Call the Midwife (2012-Present)

I picked up this British period drama a couple years ago on Netflix.  I’d heard good things about it, and after An Adventure in Space and Time, I was definitely pro-Jessica Raine, who played the amazing Verity Lambert there and plays the initial audience-viewpoint character Jenny here.  It started slow for me, but before long, I was all in.

In 1957, Jenny Lee, newly trained as a midwife, arrives in London’s East End to serve the residents of the working-class neighborhood.  She lives at Nonnatus House, an Anglican convent, with her fellow nurses and a number of medically-trained nuns.  Jenny and the other women at Nonnatus enter expectant and new mothers’ homes when they’re at their most vulnerable, guiding them through their struggles, encouraging them through their fears, and sharing with them in both their joy and heartbreak.  The midwives are privy to everything from the most terrifying medical complications to the most intimate secrets, and it’s their job to remain strong and calm throughout, showing compassion rather than condemnation.

Call the Midwife is what I’d call a “Kleenex show.”  SIDS, severe congenital disabilities, spouse abuse, post-partum depression, abject poverty, mid-century racism, criminal negligence, social outcasting – nothing is off the table, and that’s before you take into account some of the past and present trials endured by the midwives themselves.  It’s not always sad, but it’s always touching (moments of pure happiness and resilience in the face of immense struggles can be just as affecting as the tragic parts,) and its ability to “get you right in the feels” just might be unparalleled on television.  Certain episodes of other shows might wreck me more, but this one probably wrecks me the most consistently.

All the main characters are terrific.  Though the series starts with Jenny at its center, it quickly morphs into an ensemble show, and I love basically all of them.  Even midwives that I was unsure about at first – I was initially a little meh on Trixie (blasphemy, I know,) and I wasn’t sure what to make of Nurse Crane – have rapidly grown in my estimation (Trixie rocks, and this past season, Nurse Crane might have become one of my favorites.)  Each of these women is richly multifaceted, with her own strength and fragility, and this is one of the few shows out there that can handle major cast departures (permanent, temporary, or switching from regular to recurring) without taking a hit.  Whenever a new midwife is brought in, she’s soon established as someone who genuinely brings something different to the show, with no sense that she’s the “new” whoever left; she’s always her own person.

Lastly, much love for how the series deals with religion, particularly in light of all the scandalous stuff the midwives see in their work on the East End.  The nuns are never judgmental toward their patients, no matter what they’ve done, and they regularly turn to prayer to help them through difficult times.  Very respectfully done.

Warnings

Medical stuff (including zillions of labors, blood, bodily fluids, festering injuries, and references to enemas,) sexual reference, drinking/smoking, some violence, and strong thematic elements.

Top Five Songs: Dessa Rose

As far as Ahrens & Flaherty musicals go, Dessa Rose is a little hit-or-miss for me, but as is usual with this composing duo, when they’re on, they’re really on.  Here are my favorite songs from the show.

“Ol’ Banjar” – I feel Dessa Rose puts a bit too shiny a veneer on its story at times, but even though this is an upbeat song, it works for me.  That’s because it’s specifically about clinging to the few good things that make life bearable, and for Kaine, that’s two things:  music and Dessa Rose.  The simple but lovely tune fits it to a tee.

Best line:  “Ain’t no white folks down in Africa, / Ain’t no white folks near or far. / You own yourself / And you own your soul / and the music of ol’ banjar.”

“Something of My Own” – Just like music gives Kaine happiness, Dessa Rose’s unborn child gives her both hope and strength.  Her ode to how her child is already changing her and everything she’ll do on its behalf (especially her vow to “only name him free”) is gorgeous.

Best line:  “I could be as strong as thunder / With his hand in mine. / Tear the very storm asunder. / Make the sun to shine.”

“Twelve Children” – The Act I finale is a stunning showcase for Dessa Rose, introducing her newborn daughter to the stories of all the family she’s lost.  This beautifully-understated song validates Dessa Rose’s lost brothers and sisters, despite the repeated indifference of the white masters.

Best line:  “Some sold away. / Some passed away. / Some run. / Twelve children brought from her body. / All gone but one.”

“Better If I Died” – This is such a great drama!! song, with a strong driving rhythm and fantastic harmonies between Ruth and Dessa Rose.  It’s a fine release for everything that’s been building up between them in the second act.

Best line:  “Nothing more to ruin. / Nothing left to say…” – “Nothing left to take away.”

