:

The show climbing down from its soap box: Would you, Chibnall? Please? Doctor Who isn't Speaker's Corner. It isn't a beauty contest where the participants must declare their longing for World Peace. Under Chibnall, even elements the show previously managed to pull off admirably smoothly, such as having a diverse cast and some gay plot lines/characters, have become forced. Little effort is put into making side characters of all colours and sexual preferences interesting. An exception, and one thing that actually worked in Praxeus, was the relationship between Jake and Adam: someone had actually gone to some trouble to make their problems relatable. Too bad this plot point was weakened by the story and by side-characters' empty referencing of same-sex partners in previous episodes, a ploy that did little more than signal "Whoo! Look how enlightened we are!". And this is just the pretty uncontentious stuff, harmless hobby horses ridden a little too hard. It's when the show gets truly political that it also gets truly nauseating, for which Orphan 55, Praxeus and Arachnids in the UK from series eleven are ample proof. 

If Chibnall and his co-writers want to get serious, tackling existential problems is something you can easily do in a sci-fi show - the mental health theme in Can Your Hear Me? was a bit modish, but it was on point. Just scrap the ideology and give us some solid story-telling.

The Timeless Child won't make me stop watching Doctor Who - but preachy episodes might

OK, the DVD box set of series twelve of Doctor Who is finally out: time to blog about it. I apologise to non-Whovians in advance, as there will be two Who blog posts in a row: one with my reflections on series twelve (this one), one with a wish list for things I want to happen in series thirteen. Because though the show has some serious problems under current show runner Chris Chibnall, I'm still not giving up on it.

This series is an interesting one, as it raises an important question. What is preferable, that a Doctor Who show runner ignores the show's lore and treats it as any old time-travelling sci-fi story, or that said show runner does engage with Who lore and makes a complete mess of it? On the evidence of series eleven and twelve, I would say the latter. I was kinder to series eleven than, with hindsight, I think it deserves because I was so relieved not to be lectured at by Chibnall and co. all of the time. Having rewatched most of the episodes, though, I have to say that it's pretty bland and that the quality dropped considerably from the Moffat era. I freely admit that, in spite of the many questionable choices Chibnall made when it came to Who lore, I enjoyed series twelve a good deal more. He may have played fast and loose with Time Lord history, but at least there were Time Lords. He may have ignored the Master's/Missy's redemption arc by bringing back a Master who is hostile to The Doctor and without any redeeming qualities (apart from being fun), but at least we do get him back. Also, Sacha Dhawan as the Master delivers a top-notch performance, especially when he conveys the rage and pain under the character's psychotic glee. The show is still not as good as it was under Russell T Davies and Steven Moffat, but at least it feels like proper Doctor Who again.

As for Chibnall's decisions, well... the worst ones can still be retconned or just ignored, as has happened before in the show's history, not least in the modern era, which is the only one I'm really familiar with. Davies killed off the Time Lords and destroyed Gallifrey in the off-screen "Time War". Moffat brought them back, with considerable effort, in the 50-year anniversary special The Day of the Doctor. As for potentially game-changing revelations that didn't change things all that much, we fans seem to be good at ignoring the implication of a lot of Claras saving the Doctor at different times of his career (as revealed in Moffat's Impossible Girl story arc), and let's not talk about the Hybrid, shall we? (A hybrid can't be two people, Steven - the very point of a hybrid is that it's two or more components merged into one.)

So what is it that Chibnall has gone and done? Well, his most controversial plot point is that of the  story arc of the series, the mystery of The Timeless Child. In the first (strong) two-parter Spyfall, the Master tells the Doctor that their whole existence is "built on the lie of The Timeless Child". So who is this being? The disappointing answer came in the series finale where the Doctor learns the whole truth (or is it?) from her old friend turned enemy. The child, whose origins were unknown, was found and adopted by a Gallifreyan scientist, who then discovered that it had the ability to regenerate into a different body when close to death. The scientist experimented on her charge for years, going through several of its regenerations in the process, until she found the secret of its ability, which she could then gene-splice into Gallifrey's population. So far, so cool - even New Whovians like myself are wise to the fact that Time Lords are a shifty bunch. But here's the rub: according to the Master, this child of the seemingly endless regenerations was no other than - the Doctor. After having served the Time Lords in a sort of peace-keeping society for many years, they got their mind wiped, so that all the Doctors we have seen on screen don't remember anything of their illustrious past.

