”Know what makes a criminal?”

Seesaw is a British television miniseries, divided into three parts, that explores the kidnapping of a teenage girl. Well-to-do business owner Morris Price (David Suchet) lives with his decorator wife, Val (Geraldine Price) and their three children in a huge sprawling house in the suburbs. Things have not always been easy for the Prices, but Morris has built his security business from the bottom up. When the film begins, the Prices pose in front of son Theo’s (Joseph Beattie) flashy sports car for a photograph.

Naturally, there’s rot inside the family structure, but it’s largely covered by material wealth. Val is harried by job demands and catering to clients, and she doesn’t have a great deal of time for her children. The Prices’ middle child Hannah (Joanna Potts) has a tendency to feel sorry for herself. She’s at an awkward age. Spotty and without a boyfriend, she considers herself fat and unattractive. She also feels resentful towards her parents and is convinced, at least on some level, that she’s neglected.

One evening, instead of doing homework, Hannah goes off to a nightclub, and she doesn’t return home….

About one third of the film is devoted to the kidnapping, and the family’s reactions to the kidnappers’ demands. The rest of the film is devoted to the far more interesting fallout. The film follows not only how the Prices cope, but also what happens to the kidnappers. The kidnappers are a mismatched pair–there’s the complex, dangerous, seductive Eva (Amanda Omms) who really belongs on the set of La Femme Nikita, and her somewhat unwilling but sexually entranced cohort Jon (Neil Stuke). Eva’s alarming obsession with tarty outfits is matched by her desire for material gain.

The film’s fault lies in some of the truly awful lines connected to the entire kidnapping/Stockholm Syndrome episode. Cheesy, clumsy, and clichéd, this section of the film–delivered in flashbacks–was enough to make me wince (I love you so much I could peel you inside out and lick your intestines. I know the real you, etc etc). That said, the film really excels at portraying the ugly dynamics of the Price family. Hannah’s kidnapping, for example, brings out the sibling rivalry between Hannah and her younger bratty sister Becky (Jade Davidson). As corrosive blame and guilt for the kidnapping and its fallout spreads throughout the family members, the family structure disintegrates. Just how the Prices cope with the aftermath of the kidnapping is original and believable.

Fans of British television mysteries should enjoy this drama. It certainly doesn’t follow the hackneyed plots of this type of story. Seesaw is directed by George Case and based on a novel by Deborah Moggach.

“Bugger right and bugger left.”

Faith–a made for British Television miniseries examines the murky world of politics and nature of ambition through a handful of characters. Faith has an excellent cast, and the acting is stellar, but the film is so morally bankrupt that its conclusion is a huge disappointment.

The film begins in Africa with the death of Helena Reckitt (Robin Weaver) a young, white woman who’s senselessly shot and killed by paramilitary forces who’ve been sold guns by a British arms dealer. Turns out the arms dealer may possibly be linked to M-I6, and it seems as though the government may have turned a blind eye to the sale of these weapons….

Helena’s pointless death is a small segment of the film, yet it turns out to have great significance as the story develops. The main action, however, concerns tabloid reporter Nick Simon (John Hannah). With job cuts at the paper, there’s pressure to produce headlines from his vicious boss (Connie Booth). One night, Nick goes on a blind date with Holly Moreton (Susannah Harker). She tells Nick that her famous politician father, Peter Moreton (Michael Gambon) is having an affair with his secretary. This information creates a dilemma for Nick. Should he use the info and land a sensational, career-building story, or should he keep his mouth shut and develop his promising relationship with Holly?

The rest of the film is devoted to twists and turns as Helena Reckitt’s family tries to pursue some type of ‘justice’ for their daughter in the trial of the arms dealer, and the tabloids sink their teeth into Moreton’s private life. The dealer’s defense is that he worked for MI6, and that the government knew he was selling the guns. Moreton, as it turns out, is deeply involved, and he’s pivotal to the case.

Moreton, played by the very skilled actor, Michael Gambon, is portrayed as a rather disgusting person. While to the public eye, he’s often seen as the “moral voice” of his political party, in his private life, he’s snide, cynical and elitist. He views the death of Helena as a nuisance–almost as though she deliberately got in the way of a bullet just to cause him aggravation.

