Poem: Frankenstein's Monster Has Words with His Maker (2014)

Because it's my blog and I'll shamelessly self-promote if I want to, I'm wrapping up the month with an original poem.  To ease you in, it's based on one of the pieces I reviewed earlier (twice!,) Danny Boyle's Frankenstein.

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Frankenstein’s Monster Has Words with His Maker

I could have loved you.

I was born in lightning,
Lit by the spark of your genius,
And you were my god.
Though I wasn’t formed of your dust or your rib,
I was made of you all the same.
You fashioned me from your sweat,
Your scope, and your hunger,
And I’d have been your opus if you’d let me –
Oh, if only you had let me.

Instead, my life – (you gave me life;

The size of it!) – my life
Was a no-thing for you to discard
When the equation grew unruly.
You left me to your harsh world
With its noise and heat and heat and hate,
Where I was kicked at and snarled at,
And my being-aliveness battered at me
In ways man wasn’t meant to face alone.

You thought I was built for your annotation,

That I ceased to persist when the figures were erased,
But the experiment has climbed out of your hypotheses
And lives beyond your reckoning of him.

I – your idea, your creation, your man – stand now before you.

The scars my wanderings have earned me
Crisscross against the roughly-sewn stitches
With which you patched my piecemeal body together.
Look into eyes you plucked from a grave, and tell me:
Scientist, what have you wrought?

Sunday in the Park with George (1984)

 

I mentioned this show recently when I was reviewing Parade’s End.  I can never truly nail down a favorite Sondheim show, but this one is under frequent consideration.  Like all of his musicals, it has its imperfections, but whenever I listen to the score, my love for it floods in anew.  It’s perhaps Sondheim’s most personal show, and that shines in the music.

 

To some extent, Sunday in the Park with George is more of an idea than a story.  Its two acts tell different but interrelated stories about artists named George, separated by centuries, continents, and media.  Act 1 follows the creation of Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte, a revolution in pointillism.  As George is drawn into his work, the rest of life recedes from him, and his model/mistress Dot is among the collateral damage.  Act 2 jumps to the U.S. in the present day (well, 1984,) where another George – Seurat’s great-grandson – is confronted by his own artistic fame.  He’s made a name for himself constructing beloved but increasingly derivative works, and he’s not sure if his path is where he’s supposed to be.

 

Both sides of the story examine, from different angles, the enormity and power of art.  The George in France gives everything for his art; his contemporaries can’t understand what he’s trying to do, and Dot grows dissatisfied with playing second fiddle.  And yet, he’s propelled by an internal impetus to create, unable to stop even if he wanted to.  Act 1’s musical treatise is “Finishing the Hat,” in which George explores the hold his work has over him.  George watches “the rest of the world from a window” while he feeds his need to create something.  It controls him, and he ruefully acquiesces.  He admits “the woman who won’t wait for you knows / That, however you live, / There’s a part of you always standing by, / Mapping out the sky.”

 

The failed romance with Dot is heartbreaking.  As with Parade’s End, here are two people who love each other, but neither can give the other what they need.  Dot doesn’t feel she’s a necessary part of George’s life, and George doesn’t understand why he has to share himself with her.  The conflict comes to a mournful head in “We Do Not Belong Together.”  The confronted George argues, “I am what I do – / Which you know, / Which you always knew, / Which I thought you were a part of!”  Dot replies that, while George is “complete” on his own, “I am unfinished, / I am diminished with or without you.”  She’s desperate for him to fight for her, and he just can’t.  In the end, as she walks out, she wistfully notes that they “should have belonged together.”

 

In Act 2, the American George isn’t consumed by his art, but it does rule his fears.  Act 2’s biggest number is “Putting It Together,” where George frenetically flits between sycophants and possible patrons, shamelessly schmoozing with the justifying mantra that “art isn’t easy.”  He fakes “cocktail conversation” and smilingly swallows criticism to stay on top.  He’s frantic to stay relevant, terrified of becoming “last year’s sensation.”  In the art world, “you’re new or else you’re through,” and he’s dug himself so far into an artistic rut that he’s not sure he can get out.

 

It’s a gorgeous show, with an arresting score, reflective lyrics, and tremendous themes.  In the original cast, Mandy Patinkin was stellar as both Georges, and Dot probably remains Bernadette Peters’s best performance.  The album is incredible, but if you can, watch the video of the 1984 production.  Patikin and Peters are incredible, and the score is almost overwhelmingly affecting.