Various commentators on YouTube (and I imagine elsewhere) have pointed out nearly everything that's wrong with this idea, from the lack of respect shown to William Hartnell, who is ousted from his place as the First Doctor for no good reason, to the harmful effect it has on the Doctor's character: from being just an average Time Lord who has made a difference by their actions, he or she is now just another boring Chosen One trope, not special by what they do but by what they are. I couldn't agree more with this criticism. Actually, I think The Timeless Child arc is disrespectful to all Doctors we have seen on screen, as it implies that Whittaker's Doctor is somehow enriched by the knowledge of all these anonymous pre-Hartnell lives.

To add my own pennyworth, having female Timeless Child Doctors running around the place, even if the current Doctor doesn't remember them, lessens the impact of the Twelth Doctor's subconscious decision when he regenerated (which I had just about made peace with) to give a female incarnation a try. Jodie Whittaker's reaction when she saw that she was a woman - an enthusiastic "Oh, brilliant!" - underlines that this was something new, an experience the hitherto often very blokeish Doctor was prepared to make the most of. But if he started life as a girl - eh - not quite such a leap then, is it? Also, I dislike the idea of there being a zillion Doctors out there. The Doctor used to be the plum part within British television, and the revelation of the casting of a new one was a big event. But now? Doctor rankings may have to include a lot of bit-part players. Syndrome's words in The Incredibles come to mind: "When everyone's super - no one will be."

For all that, The Timeless Child wasn't my major gripe with this series. Chibnall made other choices which were nearly as bad - destroying Gallifrey again, after Moffat went to such pains to restore it; ignoring the Master's redemption arc, as I've already mentioned; implying a bleak future for planet Earth, when what we learned during the Davies era pointed in another direction (what happened to the Great and Bountiful Human Empires?) and claiming that most of the human race succumbed in the Cyber Wars - but they didn't as, at the end of time, 300 trillion billion years into the future, there are enough humans around to be able to seriously threaten their ancestors. Remember the Toclafane? The worst thing of all, though, were the two environmentally themed episodes, Orphan 55 and Praxeus.

Of all the political messages that can be peddled in popular entertainment, I believe "monstrous man is ruining the planet" is my least favourite one. Environmental issues are interesting and relevant, I'm sure, but they're also complex. If this is the sort of thing that interests you, you'd be better off watching a well-balanced documentary which properly explores how certain problems arise - it may not all be the fault of us wicked Westerners. In both Orphan 55 and Praxeus, though, we got the usual simplistic hand-wringing which adds nothing and only irritates. Orphan 55 was an instance of preaching to the choir where even the choir thought it was a bit much. It was a shame, as Ed Hime wrote the best episode of series eleven, the blissfully unpolitical It Takes You Away. But now both he and Peter McTighe, who dared to not let Big Business be the Big Bad in Kerblam!, have signed the pledge - McTighe co-scripted Praxeus with Chibnall. They are, it turns out, as full of self-righteousness as just about any other Doctor Who writer out there.

Praxeus is often compared favourably to the universally loathed Orphan 55, but when it comes to the messaging, there is precious little to choose between them. True, Orphan 55 tried the viewers' patience with irritating side characters, a "twist" filched from Planet of the Apes and a "now, children" speech by the Doctor at the end. Plot- and characterwise, Praxeus did better, but the green-preaching was almost as unsubtle as Orphan 55's doom-laden warning against "global warming" (the one-size-fits-all term "climate change" apparently having been abandoned). The message of Praxeus was that plastic in the oceans is bad (my, really?), and this was shown by an alien virus which fed on plastic taking root on Earth. The alien scientist who'd brought the virus explained that Earth, being "saturated with plastic", was the ideal place to experiment on the locals and find a cure, and that she and her crew had travelled "three galaxies" to find such a suitably plasticky environment. Seeing as plastic is one of the most useful materials we have, I'd be interested to learn what these three galaxies use instead, and whether we can have some.

