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Eaux d'artifice (1953)
Captivating film (possible spoilers)
Many years ago, I took a college film/literature/art class co-taught by a marvelous English professor/filmmaker and an art professor who was also a gifted modern artist. The entire experience proved enlightening and just plain delightful, despite a handful of redneck ignoramuses. One of the most captivating, intriguing films we viewed during that class was Eaux d'artifice. I adore water gardens, such as the ones I had already toured at Longwood and Chatsworth. Long a student of history, I felt fascinated watching this rather small woman in 18th century garb waft about the sumptuous foliage and water arrangements amid the splendor of Tivoli and the d'Este estate. Vivaldi's Winter provided the perfect soundtrack. Thirty years on, I recollect this incredible film with the greatest pleasure. The photography remains breathtaking, even filtered through my memory banks. We also viewed Anger's Magick Lantern Cycle, which simply confirmed my estimation of Anger's genius. His use of imagination in exploring history and eroticism through the framework of the arts also stimulated my own imagination. This film, as well as Anger's other work, certainly bear exploration. Sit back and let the beauty of Tivoli and the mystery of its diminutive guest waft over you.
The Forsyte Saga (2002)
An insult to Galsworthy and Donald Wilson
I looked forward to seeing what modern film makers would do with one of my favorite literary projects, as well as the granddaddy of the mini-series, the impeccable Forsyte Saga. My disappointment as I viewed this insipid, sophomoric mess beggars description. This version feels like a cheap imitation, with dreadful costumes that look as though they came from a jumble sale. To call this garbage an adaptation of Galsworthy's towering literary achievements seems akin to calling a TV dinner an adaptation of a meal served in a five-start restaurant. While the current performers have talent, they are never allowed to show their acting chops, as they struggle to move beyond the horrific script and pathetic production/direction. Annihilating more than half the elder Forsytes, especially the amusingly agoraphobic Timothy, and the middle generation, such as Francie, the composer of those droll little ditties, insults not only the author, but also the audience. Clearly, the writers and producers feel contempt for both, as they imply modern audiences must be too stupid to follow such a large cast. One would think they might at least have included Roger's character, since he is George's father, or Timothy, as Ann, Hester and Juley share his house. Playing with the characters' ages so shamelessly proved equally absurd and irritating. Swithin and James are twins; Swithin dies at 79 during the early 1890s, according to Indian Summer of a Forsyte, but in this TV adaptation, Swithin strangely makes an appearance at James' 90th birthday party, which of course would have been Swithin's 90th, too. Likewise, Galsworthy's Aunt Hester lives until her mid-late 80s, whereas in this production, she seems to outlive the unseen Timothy, the youngest Forsyte, who is last of the elder clan members to die at the ripe old age of 100+ around 1920. One can only call such lapses sloppy, lazy writing/film making. This new version also takes inexcusable liberties with Galsworthy's characterizations. Galsworthy paints his main characters in shades of grey; many are neither good nor evil, but rather simply human, with all the attendant flaws of humanity. This production paints young Jolyon, who is referred to as Jo in the books and original series, and Irene, in a much worse light, in the sense that it unforgivably softens Soames. I haven't read the novels in many years, but when I skimmed some of the early chapters of Man of Property, I found what I expected: Galsworthy offers many hints about the grim, relentlessly possessive Soames, who is described as detesting sunshine. Irene should have known better than to marry him, but the books describe Soames as having finally worn her down on his fifth attempt to propose in the face of some unpleasantness at home. Irene hoped she could handle Soames more easily, but the more she withholds herself, the more desperately he grasps her. He wants what he wants, and the older he grows, the more he wants. Galsworthy describes Jo as a good-hearted person, despite his mistake of leaving his first wife to run off with Helene, whose streak of melancholia/mental illness these writers inexplicably ignore. I never felt Galsworthy censuring Jo, Helene or Irene. The author focuses upon his characters' responsibilities versus their needs, as well as the ravages of time and change upon the entire Forsyte clan, from the second generation to the youngest. Ripping this essential quality from the mini-series sucks the life out of it. Series one and series two become reduced to pure melodrama, without a larger scope. Series Two especially goes overboard by over-softening Soames. It also violates the rules of good story-telling by having Monty live far longer than he did. Monty died in a fall down the stairs after playing baccarat in Paris long before 1920.
Notorious Woman (1974)
Evocative, marvelous series
It's been more than 30 years since I had the pleasure of viewing this exquisite Masterpiece Theatre production. Notorious Woman continues to haunt me through the mists of time. The performances seem nothing short of magnificent. Rosemary Harris turns in a bravura performance as the fascinating, enigmatic George Sand, while George Chakiris utterly captivates as Chopin. I could scarcely credit his superb, sensitive handling of this complicated composer. He deteriorates before our eyes. Chakiris' interpretation of Chopin quite eclipses Hugh Grant's excellent Chopin from Impromptu. Jeremy Irons never disappoints, while the rest of the supporting cast also do a phenomenal job. I still remember splendid Georgina Hale as Sand's difficult daughter, Solange, as though it were yesterday. Please, BBC, et. al., release this masterwork on DVD with all speed.