The Crazy Ones (2013-Present)

I was late to this show; the extreme Robin Williams-ness of the promos put me off.  Robin Williams is a comic combustive most effective in controlled doses, and the show’s ads didn’t instill confidence.  Luckily, I caught it on a whim one day and realized my mistake.  This workplace sitcom, set in an advertising agency, cultivates a great mix of humor and heart, with a quirky sensibility that reminds me a bit of Better Off Ted.  While I could go on about the dialogue, plotting, and direction, I’m going to focus on the show’s best asset:  its characters.

 

Simon is the maverick, the advertising legend with decades of experience.  He lives for flashes of creative brilliance, complete with unorthodox methods and deadline-skirting urgency.  A typical day at his office comes with quips, novelty toys, and impromptu musical compositions.  Unlike the old days, he’s now running the operation sober, and he isn’t always sure he can still capture the old magic, but he’s out to prove otherwise.  This role is probably the best use of Robin Williams since Aladdin’s genie, and while he leads, he doesn’t overwhelm the rest of the cast.

 

Simon’s daughter Sydney is the agency’s newest partner.  With a hyperactive recovering addict for a dad, she grew up fast, and it shows.  She’s an incurable workaholic who’s often plays bad cop, grounding more fanciful ideas for practicality’s sake, but she clearly loves and admires Simon as a father and a business partner.  She sometimes wishes she had his madcap ingenuity and could unwind.  The show initially struggled to make her more than just a straight-man, but Sarah Michelle Gellar has always done a fine job playing the team’s persnickety handler.

 

Andrew, an art director, is smart and sarcastic but more than a little insecure.  Any praise from Simon is hard-won, and he’s not as smooth with the ladies as he’d like to be.  However, he and Sydney are best friends with an amusing will-they-won’t-they dynamic on a slow burn.  He also has a fondness for German board games and has been known to quote Pride and Prejudice in casual conversation.  Hamish Linklater (who I first saw as a jockey on Pushing Daisies,) endearing in a goofy way, delivers his lines with a slightly sleepy deadpan that lands every time.

 

Copy writer Zach lives a charmed life.  The charismatic golden boy is Simon’s right-hand man, and with his Disney-prince good looks, he can get virtually anyone he wants.  His past life as a bar mitzvah DJ comes in handy; he’s a natural showman with no qualms about schmoozing.  Though he could easily seem cliché, James Wolk (previously unknown to me, but a real find) keeps him thoroughly likeable and manages to keep up with Robin Williams at every turn.

 

Last is Lauren, Simon’s assistant.  She’s a bit of an enigma, dropping hints about her background in tantalizing asides.  We know she’s been a spoken-word poet and a stalker, and she knows someone who runs an actual rat race.  She has ambitions beyond fetching coffee, and if her intelligence and dash of ruthlessness are anything to go by, she’ll achieve them.  Amanda Setton (lately of The Mindy Project, where they evidently weren’t taking advantage of her talents) is a riot as this offbeat character who is always surprising.

 

Warnings

 

Language, some sexual content, drug/alcohol references, and a little sitcom violence.

Relationship Spotlight: Poussey Washington & Tasha “Taystee” Jefferson (Orange is the New Black)

(Wish I had a picture that let you see more of Taystee than her hair, but I had a hard time finding a good cap with both of them in the same shot, and I think this one captures what they're about, so here we are.)

I just finished the first season of Netflix’s original series Orange is the New Black – in addition to joining the series late, I resisted the siren-song temptation to binge-watch, so it took me a little while.  At any rate, I really enjoyed the prison dramedy and am excited for season 2, coming this summer.  It’s fantastic to see a show with so many female characters in major roles, including characters of different races, orientations, and national origins, as well as characters with disabilities (mental illness in this case.)

 

With a large ensemble, there are a ton of characters to get invested in and plenty of interpersonal relationships to follow.  My favorite wound up being, far and away, the tight, loveable friendship between Taystee and Poussey (for the uninitiated, pronounced “Pu-SAY.”)  It was a little surprising to me, since neither character made a huge impact on me at first.  I was more interested in sarcastic Nicky, resolute Sophia, and unhinged Crazy Eyes.  Taystee was mainly the woman who brawled over ice cream, and Poussey was just sort of anonymous.

 

Things started to change for me in episode 6, “WAC Pack,” in which Taystee joins the campaign race for the Women’s Advisory Council, a representative group for inmates to liaise with the administration.  The pair is on fire in this episode, from Poussey serving as the hype man for Taystee’s campaign speech, to facing off against another candidate in a freestyle-rap battle.  Oh, and there’s their hilarious yuppie impressions as well, putting on white-people accents and yammering about NPR, veganism, and really quiet sex.

