"Pride and Prejudice" (1980)

**This article was contributed by the Supreme Arbitress of Taste and is the final installment of "Pride & Prejudice Week.  I imagine there will be more reviews and responses to what has been posted, so keep your eyes peeled for those.**

For sheer accuracy to the book, I still maintain that you can't beat the 1995 BBC version, but surprisingly enough there's a contingency of people that prefer an early BBC adaptation from 1980. I honestly have very mixed feelings about this version. Although they did many things correctly--there's a lot to admire--I still feel like it's not as good as it's successor.

Elizabeth Garvie looks the part of Elizabeth Bennett better than any other
actress to take the role, but she lacks the sparkling personality though she's
certainly wise and reflective enough to fit the changes Elizabeth goes through.

Still, as this film remains largely unknown, I feel compelled to give a fairly detailed review. To start with, the opening credits of this miniseries are a delight to watch because they are a scroll over cartoon renditions of scenes from the episode which cannot help but make me laugh. The cinematography is not very good, but it beats other Austen adaptations of the era substantially. The music also is unremarkable without being bad. But really there's not much of it, and thus my remarks a limited.

Now let me talk about the Lizzie in this version, played by Elizabeth Garvie. I think she certainly had the look of Elizabeth, but she lacks the animation and cynicism central to the character. Instead we get a very quiet, reflective Miss Bennett, which makes her transition to greater self-awareness and love for Mr. Darcy more plausible than I've seen in any other version. Despite this I cannot get over how much she feels like of a pale imitation of the vivacious character we know and love in the first half of the film, so the performance ultimately falls flat for me.

This, however, is nothing compared to the fault of the Darcy in this version, played by David Rintoul. His is a one-note performance: cold. Seriously I don't think this guy so much as raises an eyebrow throughout the whole performance, and his proposal scene is one of the least convincing I've ever seen. The only commendation I will give him is that he looks the part admirably: tall dark and handsome in the extreme.

Now as to the minor characters. I feel like they're much more well-rounded than they are in the '95 classic, but at the same time much of the humor is removed in this process. The Bennett girls do look closer to their actual ages in the book, which I greatly appreciate, and Mrs. Bennett feels like a real person without being absurd. My main problem with the Bennetts in this is how much they deflate Mr. Bennett into a gruff chauvinist and a tyrant. All his mirth and wit seem to be removed, and thus he loses all sympathy in the eyes of the audience.

Outside the Bennet family, I don't feel like the minor parts were characterized as well because they has so little screen time. Sir William Lucas, the Bingley sisters, Charlotte, Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Gardener all seem to be there in name only, with no very distinguishing characteristics, which is sad because they add wonderful color to the narrative in the book.

I will, however, give this version points for two minor, non-Bennett characters. Mrs. Gardener gets credit first for being portrayed much more as as a confidant to Lizzie, wise and sagacious but lacking the streak or wry humor that makes her tease Lizzie about Darcy in her letter. So I actually still prefer the Mrs. Gardener from the '95 version, but I deeply appreciated the expanded role she was given in this one. The next role that I give them credit for is the ever-difficult Mr. Collins. This Collins is, to quote Blackadder, is "As thick as clotted cream that's been left out by some clot until the clots are so clotted that they couldn't be un-clotted with an electric de-clotter," which is just what we want in the character. At the same time, however, he doesn't seem as slimy or sniveling as he was in both the '95 miniseries and to a certain extent in the '05 theatrical release. This Collins is in awe of Lady Catherine without sucking up to her, which is how I've always pictured him.

One thing I give this version a lot of credit for incorporating is some of Austen's memorable narrative voice, much of which gets put into voice-overs by Lizzie and into the mouths of other characters by way of needed plot exposition. When you're dealing with an adaptation of one of the most quotable authors in the English language, it's important to pay homage to her memorable voice. Still, however, many of the best lines of the book remain omitted, including some of the best Lizzie/Darcy banter.

Then, of course, I will have to criticize this version for cutting the ending short, but since all the adaptations do that, I can hardly blame them any more than the others. I actually will express my satisfaction that they included a scene where the Bennetts invited Bingley and Darcy over for a party, and Lizzie tries in vain all evening to speak to Mr. Darcy. That scene does an excellent job at making us feel her frustration at not being able to express her thanks to Mr. Darcy . I also give this version credit for showing Mrs. Bennett's reaction to the news of Lizzie's engagement, which no other version to my knowledge shows, and which was always a favorite of mine from the book. Still, that is the final scene of the film, and its abrupt ending leaves viewers dazed and confused at the lack of a denouement as the credits roll.