This may be a lot of space to devote to what is after all only two preachy episodes, and it's not as if Doctor Who hasn't had them before in the Davies and Moffat eras. (Planet of the Ood, anyone? The curiously well-regarded Oxygen?) I do feel, though, as if the moralistic tone of the show is becoming more and more of a problem, something I feared would happen when I heard Chibnall was about to be show runner. The whole Timeless Child arc may have happened partly in a misguided attempt to make the Doctor more diverse: the Timeless Child versions of the character we glimpse in the finale flashback, including the first one (a little black girl), are nearly all so diverse it almost tips into self-parody. This kind of tinkering with the Doctor's history does no cause any favours, however, and may even damage the future casting of a "real" Doctor with, say, a black actor, as people will be so sick of the Timeless Child nonsense they will see it as just another "woke" gimmick instead of awarding a good actor (like Paterson Joseph or Adrian Lester) a part they've richly deserved.

But it's not all bad news. There were episodes in this series I really liked, such as Can You Hear Me (we've seen the nightmare theme before and more chillingly in The Sarah Jane Adventures, but this was still good and Zellin was a great villain) and The Haunting of Villa Diodati, the most solid historical episode in ages. Plus we got a cameo from Captain Jack! I'm not signing off yet - but a lot depends on how the next series turns out.                                        

Cromwell on audio

I've written a great many blog posts on Hilary Mantel's Thomas Cromwell trilogy throughout the years. I've praised her Wolsey, been generally positive about Wolf Hall - though I thought it a little long-winded - and loved the more concentrated Bring Up The Bodies, though I was shocked by Cromwell's lack of an excuse to do for Anne Boleyn and her supposed lovers. Also, I quite liked the TV adaptation, though despite the great performances I found it a little heavy going. And now it's time for the final volume and piece of the puzzle, The Mirror and the Light, which ends with Cromwell's execution. So, I've read it then? Well, kinda.

As the novel is still in hardback and very hefty, I've actually cheated and listened to the audiobook. Not that this was such a mean feat as all that - the whole thing was 38 hours long, that is almost as long as a whole working week. I was lucky, though, as Ben Miles - who played Cromwell in the stage adaptation of Mantel's two first books - read, or rather performed, the book perfectly. In a story with as many characters as this, it's not only enjoyable but also very useful to have an actor/reader who does all the voices. Miles's gruff, no-nonsense voice for Cromwell himself brings me somewhat closer to the main character than reading about him in Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies did. A funny thing with Mantel's trilogy is that though it reads like a setting-the-record-straight defence of Cromwell, Cromwell the man still remains a bit elusive. Miles's Cromwell voice reminds the listener at all times that he was a pragmatic man of the people, trying to survive (and thrive) in a court full of disdainful though often ineffectual noblemen. I also loved Miles's Duke of Norfolk voice (aged warrior meets Ebenezer Scrooge) so much that I cheered inwardly every time Norfolk entered the scene, even when he didn't do a great deal.

The audiobook format made me more indulgent towards long, descriptive passages than I feel I would have been had I read them on the page. As is my habit, I listened to the audiobook while doing my household chores, and then even lengthy anecdotes about Cromwell's early, pre-court days were welcome. That said, I was also sufficiently gripped to substitute my usual reading hours for listening to The Mirror and the Light. When it comes out in paperback, I believe I will buy it and read it "for real" eventually. A worthwhile project would be to read the whole trilogy back to back. Let's see if I manage that.

How does The Mirror and the Light compare, then, to Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies? Well, it reminded me more of the first book than the second, which is my favourite. Wolf Hall and The Mirror and the Light are both a bit too wide-ranging for my taste, going off on a tangent ever so often. I did feel that there was more of this even in The Mirror and the Light than in Wolf Hall. Cromwell would suddenly fall into a reverie about some ball game he played in Italy or some old story about a giant - all things with metaphorical significance, mind you, but still a little frustrating to have to dwell on when, like me, what interests you most is court intrigue. There was also a fair bit of rehashing what had already happened in the past novels. All in all, I felt that the novel could very well have been trimmed and be made to focus more on Cromwell's present and less on his past.

It may seem a bit contradictory that I complain on one hand of not properly getting under Cromwell's skin, and on the other get impatient when the novel delves into potentially character-building passages of his past life. But there it is. Mantel's trilogy does a good job of writing up Cromwell's various achievements - and it's fun to see the rebellion under Robert Aske, who is held up as a shining hero in various costume dramas, get such short shrift here - but I'm still not quite sure what makes Cromwell tick, besides his devotion to Wolsey (which can no longer explain his actions now Wolsey is both dead and avenged). Why does he serve Henry VIII? Religious reform-wise, precious little comes of it. Is it naked ambition, then? Nothing wrong with that, but you don't really feel it from the Mantel's calm, collected Cromwell.