“Just over the Line” – Full disclosure:  I mostly love this song because the chorus is so blame catchy.  It pulls me in every time.  Plot-wise, I find it fairly incredulous, but ooh!  That music, especially when Nathan sings it; in general, I don’t think the show makes great use of Norm Lewis’s talents, but he’s just wonderful here.

Best line:  “Tuscaloosa, Pickens, Greene. / Counties we ain’t never seen. / But look who’s here! / Just over the line.”

V for Vendetta (2005, R)

After going back to read the graphic novel, I thought it was high time I watched this film again.  While it’s very different from the book, I still like it a lot.  In fact, I think I still might prefer it to the book, and not just because I saw it first.

As in the graphic novel, Evey Hammond’s life is forever changed by a chance encounter with an enigmatic masked man called V.  Saving her from danger at a crucial moment, V makes Evey witness to the first stage of his plan to dismantle England’s fascist government, at the same time taking his revenge on the powerful people who committed atrocities against him years before.  Evey is torn between her fear of the compelling terrorist and a desire to see the change he promises.

Like I said, there are a lot of alterations here.  Overall, the story feels much more streamlined, keeping the main focal points on Evey, V, and Finch, the investigator trying to apprehend him.  A fair amount of plot development on the other side, the goings-on of the various government departments complete with corruption, backstabbing, and secret agendas, has been excised, and for the most part, I don’t mind the loss.  However, the condensing of some big framework stuff – the backdrop on the rise of the fascist government in England, and the exploration of undesirables under the new order – feels more “bite-sized” in the movie, more simplistic with clearly-drawn lines between points A, B, and C.  In that case, the snipping doesn’t work as well for me.

V, though, is just as cool as he is in the book.  Maybe a skosh less remote, but still every bit as theatrical, complicated, and mysterious.  Hugo Weaving does a great job with the character, such that you really don’t mind that his facial expressions are hidden behind a Guy Fawkes mask the entire movie.  I think I like Evey a little better here; I spent much of the book feeling frustrated with her and wishing she was stronger.  In the film, she still goes through quite the journey and changes a lot as a character, but she starts changing in small ways almost immediately (it helps that much of the “sexual survival” stuff I complained about from the book is either gone or very understated.)  Natalie Portman balances Evey’s fragile beginnings with her endurance and powerful transformation very nicely.

Plenty of familiar British faces getting in on the action.  John Hurt himself is England’s chancellor, and between the police and the government departments, we get Roger Allam (Peter from The Thick of It,) Rupert Graves (Lestrade from Sherlock,) and Ben Miles (Patrick from Coupling.)  But for me, the supporting-character MVP is Stephen Fry as Evey’s boss, a popular media personality who’s much more than he seems at first.  He has a great scene with Evey that I remembered from my first viewing of the film, years ago, just as well as the excellently-realized big moments, like V’s opening act or the prison sequence.

Warnings

Strong violence, sexual content (including references to pedophilia,) language, and strong thematic elements (including war crimes.)

Moonshine (1918)

Only fragments exist in good quality for this short – on The Best Arbuckle-Keaton Collection DVD, Moonshine clocks in at just under six-and-a-half minutes, and that includes extra narration to bridge some of the gaps.  However, there are several complete versions of the short that can be found on YouTube, albeit of dubious picture quality.

Fatty and Buster play a pair of revenue agents trying to round up bootleggers.  Fatty catches the eye of the chief bootlegger’s daughter (Alice Lake,) and Fatty’s spurned would-be rival, another bootlegger played by Al St. John, handles his rejection about as well as you’d expect of a skeevy criminal in a silent comedy shot.  Chases, hijinks, and threats of violence ensue.

In my rewatch of the Fatty Arbuckle stuff, this might be the best appearance I’ve seen by Alice Lake so far.  She’s given some great slapstick bits to work with, kicking Al St. John in the face, in the butt, and into a hammock with aplomb and gumption.  Unfortunately, her character is majorly jacked-up from a gender perspective.  There’s a weird sequence in which 1) Alice rejects Al in no uncertain terms, 2) her father spanks her for it, 3) Fatty swoops in to breaking up the spanking because he wants to 4) scold her for not having obeyed her father before 5) throwing her in the river, and 6) Alice falls in love with him as a result.  Say what now?  I know it’s 1918, but yeesh.

