“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.

This painter is a degenerate

I approached the film The Impressionists warily, but the fact that it was made by the British television made me want to see it. This is a wonderful film, and if you’re at all interested in the Impressionists or that period of art history, then I recommend it highly. The film really does an excellent job of establishing the atmosphere of the times, and the story, told in flashback in 1920 by an elderly Claude Monet (Julian Glover) unfolds over the course of three hours.

The film depicts the French art world controlled by the Academie de Beaux Arts, ‘the salon’ and what was selected for inclusion at the salon was dictated by the foibles of one man–a snobby Marquis. While portraits and religious scenes are valued, still life and landscapes are not, and so the works of the young Impressionists such as Manet (Andrew Havill), Degas (Aden Gillett), Monet (Richard Armitage) Renoir (Charlie Condou) and Bazille (James Lance) are never selected. In essence, the salon has a chokehold on the art world, and the young painters who are experimenting with various different techniques, cannot sell paintings and so live in abject poverty.

The film follows the trials and tribulations of the various painters as they struggle to survive. Degas is depicted as a strange character–a man obsessed with dancers, but who doesn’t treat the objects of his obsession kindly. There’s upbeat Renoir who’s determined to beat the system, Manet–who suffers from being confused with Monet, Monet who’s obsessed with the fleeting qualities of light, and the ill-fated Bazille.

The story is set against the times–the Franco-Prussian War, the Paris Commune, and even Emile Zola makes a couple of appearances. It’s incredible to see these paintings being rejected as rubbish, and it’s impossible to see this film without marveling at the skill of the Impressionist painters. But what is really amazing about this film is its style. There are some scenes that evolve into paintings, and then there are other scenes that appear to be impressionistic settings. These are so cleverly done, that it’s almost as if we see the world–fleetingly–as these marvelous painters did. The film, directed by Tim Dunn, is a work of art, blending scenes from art and life seamlessly, elegantly and quite, quite beautifully.

 “I can handle violent lowlifes.”

I loved Helen Mirren in the Prime Suspect detective series, and after I watched all the episodes, I began to look for other films that cast her in the same sort of role. I came across the miniseries The Painted Lady. I took a chance and bought a copy.

The exquisite Helen Mirren stars as Maggie–a has-been rock singer who has spent the last decade sobering up on the Irish estate of friend, Sir Charles Stafford. Sir Charles lives alone in the vast family mansion, and Maggie hangs out in the small guest lodge on a corner of the remote estate. The pride and joy of Sir Stafford’s rather solitary life is his vast art collection. One night, a robbery on the estate ends in murder, and Maggie begins to ask questions. Apparently, Sir Stafford’s son, Sebastian, Maggie’s long-time friend, has amassed debts for illegal substances to the tune of 60,000 pounds, and this, Sebastian owes to a vicious thug named Longley. By an amazing coincidence, just a few weeks before the robbery, Sir Charles insured the paintings for the sum of 60,000 pounds. Maggie puts two and two together and realizes that Sir Charles must have arranged the robbery to pay off his son’s debts.

However, this conclusion just leads Maggie to more questions. One of the missing paintings is particularly valuable. Why didn’t Sir Charles just sell the paintings to pay off the debts? Where did the paintings come from in the first place? What is the connection between Sir Charles and a mysterious Italian man? Maggie hunts for answers, and so she is drawn into the marvelous and sinister world of art forgery and theft.

Helen Mirren plays Maggie Sheridan, and this role was written especially for her. It’s easy to see why. I can’t think of too many actresses who could carry off this sort of role. At the beginning of the film, the rather bohemian Maggie is listening to her old hit-records, dreaming of her lost fame. She hasn’t done anything in decades, and so she’s hibernating in a way. The desire to solve the murder and the mystery behind the Stafford art collection breathes new life into Maggie, and she grabs the quest with zest and a new lease on life. Maggie poses as a Polish Countess to infiltrate the art world, and she looks very convincing in her elegant designer clothing as she bids for multi-million dollar paintings. Mirren delivers a stellar performance as Maggie–a surprisingly unpredictable woman full of elegance and grace who continues in her quest for the truth in spite of the fact that she is unsure of the outcome. Mirren’s ability to cross over–seamlessly–between the elegant world of art and its dark underbelly is just incredible to watch.