 

From there, Taystee and Poussey just get more and more fun to watch.  Stuck in a setting that can be pretty bleak, both characters exude life and joy.  It turns out both are fantastic on their own (I think of Taystee explaining why Ulysses is a better book to use as a step-stool than Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, or Poussey awkwardly trying to scare a girl in a wheelchair straight,) but they’re definitely best as a team.  They seem to have a genuine good time together, whether they’re working in the library or hanging out in the cafeteria, and I get the sense that they’re each other’s lifelines to keep their heads up.  They have an effortless, delightful banter, and they balance each other out; Poussey can keep the more outrageous Taystee grounded, and Taystee can inject a little levity when Poussey gets too intense.

 

They’re clearly supporting players, and they’re often used as comic relief, but as the season goes on, they get some meatier material to work with.  While Taystee works on an appeal, Poussey is her rock, cheerleader, and reality check as needed.  Even though Taystee is her family on the inside, Poussey still roots for her to succeed in getting out.  Late in the season, Poussey opens up to Taystee about some of the struggles hidden behind her antics, and the two share a beautiful heart-to-heart about their prison experiences and how much they mean to each other.

 

Orange is the New Black’s first season was released all at once, when the whole thing was in the can.  I hope that, in the year since then, the creators have seen how great these two are together and how much fan support they have, so we can get even more of this relationship in the second season.

Asexual Sighting: Poppy (Huge)

 

This past year, I’ve been on the lookout for asexual and/or aromantic characters in fiction.  No easy task, let me tell so.  Love looms large in the vast majority of stories, and sex is a popular topic for most writers.  The idea of a character who’s genuinely disinterested in sex and/or romantic relationships probably seems detrimental.  In fact, after a year of keeping my eyes and ears open, the best I could do were a few non-specified asexual-coded characters.

 

Until now.  When I reviewed Huge, I didn’t mention my primary reason for seeking it out: a definitively-stated asexual character.  In this case, the character is Poppy, the perky, friendly-to-a-fault girls’ counselor at Camp Victory.  A former camper herself, Poppy is a sometimes-overbearing ray of sunshine who cares deeply for her teenage charges.

 

Right off the bat, Poppy is unlike the other potentially-asexual characters I’ve encountered (chiefly, Sheldon Cooper and Sherlock Holmes – more on them another day.)  There’s her obvious lack of Y-chromosome, of course; a female character with no potential to be romantically entangled with a man or provide a little girl-on-girl action?  Whatever will we do with her?  More seriously, though, she doesn’t possess the un-relatable genius, standoffishness, and social disregard of her unconfirmed counterparts.  While Sheldon and Sherlock often come across as unemotional insult-machines, Poppy is warm and cheery, giving away hugs like they’re going out of style.

 

She is socially awkward, but in an entirely different way.  While the others don’t care to play well with others, Poppy is perhaps too eager.  She smiles and skips her way through the summer, leaving some of her jaded teenage campers rolling their eyes at her.  Still, I could buy this as more of a camp-counselor stereotype than anything else, a characterization that likely predated the decision to write her as asexual.  It certainly doesn’t fit any asexual stereotypes I’ve encountered.

 

However, it’s made clear that any awkwardness on her part isn’t what’s keeping her from dating.  Nope – that’s entirely her decision, and it’s based entirely on her orientation.  She explicitly comes out as ace to another counselor, admitting (without an ounce of hand-wringing) that she’s simply never felt the way so many of her friends have, and that she’s figured out that just isn’t who she is.  It’s no cause for concern, nothing abnormal to be whispered about when she’s out of earshot.  She’s asexual (and, it would seem, aromantic,) and she’s perfectly content to be so.  The counselor she tells is surprised and a bit curious, but 100% accepting and supportive.

 

It’s a shame that Poppy is as revolutionary as she is.  How can it be that, in all the books/movies/shows/etc. that I’ve seen or read, I’ve only encountered one character who openly identifies as asexual?   I know that other minority orientations have similar issues with visibility, and portrayals of LGBTQ characters in general still have a long way to go, but that doesn’t make it better.

 

Thank you to Poppy and Huge for this friendly, affectionate ace character, and for simply saying the word aloud.  It needs to be said, and I wish more shows would take your lead.

Further thoughts on 12 Years a Slave

telegraph.co.uk

Here it is as promised, the ramblings I just know you were all clamoring for.  12 Years a Slave is one of those movies that really gets into your head, and I can’t help thinking about the different ways the major characters are psychologically affected by the institution under which they live.