Through a series of events, Moreton experiences an epiphany that is utterly unbelievable. Given his earlier behaviour, it’s ludicrous to hear his whining about how he sacrificed his family for the sake of his political party. But what’s even more incredible is the inherent racism displayed by this character and simply swept under the rug by the plot. You see, as it turns out, to Moreton it’s perfectly ok for the government to sell guns to African paramilitaries to fuel wars, but it’s NOT ok for a WHITE UK citizen to be deliberately killed by guns provided by the same British gunrunner. The film fails to examine or even bother with the morality of selling guns to kill Africans. It’s the deliberate murder of a white UK citizen that brings about Moreton’s epiphany–the Africans don’t even enter into the equation. Once Moreton goes through the moral motions of realizing his mistake over the death of Helena, he’s suddenly one of the script’s “good guys.” This sudden moral redemption is shallow and yet we seem to be supposed to take Moreton’s remorse seriously.

The plot’s twists and turns, one lot of people screwing over the other lot of people only serve to illustrate the complete and utter moral bankruptcy of everyone involved. There are no heroes here, and it’s hard even to care for the ‘hero’ Nick. Morally bankrupt and soulless, Faith is so out of whack it fails to recognize its own white imperialist, privileged white message. From director John Strickland.

“They just got lost coming home.”

Five Days is a gripping BBC/HBO miniseries that covers five days of a police investigation for a missing woman. This superb, well-acted drama is something you can really get sink into. When the film begins, attractive housewife and mother Leanne Wellings (Christine Tremarco) leaves with her youngest two children to complete some errands. After adopting a dog from the local animal shelter, Leanne stops to buy some flowers from a roadside stand. With her two young children watching from the car, Leanne simply… disappears….

Five Days is by no means just a standard mystery. Instead this lengthy miniseries, with its emphasis on interpersonal relationships, takes the time to examine the fallout of Leanne’s disappearance on her family. Grief, stress and guilt tear the family apart, and long held grievances that were buried now simmer and rise to the surface–sometimes with explosive results. Five Days examines the mystery from every imaginable point of view–the community, the media frenzy, the police, and the grieving family and friends. And while there is suspense by the gallon, it’s the emotional fallout from this tragedy that’s so riveting.

Leanne’s personal trainer husband, Matt (David Oyelowo) struggles to maintain some sort of composure, but he’s quite aware that he’s a prime suspect. As is the case with most marriages, Matt and Leanne’s relationship wasn’t perfect, and now that she’s missing the problems are scrutinized. They were plagued with financial problems, and there are rumours of infidelity. Leanne’s parents instead of turning to each other for support feud over a number of issues, and Leanne’s bratty teenage daughter Tanya (Lucinda Dryzek) from an early marriage turns on everyone within spitting distance. Meanwhile Sarah (Sarah Smart) a lonely young woman with issues of her own wheedles her way into Matt’s household through her relationship with one of his children. Her presence acts as a catalyst for many emotions, and some family members see her as an intruder and resent her.

By the time the film concludes, various aspects of the case haunt everyone involved in the investigation. One reporter builds his career on Leanne’s disappearance, and loyalties within the police department are sorely tested. If you enjoy well-acted British television or mysteries, then don’t miss this one. I really enjoyed the approach of this film; each of the five episodes focuses on one day in the investigation, and by choosing to focus on just five days of this lengthy, involved investigation, we see the beginning, a frenzied middle, and then witness the family’s despair as the trail grows cold and detectives are pulled from the case. My only complaints are the number of plot coincidences that defy statistical probability, and the solution to Leanne’s disappearance was well–flimsy, at best–and that was a shame given the depth of other aspects of this excellent drama. Directed by Otto Bathurst and Simon Curtis

“I was reminded of an abbatoir.”

The Sculptress is a made-for-British television film based on the suspense novel by Minette Walters. The film’s protagonist is grief stricken author Rosalind Leigh (Caroline Goodall) who’s having difficulty coping with her daughter’s death. Rosalind is asked to write a book on an infamous murderess known as the Sculptress, and this is a nickname the killer was given by the tabloids for the nasty manner in which she carved up her mother and sister. The crime was so brutal, that the policeman who discovered the bodies passed out at the sight of the crime scene. He left the force shortly afterwards.