Troy (2004)
Wretched waste of celluloid and time
We happened upon this film last night on AMC. My partner teaches the classics each year and spent much of her time in grad school immersing herself in Greek drama. As each minute crept by with horrific boredom, we felt appalled by the cheap, anachronistic sets and special effects, terrible writing and direction, and pitifully bad acting. You have to be an incredibly poor director to make a film that drags on for more than three excruciating hours feel rushed in terms of storyline. Most of the actors felt as though they were mired in some horrendous high school production. In fact, many high school productions are far better than this ill-conceived piece of garbage. I have to admit, I've never considered Brad Pitt a convincing actor, let alone a sex symbol. He just looks like some adenoidal frat boy who drinks too much. Diane Kruger as Helen was unpardonably miscast. She had neither the beauty nor the acting chops to make one think she was worth all the lives and cultures sacrificed. Too many actors slipped in and out of bad accents that distracted one's attention from the storyline. As for the costumes, they looked like something cobbled together from a hippie vintage shop. I taught art history for several years, and the sets were just plain wrong in terms of chronology, location and architecture. Many of the sets looked like the Egyptians meet the Incans. As my partner pointed out, it is unforgivable to present a film that could have been a golden opportunity to interest students in reading the Greeks as some Hollywoodized gore fest at the end. It is far more powerful to follow the texts and have Priam witness the destruction of his family and land, just as it is more intriguing to have Agamemnon return home only to be ensnared in Clytemnestra's net.
Iron Jawed Angels (2004)
Pathetically anachronistic claptrap
I knew when I saw the woman's naked back scrawled with Votes For Women in what appeared to be red lipstick that this would be yet another stinker from HBO. We know this network is capable of good efforts, such as Band of Brothers, but more often than not, they produce anachronistic potboilers masquerading as history. While some of these characters lived, others were created to suit the mawkish tendencies of the producer, writer and director. I could find no evidence of the Leightons in the history sources I consulted. I didn't do an exhaustive search, but their story also felt contrived. Suffragettes in general were single-minded, serious women, not pouty little twits who mooned about on swings with leaves swirling all over them while hip-hop blasted. What was up with that hideous soundtrack? I taught college for years, and my students often amazed me with their capacity to appreciate stories from other eras. Hip-hop has no place in a historical film. No wonder American students suffer from brain atrophy. If you never challenge people, then they cannot learn and grow. When I watched the brilliant Shoulder to Shoulder (the British tale of their suffrage movement) during the 70s, I never expected to hear Led Zeppelin or the Who in the soundtrack. I wouldn't have wanted to. Period music is necessary to create mood and tone. Likewise, those disgusting costumes, which were just plain wrong. The sets looked anachronistic, as well, no less as soundstagey as all get out. Whenever the characters went outside to stand in the cold, no condensation emerged with their breaths. I can't abide cheap, phony productions, and that is what we too often get in these American pieces. Many of the songs were rather lascivious, as were the gratuitous scenes of the homely Swank (she is a decent actress, but she is hardly attractive) masturbating in the bathtub, complete with too many shots of her over-collagened lips. Ben Weissman, the so-called cartoonist/love interest, was a fictional creation. This sort of fictionalized love story in the midst of a biopic seems nothing short of insulting to the viewers, as well as to the historical women who suffered greatly for their cause. With just a few exceptions, women were only just emerging as public femme-fatales at this point, but many of these songs had a slutty tone. In addition to these flaws, the film definitely dragged in many places. Watch Shoulder to Shoulder instead. American suffragettes deserve better treatment than this aimless mess.
Sharpe: Sharpe's Challenge (2006)
Welcome back, Sharpe!
Loved this latest entry in the marvelous Sharpe series! Let's hope this episode will pave the way for more episodes. Bean and O'Malley, as well as the ever-irritating, simpering Simmerson (Michael Cochrane) and perennial favorite Hugh Fraser as Wellington, perform in their usual superlative manner. After so many outings together, they feel just like old friends in one's living room. Bean, despite looking older and a trifle exhausted, continues to exude sensuality. India, as well as its inhabitants, shimmers; however, the director Tom Clegg would have done well to ignore the peremptory entreaties of Indian/American actress (using the term advisedly, of course) Padma Lakshmi, when she demanded to be cast as the scheming courtesan, Madhuvanthi. Lakshmi is gorgeous, but she speaks in a flat tone, often slurring her words; she exudes all the passion of a dead rat and is not in the least seductive. Lucy Brown, on the other hand, joins a long line of engagingly chaste Sharpe heroines, at least until our hero seduces her (in the loveliest possible way, of course), as Celia, the kidnapped general's daughter. The producers did overdo the bust shots, especially as necklines had crept higher by 1817, but Brown is pretty, a fair English rose to juxtapose against the darker beauties of India. She is also spirited and conveys her feelings in that subtle manner we admire in British performers. Toby Stephens is a perfect cretin as the renegade William Dodd; he presents a worthy addition to the nasty stable of Sharpe villains. Since those early episodes with Pete Postlethwaite as Hakeswill, the shoes of a Sharpe villain have been almost impossible to fill. Bravo to the BBC for ushering us back to this beloved world of Sharpe and his compatriots, as well as his enemies!