 

Since this is Solomon’s story, let’s start with him.  This is a different sort of antebellum Deep South film; rather than being born into slavery, indoctrinated with its dehumanization since birth, Solomon is a free-born black used to life in the North.  For him, slavery is an unpleasant fact that he tries to avoid thinking about.  However, when his old life is stolen, he receives an immersive crash course in the ways of slaves.  The well-spoken, dignified Solomon learns harshly and quickly to cast his gaze downward, feign illiteracy, and keep his master satisfied.  Survival becomes his only consideration.  Even while he clings to his wife and children’s names, he urges Eliza, a fellow slave, not to weep over her separation from her own children.  He walks silently past a pair of men about to be lynched, though he himself knows the feel of a noose.

 

Solomon isn’t the only one shaped by slavery.  Ford, Solomon’s first owner, intrigues me.  Ford is regarded widely as a “good master;” he listens to Solomon’s advice about the plantation and, aware of Solomon’s musical talent, gives him a fiddle as a gift.  “Good” plantation owners in Hollywood went out with Gone with the Wind, but Ford is handled with a complexity I don’t often see in film.  Right from the start, however, the cracks in his uprightness show (let’s put aside for a moment that, whatever qualities he may seem to have, he’s still buying people and is clearly no prize.)  Ford, moved by the pleas of a young mother not to be parted from her children, tries negotiating for their purchase as well, but when the cost proves too prohibitive, he gives a can’t-be-helped sigh and buys the mother anyway.  Likewise, when Solomon’s life is threatened by one of Ford’s overseers, Ford looks to save him, not by freeing him, but by selling him to another plantation.  No matter how sincere Ford’s moments of “niceness” may be, they’re little more than a balm to obscure the fundamental atrocity.

 

Which brings us to Epps.  Solomon’s “savior,” by Ford’s reckoning, turns out an abusive madman notorious for breaking slaves.  His plantation is a place of constant fear and danger, and his slaves live at the mercy of his vicious caprice.  Anyone who fails to meet their quota is whipped savagely, and the body of the beautiful young Patsy is forfeit where her master is concerned.  This is a more familiar type of slave owner, one we’ve all seen before.  But again, the characterization goes somewhat deeper.  Epps’s most interesting trait is his opportunistic piousness.  Between physically, mentally, and sexually abusing his property, he reads the Bible to them on Sundays.  Not one for the “love your neighbor” or “blessed are the meek” passages, he instead deplorably twists the text to affirm his actions, holding it up as proof that his slaves deserve this treatment.  It’s a stark, ugly demonstration that the Bible should never be a vehicle for justifying hate, a lesson that some people haven’t taken to heart even today.

 

These are just a few of the heady topics brought up by 12 Years a Slave.  I can’t fully imagine being born in that time and place, as a slave or a slaver.  To be raised on the unimpeachable notion that some people are livestock, with whom others may do whatever they please?  I don’t see how anyone could be taught such things and not be warped by them, and I think the film conveys that spectacularly.

12 Years a Slave (2013, R)

contactmusic.com

One of the heavy hitters at this year’s Oscars, 12 Years a Slave adapts the memoir of Solomon Northup, a free black man who was kidnapped and sold into slavery in 1840.  The film is unflinching in its portrayal of Solomon’s experiences, crafting a story that captures the complex psychology of slavery on all sides.

 

Prior to his kidnap and the horrors that follow, Solomon is a well-to-do husband and father in Saratoga, New York.  He is an educated man earning his living as a musician.  Having been born free in the North, slavery has never touched his life directly, and he does his best to ignore the signs of it pressing up against the edges of his world.  His life is shattered, however, when he’s stolen from his family and sold as chattel.  For the next twelve brutal years of his life, Solomon is a commodity to be used, traded, and tortured.  His various owners and overseers tear at his dignity, and Solomon does what he must in order to survive and eventually regain his freedom.

 

Understandably, it’s a difficult film to watch, but it fires on all cylinders right out of the gate.  The direction and writing are somehow both highly emotional and starkly unsentimental; whether Solomon is enraged, despairing, terrified, or battered down, these feelings are etched plainly across the screen.  However, the atrocities committed on the plantations are filmed with a dispassionate nonchalance that serves to highlight their horror, because it shows are commonplace and day-to-day beatings, rapes, and lynchings were in the antebellum South.  