Facing a tight deadline, Rosalind goes to the prison to meet the Sculptress, a large young and hostile woman named Olive Martin (Pauline Quirke). Olive was found guilty of the heinous crime, and although she’s never denied her responsibility, her motive remains unclear. Most people chalk up the killings to Olive’s jealousy of her much prettier, slim sister, but a few people believe that Olive loved her sister too much to brutally murder her. Five years after the crime, there is still no solid motive. Olive is a sly, craftily intelligent woman who capitalizes on the fear she generates. Rather unlikable, she possesses an uncanny ability for reading other people, and in a parasitic fashion, Olive discovers and dwells on Rosalind’s pain. Rosalind and Olive’s relationship is not smooth. Olive realizes that Rosalind just wants a story, and Rosalind suspects that Olive is manipulating her.

Olive is the product of a dysfunctional family. And while there’s rot aplenty, just what is relevant and what is irrelevant is a matter for Rosalind’s investigation. As the film unfolds, and Rosalind begins her research for her book, she gradually comes to the realization that Olive is innocent. Rosalind discovers that witnesses are remarkably reluctant to tell their stories. There’s Olive’s lawyer–a man who’s supposed to want the best for his client, but he’s very happy with Olive under lock and key. Then there’s Olive’s mysterious lover. But then there’s Olive herself, and at times she’s her own worst enemy. When she’s not playing with Rosalind’s mind, she’s teasing the prison vicar and pinching his candles for nefarious purposes.

As the plot thickens, the story becomes bogged down in some additional complications. Rosalind’s ex husband is thrown into the plot, and the complications involving Olive’s estate unfortunately engulf the solution of the grisly crime. For fans of British mysteries, however, The Sculptress is worth catching. From director Stuart Orme

“Morality–What has that to do with the Law?”

“Peasants are so much more fun than respectable people.”

“These elderly clerics….They’re all pickled in port.”

The Barchester novels from Anthony Trollope are perhaps the best loved books of his long, prolific writing career. The DVD The Barchester Chronicles–seven episodes in all for a total of 374 minutes–covers two Trollope Barchester novels–The Warden and Barchester Towers. This made for British television drama is a marvelous transfer to the screen of Trollope’s delightful novels that explore the corruption, nepotism, and petty bickering of representatives of the Church of England. The stories are delivered with Trollope’s usual light hand and ironic, generous sense of humour.

The Warden is Reverend Septimus Harding (Donald Pleasance), perhaps the only decent, honest member of the clergy to be found for miles around. As the Warden, he oversees Hiram’s Hospital, an almshouse for twelve old men. Established by a medieval charity, the wardenship is granted by the Bishop of Barchester, and it’s considered a lucrative position. The wardenship comes with a lovely home, 800 pounds a years, and very light duties. Harding, a good, sweet-natured, unworldly man is horrified when local reformer, John Bold (David Gwillen) takes his accusations of corruption and nepotism in Barchester to the scandal sheet, The Jupiter. Harding, who feels tainted and ashamed by the implications, wishes to resign his post. Harding’s son-in-law, Archdeacon Grantly (Nigel Hawthorne) who just happens to also be the son of the Bishop of Barchester believes that Harding should remain in the lucrative position as warden of Hiram’s Hospital. Harding’s decision–based in a morality that his fellow clergy and legal advisors cannot grasp–becomes a matter of conscience.

Barchester Towers focuses on the machinations of the ambitious and loathsome Mr. Slope (Alan Rickman) as he wheedles his way into Bishop Proudie’s household. Bishop Proudie (Clive Swift) and his formidable wife Mrs. Proudie (Geraldine McEwan) now rule in the Bishop’s palace, and a struggle for control takes place between the slimy Mr. Slope and Mrs. Proudie. Barchester Towers concentrates on the role of women in the lives of the clergymen in the tale. There’s the exotic and scandalous Signora Neroni (Susan Hampshire) who “systematically destroys the moral fibre of every gentleman she encounters”, the beleaguered Eleanor Bold (Janet Maw), the widowed daughter of Mr. Harding, and the indomitable Mrs. Proudie, a woman who terrifies her husband, the Bishop.