A top-notch cast support Mirren in this excellent production from director Julian Jarrold. A very elegant Franco Nero stars as Robert Tassi–an international art dealer. Lesley Manville plays Maggie’s half sister, Susie. She’s a success in the art world and is married to art dealer Oliver Peel (Michael Maloney). Susie resents Maggie’s freewheeling lifestyle, and yet she loves and admires Maggie too. Maggie’s relationship with Susie and Oliver Peel adds a great deal of interest to the plot. A haunting musical score underscores and complements the action, and some fascinating details about art–including considerable mention of Artemisia Gentileschi–make this video a fascinating adventure for mystery fans. The film is over 200 minutes long, and the plot is riveting from beginning to end. I recommend it wholeheartedly.

Nice Try

During the 50s, 60s, and 70s, some of the best comedians in England formed the Carry On team, and the team appeared in a number of comedy films created in the Pinewood Studios in England. The Carry On team had regulars–such as–Sid James. Hattie Jacques, Charles Hawtrey, Kenneth Williams, Joan Sims, etc, and new talent was also added to the core cast over the years. The Carry On films were immensely popular, and fans anticipated the next release knowing they were in for a lot of laughs. Cor Blimey is the story of the relationship–both on and off the screen of Sid James and Barbara Windsor–an actress who joined the team in the 60s at the height of their success.

First–if you haven’t watched a Carry On film, Cor Blimey probably won’t have a great deal of relevance for you. The love story between Sid James and Barbara Windsor is carried out against the backdrop of some of their very popular films–Carry On Cleo, Carry On Camping, Carry On Spying, and Carry On Henry VIII etc. The film details how James and Windsor met–Sid was a big star and Barbara played a bit part–how she avoided an affair (they were both married. Sid was in his late 50s, and she was in her early 30s)–and how the Carry On team reacted to their relationship.

Samantha Spiro really does a credible job as Barbara Windsor–the pocket Venus buxom blonde with the infectious giggle. Geoffrey Hutchings as Sid James manages to re-create many of Sid’s mannerisms–including his one-of-a-kind dirty laugh. Adam Godley as Kenneth Williams was a bit over the top–the voice and mannerisms were good, but he just came across as someone imitating Kenneth Williams.

Overall, Cor Blimey made a nice attempt to portray the relationship between Sid James and Barbara Windsor. But I couldn’t really get over two main faults the film had. (1) Some of the actors and actresses portraying the real-life counterparts were so physically different that it was distracting (at the same time, I understand that must be practically impossible to find an actor who looks even remotely like Sid James). (2) The implication made by the film was that many real-life incidents were uncannily like scenes from a Carry On film–Kenneth Williams flashing everyone, the trailer mishap, and the most preposterous suggestion that the matron in Sid’s ward was a dead ringer for Hattie Jacques. I know Life imitates Art–and vice versa–but this film stretched it a bit far. Cor Blimey relies on the deep abiding affection of the audience for Carry On films, and perhaps I do miss the Carry On team enough to find this pale imitation acceptable.

 Exquisite adaptation of the Thackeray novel

This exquisitely made BBC production directed by Marc Munden should delight fans of the Thackeray novel. I tend to shudder when I see one of my favourite books adapted for the big screen, but this adaptation really works. Vanity Fair is a HUGE novel–with an impressive cast of characters and action that takes place in both in England and on the Continent. A standard film format (90-120 minutes) would simply ruin the novel. This BBC version is over 5 hours long, and is divided up into episodes.