"Did you admire me for my impertinence?" Lizzie asks Mr. Darcy

So how does this adaptation fare compared to the others? Well, it's leaps and bounds above the 1940 debacle with Laurence Olivier--it breaks my heart to speak against my ultimate Hollywood crush--and Greer Garson. Although it lacks the emotional depth and humor of both the 1995 and 2005 versions, it still a very good adaptation, sticking to the book nearly as well as the 1995 masterpiece. Still, because the acting is so wooden and the characters so miscast in many cases, it is not one I can watch very often with the same pleasure as the '95. At the same time, however,  it certainly does not inspire homicidal thoughts in me the same way truly bad adaptations do. So in conclusion, it's a credible and effort but not stellar work.

"Pride and Prejudice" (1995)

**This article was contributed by the Supreme Arbitress of Taste in response to the review of the 1995 BBC miniseries "Pride & Prejudice" posted earlier this week.**

Those of you who are regular readers of my blog Seeing Sepia will remember that this adaptation made #1 on my list of Top 10 Most Faithful Movie Adaptations from Novels of All Time. I did not give that award out lightly as a film buff and lover of classic literature. Of course I realize it's not perfect, since no adaptation can be, but I still don't think some of the charges Publius has made against it are entirely fair. Please bear in mind that he esteems it almost as much as I do, and he should by no means be lampooned for daring to find fault with it. It is not my intention to question his right to find fault with it, as indeed he is correct in saying that is overall stellar quality gives us license to concentrate on the minutiae. In that spirit, therefore, I mount my defense.

British-American actress Jennifer Ehle handles the complex character of Elizabeth Bennett with just the right amount of sweetness and cynicism.

I will start with his slight objection to Jennifer Ehle's portrayal of Elizabeth. In it he says that Elizabeth's cynical streak had been softened somewhat, but I don't think that's so. I think she gives plenty of looks in the film that show just how weary she is of hypocrisy and injustice, especially when Lydia's elopement comes up. Consider during that episode when she hears that Lady Lucas has given assistance several times: "Assistance is impossible and condolence insufferable! Let her triumph over us at a distance and be satisfied!" I think that's about as cynical as you can get. Also, you don't want Lizzie's cynicism to be too prominent, lets she lose the mirth for which we love her.

Publius also claims that because the production is shot so much from Elizabeth's perspective, all the other characters seem one-dimensional. I will grant him that in part. Many of the characters do seem one-dimensional, but I would argue that Mr. Darcy does not suffer from this problem nor does Mr. Bennett to a certain degree.

I actually like that we get to see the characters from Lizzie's perspective for the most part. It means that our reactions coincide more with her own. After all, if we don't agree with her condemnation of Darcy in the beginning, we would lose sympathy with her subsequent treatment of him. I think experiencing the narrative largely through Lizzie's eyes gives us a softer view of Mr. Bennett, and a harder one on just about everyone else, Jane notwithstanding. Mr. Darcy, of course, averts this problem partially because we have the few scenes from his POV that reveal his true affection for Elizabeth. Still, however, we are given little hint that his appearance of  haughtiness is partially due to shyness apart from a few instances of him being tongue-tied in Lizzie's presence, which could be easily attributed simply to his being in love. Those scenes, however, combined with my foreknowledge of shyness being the novel's partial explanation of Darcy's actions were enough to produce that impression on me. At the same time, however, it's subtle enough that the nuance will still be lost on Elizabeth, which makes her assumption of pride more plausible.

I also know that the reason that some of the characters aren't as well-rounded as they should be is because the filmmakers wanted to make sure that the humor of their actions still came across, and I feel that this adaptation preserves the humor better than any other version of P&P. For those of you who haven't read it the book, it is laugh-out-loud funny, and this adaptation is the only one in which I find myself laughing at the same scenes and lines as I did in the book. That is a very high compliment indeed. Unfortunately this also means that the film short-changes some of the deeper aspects of these characters, especially Mrs. Bennett and Mr. Collins. I can excuse this, however, on the grounds that even though Jane Austen is renowned for well-drawn, rounded characters, her primary intent with them was to provide humor, and thus it is more important that they fulfill that function than that they appear well-rounded at the expense of the humor. It's sad that it has to be that way, but as Publius pointed out, even in a 6-hour miniseries, there simply isn't time to flesh out all the characters.