If you are a fan of Trollope or just love British costume dramas, then prepare yourself for hours of delightfully witty entertainment. Exquisite acting matched with a marvelous screenplay creates a delightful experience for viewers. If you enjoy this DVD, I also highly recommend The Way We Live Now and He Knew He Was Right. Both are darker Trollope tales, but all three productions are marvelous adaptations of the novels. From director David Giles.

“The truth is so uncivil.”

He Knew He Was Right is a BBC miniseries based on the Anthony Trollope novel. From director Tom Vaughan and with an excellent script from veteran scriptwriter Andrew Davies, this is entertaining, top-notch drama. With that said however, He Knew He Was Right, as one of Trollope’s dramatic novels, is not light fare, and with its subject matter, this is a dour tale with little of the humour that is often associated with Trollope.

In typical Victorian multi-plot fashion, He Knew He Was Right contains many tangled sub-plots which all revolve on the subject of love. Love is so rarely convenient, and it cannot be manufactured, but it can be abused. In this story most of the characters fall in love with the ‘wrong’ people, and the ideal marriage–approved and envied by all is poisoned by irrational jealousy and madness.

The main focus on the story is the relationship between husband and wife, Louis and Emily Trevelyan. When the film begins Louis (Oliver Dimsdale) meets and proposes to the spirited Emily Rowley (Laura Fraser) who lives in the Mandarin Islands with her father, the British governor. Sir Rowley (Geoffrey Palmer) is delighted when wealthy Louis agrees to take Emily back to his London mansion along with her younger sister, Nora (Christina Cole).

At first all goes well for Louis and his young bride. Indeed Louis’s best friend, journalist Hugh Stanbury (Stephen Campbell Moore) envies the Trevelyans their evident domestic bliss. But the Trevelyans’ happiness is marred by Louis’s growing irrational jealousy of the relationship between Emily and her father’s oldest friend, the dapper, vain Colonel Osborne (Bill Nighy). At first, this all seems to be some simple misunderstanding, with Louis and Emily both obstinately refusing to give up their side of the argument. But when the couple agrees to separate, it soon becomes glaringly apparent that this is more than a disagreement. Meanwhile, Emily’s family urges her to submit to Louis’s demands and to return submissively to her husband. Emily, who is the victim in the situation, is subject to censure, scandal and gossip from all and sundry. Judged to be in the wrong, no one, apart from Emily, really grasps how unreasonable and irrational Louis has become.

While the main focus of the story is Emily and Louis, other characters appear in delicious sub-plots. Dorothy, the younger sister of Hugh Stanbury, (Caroline Martin) goes to live with her elderly, wealthy cantankerous spinster aunt (Anna Massey). Aunt Stanbury plots to marry off Dorothy to slimy curate Mr. Gibson (David Tennant), but the amiable Dorothy, proves to be a stubborn subject when it comes to love. Meanwhile, Mr. Gibson’s amorous adventures with the ladies backfire, and the homely French sisters–Camilla and Bella–bitter rivals in love–battle over the spoils of their unrequited passion. Most of the film’s humour comes from the character of Gibson, an ecclesiastical fortune hunter who receives his just desserts.

In another sub-plot, Nora catches the attention of the wealthy, titled and chivalrous Glascock (Raymond Coulthard), but she’s attached to the penniless scribbler” Stanbury–a man who’s “tearing down Tory traditions.” To the impoverished Rowleys, Glascock is the ideal match, while Stanbury is deemed undesirable.

He Knew He Was Right maintains typical BBC standards–impeccable acting, marvelous costumes, and a flawless script. But it is the wonderful characterizations that make this film such a delight. Miss Stanbury, for example, is an interfering, selfish old lady who imagines everyone is after her money, and yet she becomes much more human in her love for Dorothy. Another great,although minor character, is the private detective Mr. Bozzle (Ron Cook) who refers to himself in the third person, and while he’s a bit shady, he’s redeemed at the end mainly thanks to the constant disapproval of his harried wife (Patsy Palmer).