Vanity Fair follows the fortunes of two young women in the early 19th Century. Amelia Sedley–the only daughter of a London merchant and Becky Sharpe–the daughter of a drunken drawing master meet and become friends at school. Amelia’s future looks promising, while Becky faces being a governess if she cannot catch a husband. Becky, ever the opportunist, tags along with Amelia when school ends. At Amelia’s home, Becky meets Amelia’s chubby and silly brother, Jos. Jos is home on leave from India where he holds a government post. Becky throws herself shamelessly at Jos by appealing to his vanity, and her plans almost works. Becky’s scheme is obvious to everyone but the victim. Amelia’s intended, the vain Captain George Osborne dislikes the idea of having the lowly Becky foisted on him as a sister-in-law, and so he sabotages Becky’s plans. Becky’s initial failure sets the tone for the rest of the story, and the film follows the fortunes–and misfortunes of both Amelia and Becky as they try to survive in Regency England. Amelia is ‘good’ to the point of annoying sainthood, and Becky is materialistic, conniving, arch, ambitious, a bad friend, & a poor wife and mother. And yet it is Becky who remains the most interesting to me. Vanity Fair is really Becky’s story.

When taking a great novel to the screen, much of the language is lost, and that is inevitable, however, this screen adaptation capitalized on the visual. Sir Pitt Crawley (Becky’s employer) is repulsive (watch the tripe eating scene), and all of the unpleasant characters are equally disgusting. I could swear that Miss Crawley’s flesh had a slight greenish tinge to it, and Lord Steyne’s appearance casts him as a villainous character. The measure of George Osborne’s character is given by a glance in the mirror and the adjustment of a well-placed curl. Pugs forage across the body of Lady Crawley, and several camera shots emphasize the expanse of poor Jos Sedley’s large bottom–these are the touches that make this adaptation exquisite. The quality of the DVD was impeccable, the acting superb (especially Natasha Little as Becky Sharp), and much of the action was accompanied by rather haunting music. Even the Waterloo scenes were very well done. Frankly, this DVD had a captive audience from beginning to end, and I highly recommend it for Thackeray/British television fans.

“I will go to any lengths to succeed.”

This 5 hour long BBC production of the Conrad novel, Nostromo is set on the South American republic of Costaguana at the end of Nineteenth Century. Costaguana boasts a once productive silver mine, but the republic’s troubled political past includes a bloody anti-foreigner phase which resulted in the mine’s closure. Now, murdered mine-owner’s son, Charles Gould, returns to Costaguana to put the mine back in production. Of course, it is clear that in returning, Gould’s determination–while ostensibly driven by the desire for silver–is also fueled by a sense of finishing his father’s mission.

Gould (Colin Firth) arrives with his naive new bride, Emilia (Serena Scott Thomas), and for a while, the political climate is one of optimism. The small country is run by a benevolent, democratic governor, and soon Gould’s mine is back in full operation with railroads shipping the silver from the mine to the port of Sulaco. However, the political largesse does not last, and before long, numerous factions all want a share of the silver. Everyone demands their tribute–the local bandits, a local priest, various corrupt officials–they all want a share of the silver. After a bloody coup, various factions vie for possession of the mine, and military officers and civilians alike change sides whenever the political winds seem to favour one side over another.

There is a benefit to watching the film Nostromo before reading the book–I came to the film with no visual expectations of the characters whatsoever. There are many ‘big’ names in the cast list. Colin Firth was simply marvelous as the mine owner, Charles Gould, and Brian Dennehy plays a small role as the American Joshua C.Holroyd (the man who finances the entire venture). Claudia Cardinale plays Teresa Voila–the Italian wife of an Innkeeper. Albert Finney plays Dr Monygham-a crippled drunk who managed to survive the last revolution only to face another. I preferred the scenes with Albert Finney sober–or almost so–it’s just boring to watch Finney playing yet another role of a drunk.