One thing that Publius got spot-on was that this version like all the others before it doesn't seem to know what to do with Mr. Collins. Of course I think this version's Collins is the funniest one of the bunch, but he's way too slimy and not quite dense enough to fit the character that Austen wrote. In fact he's so transparently a grasping sycophant that it's impossible to believe that Charlotte can even have a modicum of contentment with him. And speaking of Charlotte, she's a character that isn't nearly explained well enough so that she comes off mercenary. This version shows that she's certainly as smart as Lizzie and doesn't have the looks to catch a man, but her lack of fortune and spinster status are never alluded to, and thus leave the audience as shocked as Lizzie when the engagement is announced.

As to Publius' claim that the cinematography lacked panache, I think first off that it exceeds all the previous BBC cinematography I've seen--but not subsequent--and secondly that it was made for TV not theaters, which means both budget and expectations were decidedly lower. I can easily excuse it because it so far above the home-video quality of the BBC Austen adaptations of the '70s and '80s as to be a positive breath of fresh air in comparision.

Jennifer Ehle as Elizabeth and Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy perform the "up a double and back" figure from the English Country Dance "Mr. Bevridge's  Maggot," in a slowed tempo that emphasizes the stateliness and formality of their relationship and Mr. Darcy's personality.

Of the many good points that Publius spoke of, moreover, he failed to mention two of my favorites, namely the score and the dancing. The score is a mixture of period classical pieces, English Country Dance tunes, and original compositions by Carl Davies including the famous theme song. One thing I know that Publius and I both appreciate is how much of the music heard comes from Mozart. For example, Lizzie sings an aria from The Marriage of Figaro when she's at Pemberley, and the musical piece played as everyone arrives for the Netherfield Ball is from the wedding scene in that opera. In addition Mrs. Hurst plays another Mozart piano piece during the ballroom scene, and Lizzie plays another while she's at Rosings Park. This is particularly appropriate because Figaro and P&P are often compared to each other in terms of sparkling wit and social commentary. As for the dancing, I can say being an English Country Dancer myself that the dances are well-executed and are real Playford English Country Dances that existed at the time instead of being something the filmmakers created. That being said, many English Country Dance aficionados have pointed out that the dances chosen in the film were hopelessly outdated by the time of  P&P, but I think that's a minor point because it's still the same style of dance. It's not like the replaced it with the polka or the electric slide.

So yes, this film/miniseries does have some faults. Are they bad enough for me to retract the title of best novel-to-film adaptation ever? No. Until someone shows me one that captures all the events and the spirit of the novel as well as this one, I will still maintain that it is the most accurate I've ever seen.

"Pride and Prejudice" (1995)

**As promised, here is my second review for "Pride and Prejudice Week" review of the universally acclaimed 1995 BBC adaptation of "Pride and Prejudice."  Between this and my review (to be posted tomorrow) of the 2005 film version, I can't see how I will escape unscathed.**

"Pride and Prejudice" is one of the most recognized titles in English literature.  It is also one of the most adapted. From the first black-and-white film adaptation released in 1940 (starring Laurence Olivier as Mr. Darcy), to the 2001 hybrid "Bridget Jones' Diary," to the 2003 adaptation placing the story in contemporary Utah (!), and the 2004 Bollywood effort "Bride and Prejudice" (starring the "most beautiful woman in the world," Aishwarya Rai). The novel has spawned six separate BBC miniseries, the earliest released in 1938.  The most famous of those, which is also the most famous adaptation of the novel by far, is the 1995 miniseries written by Andrew Davies.

It is hard to do justice to this adaptation. It has received (and deserved) so many compliments, that it has become quite a challenge to compose an original thought. It is also a thoroughly paradoxical adaptation: rigorously faithful to the novel in the screenplay, for which it has received a good deal of praise, while at the same time reducing many of the minor characters to one-dimensional caricatures played for laughs, which is not so faithful to the book but nevertheless receives praise from the same sources. Finally, it is also a marathon six hours in length, and thus requires a good deal of endurance merely to watch.

The 1995 miniseries is one of my favorite literary adaptations, and one of my favorite adaptations of Austen. I cannot give it a superlative, simply because there are (admittedly minor) aspects that dissatisfy me, and with six hours at its disposal, I am rather more inclined to expect perfection. This may be unfair, but it will certainly allow for a more interesting review, than one that merely heaps praise on a work already swollen with it.