The portrait of Henry VIII remains interestingly different. I recently rewatched the ITV costume drama Henry VIII from 2003 where the raging monarch shouted at Danny Webb's shifty Cromwell (whom I unashamedly fancy), boxed his ears and at the end deliberately had him clumsily dispatched by a novice executioner. Mantel's Henry doesn't fly off the handle that easily. He is more passive-aggressive than aggressive-aggressive and pretty good at not facing up to the consequences of his own decisions. Rather than confronting his victims, he avoids them and keeps himself away from unpleasantness. I found the suggestion that he had Cromwell executed, not because he was angry with him but because he was afraid of him, intiguing. When the BBC dramatise this last part of the drama, I look forward to seeing how they handle the Henry-Cromwell relationship, not least because I'm still not sure what Mantel's Cromwell actually thinks of Henry.

I didn't fancy Mantel's version of Cromwell, but I do find it satisfying that in spite of his lack of looks, he's quite popular among the womenfolk, though half of the time he doesn't cotton on to it himself. It's nice to see Mantel realise that brains can be a source of attraction for females, because she didn't really seem aware of it in A Place of Greater Safety, now did she? The scenes where Cromwell talks at cross-purposes with Edward Seymour and his sister Bess, wanting to secure Bess as a bride for his boy while the Seymours are convinced he wants Bess for himself, are a bit contrived, but Bess's miffed reaction when she realises she's not getting Cromwell senior and Cromwell's obliviousness to the possibility that any woman could prefer him to his young, handsome son are nicely done. As for Lady Mary, later Mary I, she does precious little to scotch the hilarious rumour that Cromwell wants to marry her in order to gain the throne for himself. Ultra-Catholic Mary and gospel-loving Thomas Cromwell? I ship it.

More quarantine viewing: Maleficent: Mistress of Evil (don't get your hopes up)

So... seeing as I thoroughly disliked the first Maleficent film, why did I even bother with the sequel? Well, one, at the time I saw it I was staying at home for two weeks, shielding the world around me from my mild cough and watching a lot of telly (heroic, right?). Two, I had seen the trailer and... actually, it didn't look too bad. Of course, Maleficent wouldn't turn out to be the real Big Bad - that part was clearly meant for Michelle Pfeiffer's icy Queen Ingrith  - but there were hints that she would at least be allowed to be wrong. I liked the idea of her being so overprotective of Aurora that she disapproves of Aurora's suitor Prince Philip. For once, that "letting go of a loved one" message that has marred more than one Disney film (and Pixar film) could be put to some good use. The idea that Maleficent, who first became a villain when she cursed Aurora and (in this franchise, nowhere else!) was saved by her love for the girl, would turn villainous again because of that same love for that same girl was pretty neat. Maleficent would learn in the end that Aurora had enough love for both her and Philip, and that could ideally make for a better redemption arc than in the first film. The only thing that had me worried was the introduction of a whole fairy (or "fey") species to which Maleficent belonged. Please, please, not the "alien species standing in for put-upon minority" plot line which I absolutely hate!

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil turned out to be neither as good as I'd hoped it could be, nor as awful as I feared it could also easily be. There's still the glaring problem, made more apparent by the misleading film title, of having a Maleficent who is actually quite nice. This, as I've already ranted about when writing about the first film, is something no-one asked for. People wanted to see more of a fascinating villain - not some misunderstood Moor Queen who isn't very villainous at all except that one time when she, um, cursed a baby. The pompous narrative voice picks up the same "you're all wrong about Maleficent" thread as last time at the start of the film, sounding appalled that Maleficent is, when film two takes place, still regarded as evil, although she herself broke Aurora's curse. Yeah, well... that doesn't make it OK to cast it in the first place, does it? If you're going to rehabilitate a fairy-tale villain (or just about any famous villain of fiction), by all means give him or her relatable motives and show their ability to mend their ways. But don't pretend they never did anything bad to start with. That just doesn't work. Also, the whole "flipping the coin" scenario of making the bad guy the good guy and vice versa adds no nuance to a story - it's still black and white, only the parts have been swapped. King Stephan in Maleficent had little more depth than Maleficent in the animated Sleeping Beauty as a villain, only he was a lot less cool.