 

I’ve liked Chiwetel Ejiofor since I saw him in Dirty Pretty Things, and he won my allegiance forever for his excellent work as the Operative in Serenity.  He’s jaw-drop stunning here; he carries the film through the nightmare of his enslaved life, and his eyes speak volumes.  A number of other fine actors give strong performances – Quvenzhané Wallis (Hushpuppy from Beasts of the Southern Wild,) Paul Giamatti, Benedict Cumberbatch, Paul Dano, Michael Fassbender, Sarah Paulson, and Brad Pitt are all featured – but it’s Ejiofor’s film hands-down.  His performance in the final scene left me reeling.  Truly stellar.

 

(Oh, and since I mentioned the assorted well-known white actors in the movie, I just have to say – I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to play these sorts of roles.  Obviously, the black actors have a tremendously hard job as well, but it must feel sickening to deliver those awful lines, to let the N-word roll off one’s tongue, and to convincingly portray such inhuman attitudes.  It’s a tough issue, because it’s a powerful story that’s important to be told, but if I were one of them, especially Sarah Paulson or Michael Fassbender, I don’t think I physically could have done it.)

 

Though I alluded to it above, I’ve not really touched on the way the film addresses the psychological implications of slavery.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a movie deal so closely with the complexities of this issue.  It’s a big topic, though, and I’ve already rambled quite a bit.  Check in tomorrow, when I’ll focus on these aspects of the film.

 

Warnings

 

Violence, including vicious beatings, attempted murder, and sexual assault.  Also, nudity, racial slurs, and horrifically racist viewpoints.

Henry V (2012)

amazon.com

Oh, those immature heirs grow up so fast… Our very own Prince Hal has become King Henry V.  He’s put the misspent days of his youth behind him, and he’s taken to his newfound responsibilities with focus and care.  (From now on, I’ll refer to him as Henry; since his same-named father is no longer with us, I trust that we’ll avoid confusion.)

 

Because this is just the sort of thing that happens in history plays, Henry gets himself and his subjects involved in a bit of a war.  This time, the enemy isn’t a cousin usurper or a rebel faction within his kingdom – it’s his neighbor across the Channel.  The young king has taken a shine to France and plans to make it his.  France, for its part, remembers Henry for his old wild, reckless ways, and as such, misjudges his ability to make good on his intentions.

 

To an extent, I think the Henry IV plays serve mainly as a bridge between Richard II and this work.  They particularly lay the foundation for Henry V.  Henry is a strong character – not infallible but heroic, striving to be the king his people deserve – but he’s far more interesting for his introduction in the earlier plays.  When Henry V stands alone, Henry might seem too brave, too inspirational, too thoughtful.  

 

When set alongside the Henry IV pair, however, and we see how the raucous, fun-loving prince has become the awe-worthy king, there’s much more to the story.  You can see the doubt in his more private moments, praying for his soldiers and hoping that he’s made the right choice.  You can still see glimpses of the old mischief – though the aim and execution are very different, the idea of disguising himself and moving among the soldiers incognito seems pure Hal.

 

Our eponymous king is basically the whole show here.  Tom Hiddleston predictably shines.  The big rallying battle speeches are stirring and finely delivered.  Major points for saying, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” and actually making it sound like dialogue; Shakespeare’s most famous speeches are so hard to give without them sounding like Shakespeare’s Most Famous Speeches.

 

The “once more unto the breach” scene is, as a whole, shot quite unexpectedly.  Director Thea Sharrock places it without pomp in the midst of a chaotic battle.  Henry isn’t filmed heroically atop a white horse, but grimy and sweaty.  The soldiers he speaks to are frightened peasants, many of them too young or too out of shape to be there.  It’s not Time for the Big Speech; it’s a desperate attempt to help his outnumbered, outgunned (or would that be out-sworded?) men keep their nerve.  Overall, the direction is thoughtful, avoiding the more obvious go-to moves for this story.

 

The late Richard Griffiths makes a brief appearance here.  Additionally, on the Who side of things, we have John Hurt, Owen Teale (Torchwood’s “Countrycide”) and Paterson Joseph (“Bad Wolf” / “The Parting of the Ways,” though he’s far better loved for his splendid turn as the Marquis de Carabas in Neverwhere.)

Henry IV, Part 2 (2012)

tehparadox.com

Henry IV 2:  Electric Boogaloo is a little hard to pin down.  On the one hand, the “affairs of state” plot is basically a retread of the rebellion in part 1.  The Hal ‘n’ Falstaff stuff, while a little heavier, isn’t as enjoyable as their scenes in the preceding play; there’s nothing, for example, that equals the liveliness and fun of their competing impersonations of the king.