I take it as a general rule, that where a work is viewed with nearly universal regard, it is far more interesting to me to write of its faults, and that when a work is treated with general disdain, it becomes far more valuable to seek out its merits.

The two leads have received a good deal of praise for their performances, and they richly deserve it. Jennifer Ehle is the definitive Elizabeth Bennet, though her performance is perhaps a bit more muted than I would have interpreted the character. She conveys the propriety of a Regency woman, and the sweetness we expect in a heroine, but her portrayal lacks the almost cynical streak we might expect from a character who at one point states: "There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it." By the end of the novel, the astute reader will have noted that Lizzie really is quite similar in temperament to Mr. Darcy, both in positive and negative aspects. Their conversational sparring shows them equal in observation and quick wit; and in the aftermath of Darcy's first abortive proposal both he and Lizzie realize how greatly they had each been blinded by vanity. In light of such similarities, it is quite interesting to note how differently they are portrayed on screen: Lizzie's character is a good deal softened, while Darcy's is anything but.

The miniseries follows the perspective of Lizzie very closely, to the point where we largely see the other characters from her perspective. In practice, this means that each character seems to act out Lizzie's impression of them.  Thus, Darcy and very every other minor character are cast in an almost simplistic or one-dimensional light, and only given occasional moments to express the true depth of their natures.

From the moment he emerged sopping wet from a lake, Colin Firth was firmly established as the definitive Fitzwilliam Darcy. I cannot dispute his masterful performance. Firth is given just enough screen time to craft a multidimensional character out of those few subtle moments he was allowed. But, just as I found a chink in Jennifer Ehle's armor, so will I readily point out Firth's vulnerability. This one is, indeed, quite a bit easier to spot. After all, by the end of the novel, we are made to realize that "Indeed he has no improper pride" and Mr. Darcy was reserved simply because he is shy and lacks social grace. It is sometimes amusing to note how often this is forgotten by casual readers, and rather depressing to see how often it is missed by Austen loyalists who should know better.

I think our mistaken impression of Darcy is the fault of Andrew Davies' script, who initially portrays Darcy from Lizzie's first impression. Thus, Firth is made to play the character as essentially proud, more self-satisfied than socially awkward, even though the novel later clarifies that the latter is his true nature, and that the former is merely arose as a false impression from confirmation bias, due to Lizzie's wounded feelings. By the middle of the novel, after Darcy's proposal, Lizzie begins to realize her mistake and grasp Darcy's true character, at the same time that Darcy makes a renewed effort to master the social graces. When they next meet in the miniseries, Firth's performance is so drastically different that in the end he really has played two separate characters. The second Darcy, the man whose charms are perhaps even exaggerated in the light of Lizzie's growing affection for him, is a very different sort of creature than the first Darcy whose very presence had been so odious to her. Colin Firth is hardly to blame for this, and indeed does masterful work at hinting at Darcy's true nature even while being bound by the mistakes of the script. But he cannot overcome the false impression that has unfortunately become the consensus opinion of Darcy's character.

While Darcy is given enough screen time to overcome the simplistic characterizations of the script, the minor characters simply are not. Mrs. Bennet is depicted as a shrill insolent woman who gives offense to everyone and causes nothing but embarrassment to her more sensible daughters. Mr. Bennet is a withdrawn man who enjoys nothing so much as laughing at his wife and daughters, and only demonstrates fatherly affection in the occasional conversation with Lizzie. Jane is all goodness and perfection, Mary is all vanity and awkwardness, Kitty is a mere addendum to Lydia, and Lydia is simply silly.  To be quite honest, the portrayals of Jane and Lydia hardly depart from the tenor of the books, but Mary and Kitty are much more interesting characters than they are portrayed on screen.  Kitty has never been adequately captured on film, and for Mary I must give credit to the 2005 film, which did a masterful job of showing her true nature with very limited time. The other minor characters -- Mr. Collins, Charlotte Lucas, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, Mr. Hurst, Colonel Fitzwilliam,  Georgiana Darcy, even Mr. Bingley -- are all given short shrift, and most of those are played for laughs. I will get in trouble for this next sentence, but here goes: I cannot think of one performance that adequately captures the complexity of the characters as Austen wrote them. Only Mr. Wickham, the debonair demon himself, is given a multidimensional character, and that is simply because Lizzie's opinions of him change at the same time her opinions of Darcy change. While I understand the centrality of the love story between Lizzie and Darcy, and understand the centrality of Lizzie's character in that story, the 1995 adaptation's treatment of virtually every other character in the piece is lacking.  It accurately portrays the events of the narrative, but the participants in those events are made into stick figures, barely discernible as human and more easily recognized as caricature.