He Knew He Was Right carries a proto feminist message, and this makes the novel, written in 1869, amazing for its time. Emily is seen as the victim of her husband’s deranged behaviour, and since she is virtually viewed as property, as a woman she has no legal recourse against the outrages committed by her husband. Trollope makes it clear that this is a social problem that’s central to the story.

“The world is changing fast and some of us understand it better than others.”

The marvelous BBC adaptation of Anthony Trollope’s novel The Way We Live Now is a must-see for fans of British television costume dramas. This version, directed by David Yates, and with a screenplay by Andrew Davies captures the essence and spirit of the novel. The 300-minute film, divided into four parts, explores human greed, corruption and hypocrisy through various characters and their intrigues.

Central to this multi plot miniseries is Augustus Melmotte (played with savage ferocity by David Suchet). Melmotte arrives in Victorian England amidst rumours of financial shenanigans that led to the downfall of a European bank. Various members of the British upper class gather to discuss Melmotte, and while some vow to shun the newcomer, others believe that Melmotte has the Midas Touch and will make fortunes for his friends.

Melmotte’s domestic situation is unpleasant. His wife is a pug-toting nincompoop who has no notion of how to act in civilized society, and his daughter, the very peculiar, hostile and diminutive Marie (Shirley Henderson) is rumoured to possess a sizeable dowry. Given Melmotte’s lavish lifestyle and his excessive speculation, some suspect that Melmotte is a fraud, but most of polite society take Melmotte at face value. And since Melmotte says he’s a millionaire, and acts like a millionaire, that means that his daughter must be one of the most eligible heiresses in England.

One of Marie’s most persistence suitors is Sir Felix Carbury (excellent performance from Matthew Macfadyen), a useless wastrel whose utter fecklessness sticks out even in the circle of his like-minded friends. Confident that his superior charm and good luck will win the day, Sir Felix haphazardly courts Marie while simultaneously seducing a country wench who lives near his cousin, Roger Carbury’s (Douglas Hodge) estate. Sir Felix’s long-suffering mother, novelist Lady Carbury (Cheryl Campbell) pampers her spoiled son while pressuring her daughter Hetta (Paloma Baeza) into marrying Roger. A wealthy marriage will save the fortunes of the Carburys–an impoverished but titled family who can’t even pay their wine bill.

Hetta, however, has a mind of her own, and she’s attracted to Paul Montague (Cillian Murphy). An engineer by trade, he plans to build a railroad in America that is to be financed by Melmotte’s company. Their romance is further complicated by Paul’s liaison with a notorious American woman, Mrs. Hurtle (Miranda Otto).

The acting in this drama is superb, and while the story may not quite end the way we would chose, this is still a delightful adaptation. Clever photography and film editing underscores Trollope’s comic tone, and the film maintains a light playfulness in spite of its depressing undertow. The story continually emphasizes the idea that England is changing, and that this is The Way We Live Now. And apparently not all changes are for the better. The younger generation, of which Sir Felix is a leading light, is seen as a pack of spoiled, useless brats who spend their nights gambling and boozing while their parents gamble with shady business ventures, and agonize about the family estate and ways in which to cover expenses. Yes, there’s progress underfoot–but not all progress is good, and Melmotte’s crafty, ambitious, and unprincipled schemes epitomize all that’s wrong with the age.

The film works so well mainly thanks to the knockout performances of Shirley Henderson as the desperately lonely, hysterical Marie Melmotte, and David Suchet as the grasping, monstrous Melmotte–an intelligent man who uses his brain to defraud others through shady speculation. Crafty Melmotte becomes seduced by the idea of becoming an English gentleman, and in this fashion, he’s destroyed by his own greed–allowing his fantasies of belonging to the gentry to override his self-serving cunning (”They should be grateful to me that I decided to become an Englishman, but they’re not”). Toad-like at times, he grunts and groans, surveying all of the greedy upper class who grovel at his feet. With appalling table manners, the venture capitalist Melmotte knows how to throw a party, and the bottom line is that we all tend to conveniently overlook the glaring faults of the most appalling people when those faults are gilded with money and influence.