 

Which isn’t to say that there’s no joy in Mudville.  Far from it – some of the plot earns a side-eye from me, but the character work is pretty excellent.  Henry himself takes more of a prominent place in his own play.  The king, wounded and ill after the battle against Hotspur, feels the coming dying of the light.  Jeremy Irons delivers on the “uneasy lies the head” scene, and as always, Henry’s scenes with Hal are great.

 

Speaking of Hal, he gets some choice moments to shine as well.  His best scene, of course, comes when the young prince takes his sleeping father’s crown and contemplates his impending ascendency.  Apprehension, grief, determination, fear, and anticipation mingle in a single speech, and Tom Hiddleston is just stunning.  I’d say it’s the highlight of the entire play.

 

It’s interesting to watch Hal’s progression through the Henry IV plays and Henry V.  This one is set very shortly after Henry IV’s first installment, but we can already see a change in Hal.  Part of this has come about due to the thorough dressing-down he received from his father in the last play – he’s determined to prove the old man wrong.  He’s also been affected by his experiences during the battle.  And, naturally, his father’s illness is weighing heavily on him; he’s begun to grieve his coming loss, and he knows that the crown will bring with it glory and burden (great power and great responsibility:  it’s not just for Spider-Man.)

 

Which isn’t to say he’s great king material yet.  He still likes hanging out in bawdy houses, and he’s still fond of pranks and deceptions.  However, the prince who went away to the wars is decidedly not the same one who returned.

 

I wonder why his father doesn’t see this.  For the vast majority of the play, Henry still acts like Hal is an embarrassment and a liability, a loose cannon who needs to be babysat by one of his younger brothers.  When he discovers Hal with the crown, Henry’s mind immediately jumps to the assumption that his son is an unfeeling little grasper who can’t wait for the king to die before claiming the throne.  The enormous feelings Hal has been wrestling with aren’t even considered.  Despite the royal backdrop, this part of the story feels very real and intimate, that of a son who’s trying to change and a father who still sees the same old screw-up.

 

Most of the cast is carried over from part 1, but there are a few newcomers I know.  David Bamber (Mr. Collins in the Ehle/Firth Pride and Prejudice) and Justin Edwards (Ben Swain from The Thick of It) both have small roles.  And, naturally, we have a couple more Who folk.  Add Iain Glen (“The Time of Angels” / “Flesh and Stone”) and Geoffrey Palmer (“The Voyage of the Damned”) to the roster.

Henry IV, Part 1 (2012)

theguardian.com

The next king getting the spotlight in The Hollow Crown is Henry IV, a.k.a. Richard’s cousin Bolingbroke.  Really, both of these plays focus more on Prince Hal (and his buddy Falstaff) than on Henry, but he’s the one with his name in the title, so there you go.

 

After the extraordinary Richard II, this one was a bit of a letdown – a mere 9 out of 10 instead of 27 out of 10.  Still, it’s no slouch, and there’s a lot to like.  The best sequences, predictably, follow Tom Hiddleston’s Hal and Simon Russell Beale’s Falstaff.  The dirty, noisy public house they frequent is well-drawn, and the humor in these scenes is sharp and lively.  When it comes to Shakespeare, comedy can seem a little less accessible than drama, but the ribbing between Hal and his friends comes off naturally.

 

I could probably spend an entire post raving about Tom Hiddleston’s knack for Shakespeare, and his Hal is really terrific.  It’s maybe not as arresting as Ben Whishaw’s Richard, but there’s a natural ease to his performance that makes the Elizabethan dialogue seem effortless.  He’s funny and charming as the rakish young prince – despite the drinking, women, and petty larceny, you root for him to get his act together – and his big confrontation with his father shows a much more determined side of him.

 

Jeremy Irons plays Henry as a somber king who’s aged greatly beneath his heavy crown.  After enjoying Rory Kinnear’s performance so much in Richard II, it’s a little hard to embrace him.  It tends to be rough when you get to know a young character and then jump forward significantly in time; I think of The Kite Runner or The Reader as stories that definitely lose something when they shift the narrative ahead.  It’s sad to think that Bolingbroke has become this old man, but I suppose that speaks to the effectiveness of Jeremy Irons’s performance.  Once again, his major scene with Hal is a standout.  His cavorting, devil-may-care heir is such a disappointment to him that he wishes Hotspur, the brash young man spearheading a bloody campaign against him, could be his son instead, and he lays into Hal in a serious way.