I found the on-screen romance between Martin Decoud and Antonia Avellanos completely unbelievable. There was no spark between them, and yet we were supposed to believe that Martin returned from France to almost certain death for his love of Antonia. All I saw was a few hysterics, and it all fell flat. This was unfortunate and it did alter my perception of the film overall. Some of the revolution scenes were a bit cheesy too. One of the most interesting aspects of the film, however, was the development of some of the characters over time. Charles Gould wavers when making decisions in the beginning of the story, and he seems just a little unsure of himself, but by the end of the film, Gould has hardened into the ultimate capitalist. Emilia Gould is a giddy bride who metamorphoses into a neglected, unhappy wife. Moynham’s character is fascinating. He has no illusions–no faith left, but he still rustles up chivalrous feelings towards Emilia Gould, and she uses these to her advantage. Nostromo is the ‘dark horse’ in the story. It is not clear at first what motivates him. He seems to be owned by no one–a true free spirit, and not subject to the corrupting desire for silver. Nostromo, in fact, refuses to leave the service of Capt. Mitchell for higher pay from the American Holroyd, and Nostromo boldly states, “you can’t buy me.” Exactly what characteristics make Nostromo tick–ego, vanity, and pride–develop over time. And it is the story here that makes the film worth watching. All throughout the film–right until the powerful closing scene, I heard the words ‘money is the root of all evil’ in my head. This production does not have quite the usual standard that I have come to expect from the BBC. While the lush location added to the atmosphere of the story, somehow the film had the feel of a prime time television series. Nonetheless, I was still extremely interested in how the story and the characters developed. Directed by Alastair Reid.

“The somber side of things does not appeal to me.”

I am a fan of writer William Trevor, so when I saw that a film was going to be made of another of his books (there’s also a film of his book Felicia’s Journey), I contained my delight and waited for the film to appear on DVD.

My House in Umbria is the story of a late-middle-aged English woman, Mrs. Emily Delahunty (Maggie Smith) who lives in a glorious palatial home in Umbria, Italy. She’s a writer of romance novels, and shares the house with a man named Quinty who seems to be both her confidante and manservant. One day she takes the train, and as she sits in the compartment, she soaks in the impressions she has of her fellow passengers. Tragically, a bomb explodes and kills most of the train compartments passengers. Mrs. Delahunty survives–along with a retired British general (Ronnie Barker), a young German man, Werner, and a pale, silent child, Aimee.

As Mrs. Delahunty recuperates in hospital, she is overwhelmed by sympathy for the other victims, and so she invites them to her home until things are sorted out and the police investigation is concluded.

I was really afraid that this film might be another of those awful imports that emphasize the eccentricity of the English, but the fact that the film is based on a Trevor novel, gave me hope for something a little more substantial. I was not disappointed. Maggie Smith as Mrs. Delahunty is magnificent. When Aimee’s uncle, Tom Riversmith comes from America to take the child home, he dismisses Mrs. Delahunty cruelly as an old, gossipy drunk, but she’s so much more than that. Mrs. Delahunty’s memories of a far-from-perfect childhood serve to make her understanding, patient, and tolerant of all who stay at her home. Mr. Riversmith underestimates her, and he is the smaller person because of his judgment.

This made-for-British television film could certainly be included in a list of the film industry’s love affair with Italy (Enchanted April, Under the Tuscan Sun, Where Angels Fear to Tread), for the scenery is spectacular and quite breathtaking. If you like the film, I also heartily recommend the book by William Trevor. It’s called Two Lives and My House in Umbria is one of the two novellas in the book. The book is more substantial than the film, of course,–as is usually the case,–and the story delves much more into Mrs. Delahunty’s past. Directed by Richard Loncraine.

“I shall be better for having known you.”

The marvelous BBC mini-series Daniel Deronda is based on the George Eliot novel. Daniel Deronda is a weighty, problematic novel, and it is not considered to be Eliot’s best. The BBC adaptation is excellent, well-paced, and truly elegant. The Victorian, multi-plot novel is far better suited to the series format–there’s just too much plot to expect the story to squeeze into a standard 90-120 minute film. If someone tried to squash the novel Daniel Deronda into a film, it simply wouldn’t work as effectively.