“Reform is a dangerous experiment.”

Disraeli: Portrait of a Romantic is a 1978 BBC miniseries recently released on DVD. This 2 DVD set runs at around 4 hours–with each disc containing 2 episodes. The film begins with a very young Disraeli (Ian McShane) casting around for exactly how to make an impression on the world. With a couple of novels already under his belt, he’s attracted to politics. As a Jew (baptized into the Anglican church at age 13), and as an overdressed dandy, Disraeli overcomes prejudice, and receives sound advice from many friends on his path to political success. The film charts Disraeli’s early forays into politics and the significant relationships in his life: Mary Anne Lewis (Mary Peach), Robert Peel (Antony Brown) Baron de Rothschild (David de Keyser), and Edward George Bulwer-Lytton (Brett Usher).

At first the conservative party views Disraeli as a radical, but Disraeli sees himself as a ‘progressive conservative.’ Disraeli fails multiple times when he attempts to run for parliament, but he persists and is assisted immeasurably when Wyndham Lewis, in effect, ‘purchases’ a seat in the House of Commons for Disraeli. The film outlines a corrupt and impenetrable system. In one instance, for example, a scene details just how many male voters there are in one town, and also emphasizes the fact that these voters will cast their votes where their employers demand.

The film highlights the most significant moments in Disraeli’s life–the turning points of the amazing, and lengthy career of a man who served twice as Prime Minister during some turbulent times in British history. We see the compromises Disraeli was willing to make to further his career and to further Imperialism, the lifelong friends, the bitter enemies, and the ever-troubling “Irish Question.” While Disraeli’s relationship with Queen Victoria (Rosemary Leach) is based on a mutual respect and admiration, Gladstone is seen as a bitter fanatic, whipping up war frenzy in order to create political unrest for Disraeli. The film includes one scene depicting Gladstone condemning Disraeli’s foreign policies, but the film only touches on the subject of the Great Game while glossing over Gladstone’s criticisms as personal vindictiveness and peevishness on his part. Well, this is Disraeli’s film, after all, and he’s a far more glamorous figure than Gladstone, I suppose. But I couldn’t help but wonder how Gladstone’s version of events would compare.

The film spends a fair amount of time explaining Disraeli’s metamorphosis from being seen as “a tinseled coxcomb,” and “a flashy upstart,” to settling into a sensible, yet loving marriage in which he grew into the consummate politician. My favourite scene pits Disraeli against the wily Baron von Bismarck (nice performance by Brewster Mason), but some of the accents from other players are dreadful. Directed by Claude Whatham, this satisfying and entertaining miniseries doesn’t shake any foundations, but it’s certainly a tasty, well-acted BBC miniseries for fans of British television.

“Think of me as a visitor from another planet.”

As someone with a great fondness for the novels of H.G Wells, I was delighted to discover that DVD existed of The History of Mr. Polly. Unfortunately the film turned out to be a disappointment; it’s a good-natured venture, but it fails to do justice to the complexities of the novel or to the character of Mr. Polly.

Directed by Gillies MacKinnon, this made-for-British-television production stars comedian Lee Evans (Mousetrap) as Mr. Polly. The premise of the film, a condensed version of the novel, is simple; Mr. Polly inherits 300 pounds from his father, and at the funeral he meets his cousin, Miriam (Anne-Marie Duff). Although Polly has a brief romantic adventure with an upper-class girl, his crushing disappointment when he discovers that he’s an object of ridicule causes him to rush headlong into marriage with Miriam. He purchases a failing business in the small seaside town of Fishbourne, but in this life of mediocrity, he soon becomes mired in boredom. Restless, he breaks free of his chains of conformity and establishes a new life.