 

We’ve entirely replaced the Richard II cast, but most of these actors will carry over to part 2.  Simon Russell Beale is a fun Falstaff, and I really enjoy the interactions between Hotspur (Joe Armstrong, unfamiliar to me but very good) and his wife (played by Lady Mary Crawl- I mean, Michelle Dockery.)  Also featured are David Dawson, who was great in The Mystery of Edwin Drood, Shameless’s Maxine Peake, and Ron Weasley’s mum Julie Walters.  A couple more Who faces pop up, too:  Harry Lloyd (“Human Nature” / “The Family of Blood”) and Robert Pugh (“The Hungry Earth” / “Cold Blood,” plus Torchwood’s “Adrift.”)

 

The direction is the weak link here.  Richard Eyre zippers certain scenes together, rushes through others, and seems at a loss with how to film the soliloquys – he sometimes has his actors looking directly into the camera and twice commits the cardinal sin of tossing speeches into voiceover.  After Rupert Goold’s lovely work in Richard II, the shortcomings are really noticeable.

 

Warnings

 

Include battle scenes in the violence here.  Tons of drinking and more than a little lasciviousness.

 

*          *          *

 

The scene with the Lannister twins on last night's Game of Thrones was just awful.  I'd been excited for the start of season 4, because I wanted to see how Jaime's one-step-forward, twelve-steps-back brand of redemption would fare once he was back in Cersei's orbit.  Guess I have my answer now - just awful.

Richard II (2012)

bbc.co.uk

We’re kicking things off with Richard II.  It was my favorite to read and my favorite of the films (the Tom Hiddleston-ness of the other three notwithstanding.)  The tragedy unrolls slowly and inexorably as the titular young king makes two mistakes – banishing his cousin and then appropriating his inheritance – that will prove his undoing.  Richard isn’t the most likeable Shakespeare character around, and his end is pretty inevitable, but his scenes in the latter half of the play are some of the most heartrendingly sympathetic that I’ve ever read.

 

It’s amazing enough on paper, but Ben Whishaw’s performance as Richard is breathtaking.  He’s foolish, delicate, and easily led – the only thing about him that really projects “kingliness” is his vanity.  It’s little wonder the people take more strongly to his cousin, the noble, commanding Bolingbroke, but my goodness.  As things begin to go wrong for Richard, as he desperately tries to deny it, and as he painfully sinks into the realization of his situation, I can’t take my eyes off him.  Simply masterful.

 

The whole thing is great, but special applause must be given to two scenes.  The first, in which Richard stands on the beach with his lackeys and sees all his hopes erode, is riveting.  I bet it’s almost ten minutes of straight-up dialogue, but it’s just tremendous.  It’s where the famous “let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings” speech comes from, and it’s devastating to watch Richard realize it’s the end.  And as for the actual scene of his defeat… that’s probably the moment they starting writing Ben Whishaw’s name on the BAFTA.  Oh my gosh – it’s so immediate, so visceral.  Richard has shattered into pieces, and the whole court is there to bear witness.  “I have no name, no title, no, not that name was given me at the font, but ‘tis usurp’d:  Alack the heavy day, that I have worn so many winters out, and know not now what name to call myself!”  I mean, come on!

 

Beyond Ben Whishaw’s overall perfection, this film is stuffed with good British actors.  Rory Kinnear brings strength and dignity to Bolingbroke, and Patrick Stewart is great in his small turn as Bolingbroke’s father/Richard’s uncle.  David Suchet and James Purefoy are both featured, and I recognize Clémence Poésy as Fleur from the Harry Potter movies.  For Who alumni, we have David Bradley (“Dinosaurs on a Spaceship” and An Adventure in Space and Time,) Peter De Jersey (“The Day of the Doctor,”) Lindsay Duncan (“The Waters of Mars,”) Tom Goodman-Hill (“The Unicorn and the Wasp,”) David Morrissey (“The Next Doctor,”) Lucian Msamati (“The Vampires of Venice,”) and Adrian Schiller (“The Doctor’s Wife.”)  Phew!

 

Also, the direction and production design are stunning.  The sets and costumes of Richard’s court drip with royal extravagance, a real feast for the eyes.  And Rupert Goold, who I’m not familiar with but who seems mainly to be a theatre director, does sublime work.  He really knows how to let Shakespeare breathe and not feel overdone; the camera accentuates the acting and dialogue without being intrusive.  Richard II definitely gets The Hollow Crown off to a superb start.

 

Warnings

 

Some violence, including offscreen beheadings.

The Hollow Crown (2012)

slantmagazine.com

For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of beautiful BBC miniseries:  how some have been held ransom by PBS; how PBS dicked U.S. viewers around for ages; how Shakespeare fans were sent scouring Google, Wikipedia, and PBS.org for news of a U.S. air date; how PBS finally got off its butt and did the decent thing; and how, by then, it’d been so long that the DVDs came out simultaneously (not that you could get them from Netflix – the waiting list was so long.)