Jane Austen's greatest gift was the ability to craft real characters. Everything in her stories depend on that; every event hinges on that. The narrative falls apart if the characters are not accurate. Georgiana is shy so Lizzie can discover that Mr. Darcy is shy as well; Georgiana is eager to be pleased by Lizzie to show that Mr. Darcy had spoken to her of his feelings for Lizzie. Miss Bingley is arrogant so that Lizzie may be convinced that the whole party is intolerably vain; she is infatuated with Mr. Darcy so that Lizzie may dismiss her cruel words as simple jealousy, and more easily rehabilitate her good opinion of the party and of Darcy's character. Mr. Bingley is naturally humble so he may be persuaded by Darcy that Jane does not care for him; he is naturally energetic so that, when assured of Jane's love, he will shortly thereafter propose (conveniently removing the last impediment to Lizzie marrying Darcy).  The events naturally flow from the characters.

The 1995 miniseries preserves most of those events, but only retains the characters insofar as their personalities contribute to those events depicted. Now that I think of it, it was almost essential for the miniseries to end with a wedding, rather than allow for a more complete depiction of the happy endings for the other characters. After all, how can we conceive of a happy ending for Charlotte Collins, née Lucas, married as she is to a disgusting self-righteous snob without any trace of the good nature that is conveyed in the novel?  How can we fathom a happy marriage for Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, since she is so clearly established as ridiculous and he is so far withdrawn from his family? There are no happy endings for these characters, because the miniseries did not do the groundwork of making them real and complex people. It must end with a wedding, because Lizzie, Darcy, Jane and Bingley are the only four people who can possibly be happy at the end of it.

It may be thought, in light of my rather harsh criticism, that I did not appreciate this miniseries.  That is hardly the case.  As I said, it is one of my favorite adaptations of any of the Austen novels, and is as close to a perfect reflection of the original novel as has ever been captured. My criticism arises rather because of that perfection, rather than because of the imperfections: it comes so close, that any faults must stand out in far greater relief than in a lesser effort. Even though the characterizations are inadequate, they still capture much of the original personalities that Austen described, and everything else about the miniseries is spectacular. I didn't much like the cinematography -- mostly because it was so sedentary, so lacking any sort of panache -- but the script is wonderful, the settings are beautiful, and the soundtrack is exquisite. There is a delightful epigram from "Northanger Abbey": "The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid." I would not go so far (nor would Mr. Tilney, as he was being facetious) but the point stands: it may take a well-developed literary palate to fully appreciate, but this miniseries remains an indelible treat.

"Bleak House" (2005)

I have little patience for Charles Dickens. If I desired large serialized tomes with meandering prose and a cast of caricatures, I might find more value in his work, but for the present, my appetite for social drama must be whetted by Jane Austen. All that said, I found the BBC adaptation of "Bleak House" so compelling that I overcame my prejudices and tried to read the novel itself. I failed, but after re-watching the series I shall certainly redouble my efforts.


The BBC miniseries "Bleak House" has received virtually universal acclaim, at least according to Metacritic, and I can say little to dispute that it deserves it. Even the premiere episode somehow succeeds in introducing us to the typically Dickensian back-story and a massive cast of characters within its brief 30-minute window while still somehow maintaining our interest. It is a remarkable tribute to Andrew Davies, the screenwriter who also boasts the writing credit for the 1995 "Pride & Prejudice" miniseries, that he manages to cover so much of Dickens' plot while trimming the fat. "Bleak House" is simultaneously faithful to the source material, while excising the novel's qualities that would not appeal to a modern audience (such as, say, the ungodly length and tediousness of it all). It's rather difficult to evaluate the cinematography and soundtrack when they are so bipolar. The director did an exceptional job when showing action or dialogue, but for the establishing shots of landscapes and locations both picture and sound become melodramatic and obnoxiously percussive.

Now for the characters. Gillian Anderson (the actress who plays Lady Dedlock) attracted the most attention from U.S. audiences due to her role as Scully on "The X-Files, and she certainly deserved the laurels for her portrayal of the depressive wife of an aristocratic septuagenarian. Yet hers was not the only great performance in this series.