Anyway... this being the follow-up, Maleficent's lack of evil-doing is less of a problem than in the first film. We have already internalised that in this particular fictional universe, old Mal is really all right. So when it turns out that the whole jealousy of Philip thing won't be that big a deal, it is disappointing but not too surprising. On the plus side, the "oh, the poor fey are oppressed by the ghastly humans" angle isn't played up either. Instead, there are faults on both sides, and the message is a harmless enough "let's all just get along" one. I have to say this much, I enjoyed watching this film more than the first. With Maleficent we got the standard "poor little misunderstood villain" story, which always makes me think of the old cartoon where the wolf (unsuccessfully) tried to convince a jury that actually Red Riding Hood and her grandmother were trying to kill him. At least, Maleficent: Mistress of Evil isn't that. The question is: what is it?

Part of what makes this film interesting enough to watch once (but probably never again) is that it's a complete mess. The revoltingly cutesy moor critters are still with us from the first film, as are the three fairies who, if still pretty annoying and a far cry from their charming animated counterparts, are a bit more bearable this time. New additions are a baby root (who looks like a hedgehog) and a baby mushroom, both with large doll-like eyes. But mixed in with the kids' stuff are darker fantasy elements, and the mixture is an odd one. There's a huge battle sequence at the end where there's some real bloodshed. Granted, so we don't know most of the victims as more than parts of the human/magical creature collective, but there are some named casualties: one of the three fairies gets turned into a flower by the humans' secret weapon, and that's never undone. Also, high stakes in a fantasy drama usually mean that a bit of effort will be put into the characterisation, so we care who lives and who dies. Not here: the characters are paper thin. Ingrith has a pretty interesting motive, but once she has stated it, nothing is done with it; we don't get Maleficent reacting to it in any way. Aurora and Philip are unfailingly bland. Robert Lindsay's acting talents are completely wasted in the part as Philip's peace-loving dad. Diaval the raven man is pretty sweet, though.

What puzzles me is who this film's intended audience is. Surely, the cutesiness of the CGI, the cheap jokes and the poor characterisation are off-putting to anyone over the age of eight. On the other hand, small children (and maybe even somewhat larger children) could be severely traumatised by scenes such as the one where the moor creatures are locked inside a chapel and have salvos of toxic magic dust fired at them from the chapel organ. So who's supposed to watch this, exactly? The answer may be, sadly, fairy-tale nerds like me who want something to complain about.                        

Ranking the Pierce Brosnan Bond films

It's true I haven't rewatched the old Sean Connery and Roger Moore classics for a while, but I think I can say that Pierce Brosnan is my favourite Bond. I've admitted that I prefer Bond to be suave, and Brosnan has suavity in spades, but he also has more range as an actor than the (admittedly very enjoyable) Moore, and can show signs of crackling veneer when required. His poor Bond has to go through a lot during his four films. He's betrayed by someone he cared for (and thought dead); an ex-girlfriend who actually meant something to him is killed by her own husband; he has his chivalrous streak appealed to and taken advantage of; and finally, he is captured and tortured by the North Koreans - what's more, when he's released the MI5 want nothing to do with him as they're convinced he's squealed when in fact he's been keeping his mouth shut the whole time. By the time we reach The World Is Not Enough (and that's before we even get to the torture in Die Another Day) the strain is starting to show. I think Brosnan's Bond handles all that's thrown at him well, while keeping hold of his essential style whatever happens. It also helps to know that Bond was a part Brosnan really wanted to play - he was disappointed not to get it that time it went to Timothy Dalton because Brosnan was still tied up in his Remington Steele contract. I still don't know why they felt the need to "reboot" the franchise and go with Daniel Craig's craggy hard-man after Brosnan. Bond films haven't been the same since (though I did like Skyfall).

During my two weeks' mini-quarantine I rewatched all Brosnan's Bond films with the exception of The World Is Not Enough, which I'd already rewatched a year or so ago (maybe you can guess why). As a result, I've been able to come up with a highly personal ranking of them, which admittedly has little to do with Brosnan himself and more with how the other characters work for me:

1 Goldeneye The first and the best, it has that special Bond feel which (through no fault of his) was missing from Licence To Kill with Timothy Dalton. The villain twist actually works and gives the villain a half-decent motive for once. Izabella Scorupco is a somewhat shouty but classy Bond girl who manages to be competent without being superwoman. The supporting cast is top notch. We have the late German actor Gottfried John with his expressive countenance as Russian strong man Ourumov - his reaction to Bond crossing a room while taking cover behind a moving shelf filled with canisters of explosive gas is priceless. Famke Janssen is the handsome bad girl Xenia Onatopp who gets off on violence (her own), and then there's Boris, for whom I am prepared to forgive Alan Cumming a lot, including a campy James I in Doctor Who - he truly is invincible. Add to that a triumphant introduction of Judi Dench as the new M and Samatha Bond as Moneypenny, Robbie Coltrane as a fun Russian gangster and one of the best Bond theme songs, sung by none other that Tina Turner. The tank chase dragged a bit for me, though.