 

Seriously – I first heard about The Hollow Crown, high-quality adaptations of Shakespeare’s Richard II, the two Henry IV plays, and Henry V, in the summer of 2012.  It was going to be airing in Britain later that summer, for people disinterested in the London Olympics, with the understanding that PBS would quickly follow suit on the other side of the pond.  All it took was a cursory glance through the cast list, and I was salivating with nerdish glee.  I sprang into action; the rest of my summer reading focused on getting through all four plays.  I tore through them and waited eagerly for the stateside release.  

 

And waited.  And waited.  Try as I might, I couldn’t find so much as a whisper – no news, no joy.  I resisted the temptation to acquire the series through “other means,” because it looked gorgeous and I wanted to see it at television quality on a good-sized screen.  Fast-forward to the fall of 2013; yep, more than a year after it aired in the U.K., PBS finally gave us The Hollow Crown.  Way to reward people for watching stuff legally, PBS.  Jerks.  

 

Truth be told, these four films are so exquisite that I tended to forget the injustice while I was actually watching them (only when the end credits rolled did I remember how I could’ve been enjoying them for the past year, at which point my anger returned in full force.)  At any rate, it was only a matter of time before they ended up here.  Well, that time has come.  Once more unto the blog, dear friends!  First review to follow.

Cabin Pressure (2008-2014)

bbc.co.uk

I’ve been into audiobooks for a while – it started with Whoniverse stuff, and I like listening to novels when I’m on walks – but radio plays are a fairly new development for me.  I’ve never been a big radio person in general, and I’m not sure if I’ve ever actually heard an American-broadcast radio play.  Until recently, the most I’d heard were a handful of Torchwood plays and the radio dramatization of the awesome Donmar Warehouse production of Othello.

 

Well, as I started getting more into Benedict Cumberbatch’s work, I finally listened to the radio version of Neverwhere, in which he and about a bazillion other fabulous British actors recreate the wonderful Neil Gaiman story.  I enjoyed it so much that, when I discovered that Cumberbatch has an affinity for BBC Radio productions, I decided to start tracking down some more of them.  I’m still not a radio person overall, but I’m now definitely a radio-play person.

 

The best program I’ve come across so far is easily Cabin Pressure, a radio sitcom that began before Sherlock made Cumberbatch a celebrity.  The premise – the exploits of a tiny, run-down charter plane business – is deceptively simple.  Excellent characters, spot-on performances, and sublime writing make the show one of the best comedies I’ve found recently, in any format.

 

MJN Air is a microscopic operation.  Carolyn (Stephanie Cole) is the long-suffering owner of GERTI, the company’s lone plane.  She’s proud, penny-pinching, and thoroughly unimpressed.  Martin (Cumberbatch) is MJN’s by-the-book captain.  His position is everything to him, despite his adequate piloting skills and inability to convince clients that he really is the captain.  Douglas (The Thick of It’s Roger Allam) is Martin’s jaded first officer.  Considerably older than his captain, he’s a former Air England pilot who makes a habit of chronic rule-breaking.  Finally, Carolyn’s adult son Arthur (John Finnemore, also the show’s writer) is MJN’s sunshiny steward.  What he lacks in competence and basic common sense, he makes up in unbridled enthusiasm.

 

Each episode, listeners are treated to a new helping of troublesome clients and aviation-related mishaps.  When it comes to MJN, there’s no such thing as smooth sailing (or the flying equivalent thereof.)  Whether it’s a snag at customs or a live cat trapped in the unheated cargo hold, this crew has an extraordinary talent for getting into messes.

 

The absurd scrapes are funny enough, but Cabin Pressure is all about the character interactions.  I love Douglas’s dry sarcasm, Carolyn’s incredulous scolding, Martin’s panicky indecision, and Arthur’s incurable optimism.  I love the way they all look out for each other when the chips are really down.  And most of all, I love the endless string of games they invent to endure the boredom of long flights.  My favorites include “Book Titles that Sound More Interesting with the Last Letter Knocked Off” (such as The Da Vinci Cod,) “Rhyming Journeys” (like “From York to Cork,”) and “The Traveling Lemon” (in which one has to find a lemon hidden somewhere in the cabin, unbeknownst to passengers.)  My only complaint is that the show will be ending soon (the last episode, “Zurich,” will air later this year;) it’s a winner all around.

 

Warnings

 

Just a little drinking (not by the pilots while in flight!) and a few imperiled animals (like the cat mentioned above.)