Anna Maxwell Martin effectively carries the entire series as Esther Summerson, the shy but exceptionally kindhearted young lady who was raised as an orphan but is discovered to be the illegitimate child of Lady Dedlock's youth. Her performance is consistently understated, which fits the character, and even when not onscreen she arrests our sympathies and grounds us in the world of Victorian England.

I was less impressed by the acting for Ada Claire and Richard Carstone (by Carey Mulligan and Patrick Kennedy, respectively), though it should be said that both of their characters were not written with much complexity in the first place. The most dramatic moment for Mulligan's character came in her embrace of Esther recovering from smallpox. Yet we hardly see Ada's face during the scene, as the camera remains entirely on Esther. Meanwhile, Kennedy effectively conveys Richard's fundamental transigence, and slow descent into obsession with the Jarndyce court case, but is left with little else to do. His is more a performance of makeup than a performance of spirit.

I feel similarly towards the character of Allan Woodcourt (played by Richard Harrington). He is clearly a sympathetic figure, and we see his growing affection for Esther, but he is not a compelling character. He is seen only on rare occasions throughout the miniseries, and those moments are not enough to define his character. This is perhaps due to the character's role: he is a foil for Esther, and is treated accordingly. Yet the obsessive and neurotic Guppy (played by Burn Gorman) is given a more definitive personality, though he is just as much a foil for Esther and for Esther's plot.

The character of John Jarndyce, played by Denis Lawson, is for me a much more engaging and sympathetic character, as Esther's guardian and host, who discovers that he is falling in love with his (much younger) ward. Even though modern audiences are sufficient attuned to the plot of romantic comedies to know that Esther is destined to love and marry Woodcourt, and we therefore rejoice in their happy ending, it is Jarndyce who carries the story and much of our sympathies during it. He is the more rounded character, and more central to the story.

The police constable, Mr. Bucket, is played by Alun Armstrong, who is not given much opportunity to shine until the second half of the miniseries, after the death of Mr. Tulkinghorn. I cannot tell if credit goes to the actor or to the director, but this struck me as one of the best performances on stage. When I saw him sipping wine while gazing at the corpse of Mr. Tulkinghorn, my first reaction was to laugh at the absurdity of it, then shrug at the appearance of another self-centered weasel who would use his position for no good. But then I realized how sharp Mr. Bucket actually was, how he was using nonchalance to coax cooperation from Mr. Clamb, the law clerk. He used his ability to put people at ease, to ensure that he could gather all the requisite evidence, and to ensure that everything worked out for the best. His passing comment to Mr. George, that arresting him falsely for the murder did him good because it reunited him with his mother, was brilliant, and made me realize that he actually had no concept of George's guilt in the first place. George, Dedlock, Hortense, Smallweed, and all the other schemers in the story, anyone with their own secrets and motivations, they were all outsmarted by a man who on first glance seemed a dunce, who bore more resemblance to Watson than to Holmes.

There is a panoply of other minor characters, each of whom are with few exceptions well-drawn and well-acted, and even those who are not are often hilarious (I'm thinking at this moment of the giggly Mrs. Guppy). However, as with so many stories, it is the villains who have the best scenes and best stories. It is hard to conceive of a more repulsive character than Mr. Smallweed (Phil Davis), the paralytic moneylender who barks orders at everyone and whips the servants who must carry him around everywhere. He is truly vile, and almost certainly barking mad besides ("Bad debt! Bad debt! I hate it!"). On the other hand, Harold Skimpole (Nathaniel Parker) is an atrocious specimen of amorality. He professes his ignorance and innocence ("I am a perfect child in such matters"), but his parasitic ability to feed off the livings of John Jarndyce and his wards and his willingness to sell the smallpox-stricken boy Jo defines this character as truly loathsome. He appears almost as an aristocratic Mephistopheles, a smooth surrogate of evil. There is a intriguing moral point to his protestations that "I am a child!" John Jarndyce points out that "I'm not sure if there is any other such child in all of Creation," but Skimpole does seem truly childish in his inability to support himself and his inability to understand the good motivations of others. He is genuinely out of his depth, even if he is a manipulative wretch.