The major theme of Daniel Deronda is the pursuit of the spiritual versus the pursuit of worldly gain, and this theme is worked through the characters, Gwendolen Harleth and Daniel Deronda. Gwendolen Harleth is the eldest daughter of a impoverished widow, and so the hopes of Gwendolen’s mother rest upon the chance–slim, though it is, that penniless Gwendolen will make a good marriage and provide for her younger sisters. Gwendolen’s mother and uncle promote Gwendolen in society with the idea that she will make a good match, and in fact they consider her a sort of investment. Gwendolen’s horse-riding, for example, is encouraged even though the family cannot afford it, but she is indulged as an ultimate pay-off is expected. As a result, Gwendolen becomes an accomplished horsewoman, excelling at many sports, and outshining all the other girls (including the rich ones). But as the product of indulgence, Gwendolen’s sense of self worth is grandiose, and her character suffers as a result–she isn’t a particularly good friend, and she isn’t a particularly nice person.

All of the hopes for an improvement in the Harleth family fortunes seem to bear fruit when Gwendolen catches the eye of the wealthy and arrogant Henleigh Grandcourt. It is with a sort of perverse intensity that Grandcourt drops his interest in a local heiress–Gwendolen is better looking and more accomplished than the heiress–and yet there is something not quite right in Grandcourt’s interest. Grandcourt seems to be on his best behaviour when first courting Gwendolen, but it is clear that he is a rather unpleasant fellow. No one likes or respects Grandcourt, but he does have money, prospects and position at his command. There is something quite dark about Grandcourt, and this sense of the unpleasant is not alleviated by the fact that he is always accompanied by his obsequious and equally unpleasant henchman, Lush. Grandcourt desires Gwendolen, but he does not love her. Gwendolen is attracted, at first, to the very unpleasantness of Grandcourt’s odd nature, and she prefers him to her other suitors because he isn’t as easy to manipulate. She sees him as a challenge and imagines that she will rein him in just as she has controlled other suitors.

Daniel Deronda–the main male character–is the very earnest and serious young man who is rumoured to be the illegitimate son of Lord Mallinger. Daniel is the antithesis of Grandcourt, and some rivalry exists between Grandcourt and Deronda as Grandcourt is Mallinger’s heir. Daniel meets Gwendolen when she still has the choice of pursuing material gain above all else. Gwendolen recognizes that Daniel is an unusually good and superior man, but at the time, she lacks a true appreciation of his character. Daniel rescues a young Jewish girl, Mirah Lapidoth, and it is through Daniel’s acquaintance with Mirah that the truth of Daniel’s past is revealed. Mirah is the antithesis of Gwendolen, for Mirah has experienced and endured terrible hardships. Whereas Gwendolen’s nature and character accept luxury at any price, Mirah refuses to sell herself for material gain. Mirah’s steadfast character and serious nature are in complete contrast to Gwendolen, and so the two main female characters serve as perfect foils for one another. There are several plot twists and turns–this is, after all, based on a Victorian novel, and as such, one must expect co-incidences and parallel storylines.

The BBC series is broken up into three sections, but the film flows very smoothly. The acting is all quite superb–although Barbara Hershey is a bit out-of-place in her role of Contessa Maria Alcharisi. The development of the characters is the very best part of both the book and the BBC series. Gwendolen Harleth isn’t exactly a shallow person, but due to the nature of her social position and the emphasis placed on the desirability of wealth above all else, she fails to gain any moral perspective about herself, her behaviour, or the choices she eventually makes. Adversity is the making of Gwendolen, and through suffering, she becomes a decent human being. If you enjoy BBC costume dramas, or if you are a fan of Victorian literature or George Eliot (one of my very favourite writers), no doubt you will enjoy this excellent adaptation.