2 Die Another Day Most real Bond fans hate this film, and it's probably largely because of its poor reception that the regrettable "reboot" happened. But I think it's a hoot! I've never hankered for Bond films to be realistic. With extravagant ingredients such as an ice palace and a plastic surgeon that can change your ethnicity, you're propelled into a parallel world where it's easier to swallow plot points which would have seemed outrageous in a more realistic setting. Also, I think Toby Stephens does a really good job as the villain Gustav Graves - he plays the part straight, and I appreciate that. Halle Berry doesn't quite work as Bond girl Jinx - why did she kill that doctor, if she is simply an NSA agent? - but she's no disaster, and Rosamund Pike as the icy Miranda Frost is perfect. Yes, the dialogue could be better, the invisible car is a little silly (though it's never really bothered me) and M has to be a perfect fool not to realise who the mole in her organisation is. Nevertheless, this is a hugely enjoyable watch.

3 The World Is Not Enough What, only third place, in spite of Robert Carlyle playing the villain? The problem is, the bad guy in question is an international terrorist with a bullet lodged in his brain which will finally kill him and, as it eats itself in, cuts off his nerves so he doesn't feel pain. I know, ewww. The premise is yucky and even Carlyle has trouble carrying off the bullet-in-brain look. Also, it has to be said, he's not at the top of his villain game in this film, though he does nail a few lines, conveying the pain in "He was a good lover?" and the bitterness in "The world is yours - have fun with it". A waste.

It's still a good film though: Sophie Marceau walks away with it as the, as it turns out, ironically named Elektra. She is very attractive, and boy does she know it - happily, a certain pouting self-regard fits well with the character. Brosnan is convincingly and understandably frazzled, we see quite a lot of M, and Coltrane is back, which is nice. OK, so Denise Richards is not entirely convincing as nuclear scientist Dr Christmas Jones (in mini-shorts), but she's mainly there so that Bond can have someone to get together with at the end, and I did snigger at the Christmas joke.

 4 Tomorrow Never Dies It is a truth universally acknowledged that any Bond film in possession of a villain must be in want of the very best talent villain-actordom has to offer - only to then squander it completely. Jonathan Pryce is another favourite actor of mine, and after a somewhat too scenery-chewing introduction he's very watchable as villainous media mogul Elliot Carver. However, even in a Bond context, it's near impossible to suspend disbelief regarding his motives. That Carver abuses his power in some ways - such as featuring stories of Mad Cow Disease so prominently because he is bribed by the French - I could readily believe. But media moguls, even the far from saintly ones, would not dream of starting wars just to boost sales. This is why villains who are military men, spies or criminals work rather better in Bond films - they have already been taught to disregard human life in a smaller context, so the leap is not as big for them when they branch out and threaten large parts of the world population. This is a plot which could have done with the outlandish settings of Die Another Day, but here, they're mostly unglamorous, though I did enjoy the few glimpses of Hamburg. Michelle Yeoh is a gutsy Chinese agent, but it's entirely unconvincing that she and Bond hook up at the end: they have no romantic spark whatsoever.

Also, I must admit, I'm not fond of Bond bedding the villain's girl at the best of times (though it's OK if it's part of the villain's plan). Here, Bond's ex-girlfriend Paris is married to Carver, and the film does its darnedest to convince us that her adultery is entirely forgivable: Carver seems to have a roving eye; he has his sights on Yeoh; plus, he later has his wife murdered without much compunction. Nevertheless, Paris climbing into bed with Bond fairly easily didn't sit well with me. The film has its highlights - Pryce doing his best, an enjoyable cameo from an expert in making murders look like accidents ("torture is more of a hobby") and well-known English character actors popping up in walk-on parts (is that Hugh Bonneville? And Pip Torrens?). Nevertheless, my overall impression of the film was that it was somewhat dull. Not, in this case, what the people wanted.    

Why is it so hard to get Emma right?