The novel spends a great deal of time on Polly’s youth–not so the film. Whereas the novel contrasts Polly’s youthful enthusiasm and aspirations with the adult reality, the film version almost skips Polly’s youth entirely, and this is unfortunate, as we don’t see the gradual hammering down of Polly’s personality into acceptable norms of conformity. The novel emphasizes that Polly’s inadequate education leaves him with a smattering of knowledge that’s largely manifested in useless facts and figures and some peculiar language. Also in the novel, a significant event occurs when Polly witnesses a rebellion by a fellow apprentice, and in spite of Polly’s lack of opportunities and sad excuse for an education, he maintains a love of books–this is a love that contributes to his eventual salvation. The fictional Polly is a man who manages a rebellion in spite of a poor education, in spite of decades of conformity, and in spite of societal pressures. All of these elements are absent in the film version, and consequently, Polly is portrayed as a rather flat, ordinary character who leaves an unhappy sour marriage. The film also presents Polly as a comic figure. While Polly is genial, he was not depicted in the novel with the vacancy he shows in the film. I think that Lee Evans is a lot of fun in the right role, but his casting here is a mistake. Perhaps if I didn’t love the novel, I wouldn’t feel this sense of disappointment at the film version’s slight treatment of this great character.

The film does succeed on some levels, however. For example, there’s one scene when Miriam serves dinner. Polly looks at his plate, and we can almost feel the walls moving in on him. Unfortunately, we never get the full sense of exactly how much Polly has had to conform to societal expectations because the film version simply leaves out so much of this character’s genesis. It’s the typical simplification down into the film format. This version runs 93 minutes–short shrift for this novel.

“I like a woman to talk or I’m left with the suspicion that she’s thinking.”

I’ve always considered Byron to be an elusive character. On one level there are all the nasty rumours to be sorted out about his life. Did he really bugger his wife? Did he really commit incest with his half-sister? Condemned, vilified and demonized, Byron was ostracized from decent British society, but just how much truth was there to all of those stories?

Another reason that Byron remains such a difficult character is that he spent so much time cultivating a persona for polite society. We all do this to one degree or another, but Byron seemed to take this to new heights (or depths, depending on how you look at it). So just what was the real Lord Byron, and what was pretense remains up for grabs.

For these reasons, any attempt at a cinematic translation of Byron’s life presents many challenges, and the 2003 BBC version, directed by Julian Farino, chooses to concentrate on the scandals that surrounded Byron and continued to plague him until his death at age 36. Unfortunately, there’s little reference to Byron’s contributions to literature, and instead the film focuses on the naughty, juicy parts of Byron’s life.

Jonny Lee Miller plays the Romantic poet, Byron, and the film really does an excellent job of showing how Byron cultivated his public persona complete with affectations. This two parter, at 147 minutes, charts Byron’s rise and fall in polite society, his affair with the neurotic Caroline Lamb (Camilla Power), his lust-driven tussles with his half-sister Augusta (Natasha Little) and his disastrous marriage from hell to Annabella Milbanke (Julie Cox).

The film begins with bisexual Byron cavorting in Greece, and returning to London where he manages to achieve the equivalent of nineteenth century rock star status. He has only to enter a drawing room, and his electrifying presence leaves the ladies swooning. With too little attention paid to Byron’s literary endeavors, instead the film explores his endless and energetic bedroom maneuvers. Ultimately the film finds the “mad, bad, and dangerous to know” Byron guilty of incest, cruelty, misogyny, buggery etc., etc.

Byron is not a subtle film. Taking the sensationalistic approach, there’s no room here for the viewer to decide just how much truth there was to some of the uglier rumours about Byron’s wild sex life. I don’t think it would have been an easy chore to create a film in which Byron’s allegedly incestuous relationship with his half-sister remained tantalizingly undecided, and just how a film would hint at buggery of Byron’s wife (but not show it) draws a wince from this viewer. But a much more subtle film that left some of the decision-making to the viewer is possible. I recently watched a very clever film, Madeleine, which was based on a real-life crime committed in Scotland at the end of the nineteenth century. The evidence was inconclusive, and it’s left up to the viewer to decide whether or not Madeleine was guilty. Some scenes caused me to think that Madeleine was guilty, and other scenes created doubt. Unfortunately, there are no such subtleties here, and Byron is portrayed as guilty of all the things he was suspected of. Still Byron is pretty to look at, good entertainment, and well acted, and if you’re interested in British costume drama, you won’t be able to resist.