That’s the only major misstep in this good-not-great short that has some fun humor and some fine slapstick.  Comedy-wise, what stands out most here is the frequent, blatant fourth-wall-breaking.  I know Fatty shoots looks at the camera often enough, and there’s that bit in Coney Island where he motions for the camera to only film him from the waist up while he’s changing, but this is a whole different beast.  The dialogue and intertitles are full of meta comments, such as Fatty and Buster discussing the whereabouts of their extras, the narration pointing out the director’s ingenuity in choice bits, and, in the case of the weird interplay between Fatty and Alice, the observation, “Look, this is only a two-reeler.  We don’t have time to build up to love scenes.”  This isn’t something you see in the early Arbuckle-Keaton shorts, and I don’t remember anything like it in the later ones.  I wonder what prompted it (on an interesting note, the good-quality fragmentary version of the short doesn’t even hint at this sensibility.)

But for goodness sake, let’s talk about Buster already.  Lots of fun here.  In the short’s most memorable sequence, Fatty washes Buster in the river and hangs him up to dry in a tree, upside-down by his ankles.  From what I can tell, there’s nothing holding Buster in place – I think he really is just clinging to a tree branch by the tops of his feet, and the easy way with which he pulls himself up by his pant legs once he “dries off” is terrific to watch.  He also gets a head start on the monkey impression he’ll pull out in The Playhouse, and an excellent chase scene with Al St. John sends both of them up and down a tree, moving nearly in tandem throughout the long single take.

Warnings

Slapstick violence (including gunplay,) drinking, and some weird gender politics.

Character Highlight: Rhys Williams (Torchwood)

Sometimes comic relief, sometimes source of romantic drama, sometimes convenient damsel, sometimes surprisingly helpful.  At his worst, Gwen’s bloke is a walking symbol of Dull Everyday Life Before Torchwood, contrasted with the fascinating, dashing Jack, but at his best, he’s a pretty good example of An Ordinary Man Holding His Own Against the Impossible (Rhys-related spoilers.)

The majority of shows that mix the real world with sci-fi/superheroes/the supernatural require the main character “in the know” to have a loved one with no idea what’s going on.  It’s a well-worn trope; as I pointed out, this loved one can be an endless well of secret-keeping hijinks, angst from the main character having to lie to them (often accompanied by strain on the relationship,) and crises involving the loved one unknowingly getting caught up in the danger.  While this loved one is often a romantic partner, it’s also usually a girlfriend or wife, which is a box Rhys obviously doesn’t fit.  However, the gender really doesn’t make the trope any more enjoyable.  This dynamic almost invariably frustrates me, because keeping such enormous secrets upsets the balance of the relationship, and even though the average person naturally isn’t going to suspect that their girlfriend catches aliens for a living, the viewers know what’s really going on, and so the continued obliviousness makes the loved one look dumb by comparison.

This is where Rhys sits for much of series 1.  It’s not a great look, and it’s compounded by the fact that Gwen is basically a mess as she struggles to adjust to life in Torchwood and treats him pretty badly as a result.  You get the sense that the aura the writers are going for is, “Look at the poor lug – he has no idea,” and while Kai Owen’s performance paints a decent picture of an affable Regular Joe who can’t figure out why his girlfriend has started acting so weird and shifty all the time, it’s not terribly exciting to see.

Things improve when, early in series 2, Rhys gets wise to all the alien business.  No longer being in the dark almost always helps characters like this, and Rhys starts coming off better almost right away.  I like that he doesn’t find out through a slip of the tongue or stumbling accidentally into irrefutable evidence, as often happens in these situations.  Rather, the alien plot of the week tangentially enters his circle, affecting one of his employees, and when Rhys discovers that Gwen is involved in whatever’s going on, he takes it upon himself to investigate.  By the time he confronts her about it, he’s already learned quite a lot, and he’s ready to help, doing a nice bit of undercover work and putting himself in danger during the mission.  From there, his contributions to Torchwood are occasional but generally good.  Even if he doesn’t run around guns blazing or have many special skills, he’s a dependable extra hand who’s an asset, not a liability.

I also like that, although the realization that Gwen is in Torchwood freaks Rhys out and makes him worry for her safety, he doesn’t try to make her quit.  There’s some “What were you thinking?” stuff, and I don’t like him grilling Jack about why he recruited Gwen, but he never says, “This is too dangerous; I’m not having it.”  In fact, when he helps with that first mission, it’s really more about him than Gwen.  He doesn’t demand to go along to keep an eye on Gwen or anything like that, instead insisting that he’d be valuable to the mission because he’s already established contact with certain persons of interest and can help the team get in.  I appreciate that – he’s worried, as anyone would be, but he also doesn’t interfere with Gwen’s choices.