There's really no excuse for not blogging in the circumstances, is there? On Monday, I'll hopefully be back at the office (that I would ever put "hopefully" in such a sentence), so I'd better get another blog post out there while I still have plenty of time.

The Swedish Film Institute has very sportingly released some films which were recently in cinemas online (though they're not exactly cheap), so I've been able to watch the latest adaptation of Jane Austen's Emma in the comfort of my home. And it was... fine. However, although it did some things better than the 1996 film with Gwyneth Paltrow, I don't think it adds an awful lot to the interpretation of my favourite Austen novel. The actors are good. I enjoyed Josh O'Connor's oily Mr Elton and Bill Nighy's Mr Woodhouse who, though thin enough to creditably think himself an invalid, clearly isn't. It's nice to see Rupert Graves, whose likeable Lestrade is a highlight of the Sherlock series, as an equally likeable Mr Weston, and Johnny Flynn, who was such a good Dobbin, does his best in the thankless role of Mr Knightley. Miranda Hart is an excellent, tender-hearted Miss Bates. But as for the angle from which the novel is approached, it's pretty much the same procedure as in every adaptation.

The film is beautiful to look at, but also stylised, and played as an elegant comedy which doesn't offer much insight into its characters, Emma least of all. From the very first scene, where she "picks" flowers for Miss Taylor at dusk - or rather, a servant picks the flowers she points out while another one holds up a lantern - it's clear that Emma will be portrayed as a spoilt brat. Within these parameters, Anya Taylor-Joy does a good job, and unlike most actresses who have played the role she is actually close to Emma's age. Nevertheless, we have seen this kind of Emma - a conceited little miss who gets her rightful come-uppance - many times before in Emma adaptations. We see little in this film of her more endearing qualities, such as her love for her father. Overall, we are given few "character moments" with Emma or with anyone else. There's a brief scene where Emma practises dancing with Harriet, which shows a glimpse of the real affection between the girls - the film would have benefited by having more moments like that. I also liked the scene where Mrs Goddard's school charges pass Mr Elton in the street, giggling excitedly. It shows some of the context for Elton's belief that he must be the object of any young lady's desire.

As always, the Box Hill incident feels overdone. Taylor-Joy delivers the insulting remark about Miss Bates perfectly - she blurts it out thoughtlessly and is instantly aware that she has said something she shouldn't - but the wording has been changed. Emma's line is less witty and more a case of unabashed rudeness, which makes one wonder why she would be tempted to say it in the first place. The hushed, shocked silence and clear disapproval of everyone present is not believable - the only ones likely to pick up on Emma's faux pas are Emma herself, Miss Bates and the always censorious Mr Knightley. I have to admit, though, that the post-Box Hill scene where Emma tries to make amends to Miss Bates is probably the best I've seen in any adaptation. Emma, here, is dumb-struck, merely handing over a basket of delicacies, but Miss Bates - who realises what she is trying to do - shows that she is forgiven by emphasising the words "but then you are always so very kind". It was the only time during the whole film that I felt truly moved, and shows up the dreadful handling of the Box Hill aftermath in the Paltrow film, where Miss Bates flees Emma's company, as if this good-natured woman were actually capable of holding a grudge.

Perhaps it's because I like the novel so much that I'm so hard to please when it comes to Emma adaptations. I found this one too superficial, but the TV adaptation with Romola Garai, which focused more on the drama and less on the comedy, too gloomy. Plus, I have been known to say that it's ridiculous to wish for a "dark" adaptation of an Austen novel, so what is it that I want?

What I would wish for is an adaptation which sympathises more with Emma. With time, I've come to appreciate the Davies adaptation of Emma more and more, though it's not such a classic as his Pride and Prejudice. The casting was good and the balance between comedy and drama was just about right. But even Davies admitted to hating the main character and playing up her fantasist tendencies in order to make her bearable. Her warmth and wit seem to have passed him by, and in the end Kate Beckinsale's Emma, though engaging, is very much in the spoiled-brat-vein. I despair of ever seeing an Emma adaptation by someone who loves the heroine as much as most of us - adapters included - love Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. Emma's faults are as offensive to modern-day moralists as to Regency ones, perhaps even more so, as they often stem from her feelings of social superiority. I must resign myself to never seeing the bossy, warm-hearted, intelligent girl I like so much in the novel rendered on the small or big screen with complete justice. At least it's a comfort that Austen was fond of her too.