The greatest character of the entire miniseries, however, is easily Mr. Tulkinghorn, played by Charles Dance. His entry on Wikipedia shows him holding flowers, and it is hard to imagine a more incongruous image after watching his performance in this miniseries. It is unfortunate that the directing and sound editing did not let his performance speak for itself, as the ominous music clearly marked him as The Bad Guy in his first appearance. Yet it is not until halfway through the series that we see him at his most villainous, in his dealings with Mr. George. Holding the threat of eviction over his head, to break down the roots of George's honor and loyalty to his dead friend, then executing that threat even after getting what he wanted, just to teach him the price of "defiance." Even the usually imperturbable Mr. Clamb did a double-take at that point. Tulkinghorn appears the true gentlemen around Sir Leichester Dedlock, only becoming menacing around Lady Dedlock. There is a wonderful scene where he expresses in the most genteel of words his devotion to the Dedlock family... only to follow with words of steel that he is loyal to the family "whatever the cost to others." It is a chilling moment, as the battle lines are drawn between Lady Dedlock and her solicitor. However, it cannot even come close to the scene where Tulkinghorn encounters Mr. Guppy in a sitting room with Lady Dedlock. Lady Dedlock explains that they had just concluded business, and as Mr. Guppy tries to exit, Tulkinghorn turns a positively monstrous gaze upon him. I did not think it was possible, but at that moment I felt genuine sympathy for the poor Mr. Guppy, and Tulkinghorn is the only possible character who could have inspired such feelings of pity for such a repulsive creep that Guppy was.

As for the story, it is almost impossibly complicated, yet it is not so difficult to follow once you're in the thick of it. Thus, it cannot be easily described, but I'm not even sure if it ought to be, since the story really isn't the point. Besides a few unpredictable twists that provide dramatic flair (such as the first literary instance of spontaneous combustion), the plot proceeds along familiar lines, and the ultimate resolution is telescoped from early on. It is not hard to predict where the characters end up. My one complaint about some of the plot points was that, while Dickens knew how to set up a dismal atmosphere, he really didn't know how to dispatch characters easily, or how to integrate their elimination with the plot. The first death, that of Captain Hawdon (alias Nemo), is from opium overdose -- very convenient, to die just before he would have had a role in the story. The second death, of Mr. Krook, is by spontaneous combustion. In this instance, Krook's death was necessary to enable his collection of papers to circulate, but Dickens clearly didn't want to be bogged down with another court case involving murder or even accidental death, and thus resorted to a freak of nature. The third death, involving Mr. Tulkinghon, was at the hands of a minor character who had the least possible reason for wishing his death. Dickens set out two immensely plausible suspects -- Lady Dedlock and Mr. George -- both of whom wish him dead for intensely personal reasons grounded in the story, but it turns out that Tulkinghorn was murdered by Hortense in a rage because he did not find her a job. The murder investigation was a single, giant head-fake by Dickens. [UPDATE: I forgot to mention the death of the boy Jo, which was effectively portrayed and quite powerful, but did not affect the plot in any significant way.] The fourth death, of Lady Dedlock, makes more sense in the novel than in the miniseries (in the book, she is being harried and suspected as a potential murderess; in the miniseries, she was already cleared, but had fled Chesney Wold to preserve Sir Leichester's honor). The final and fifth death, of Richard Carstone, was prefigured much early in the novel by Mr. Gridley, and was therefore not as affecting. I would have found it more effective if he had either a) died before the 'true' will was discovered and he came into his fortune or b) recovered from his illness and made a fresh beginning. This would have caused quite a stir in purist circles, so I absolve the miniseries from blame, but I cannot help but hold the novel responsible for this failure of imagination.

I also found the ending to be a bit hasty and slightly dissatisfying. Ada went from losing her husband to holding her child (with the requisite tears and smiles at each) in about two seconds flat. Mr. Guppy is reintroduced and dispatched in a single scene. Esther was at one moment happily installed with John Jarndyce, then suddenly launched into happy matrimony with the other love interest Mr. Woodcourt. Having taken its precious time to deal with the intricate relations and movements in the story, the miniseries suddenly realizes it has a plane to catch. I cannot begrudge it the eight hours of its run-time (I wasn't aware eight hours of television could be so happily spent), but I definitely begrudge its inability to use any of those eight hours to craft a happier ending.

Yet, in the end, the joy and beauty of the work is not in where it resolves, but in how it gets there; it is the journey, far more than the destination, that sustains this story. It is a delight and a pleasure to watch. It made me laugh, shed a few tears (tears of manliness, mind you), and drink deep the pleasures of good literature. It is highly recommended to anyone, especially those who dislike Charles Dickens.