“Surrender is no defeat–for a woman.”

The film The Assassination Bureau is based on the novel by Jack London. It’s a spoof of the action-adventure yarn, laced with gentle comedy–a period piece set in the early 1900s. The heroine, Miss Winter (Diana Rigg) is a prim-and-proper newspaper reporter who develops a theory that all of the seemingly random world-wide killings committed by anarchists are actually crimes conducted under contract by a group of hired assassins operating as The Assassination Bureau.

Miss Winter’s theory interests Lord Bostwick (Telly Savalas), the owner of a large London newspaper, and he agrees to publish Miss Winter’s story when she announces her intention of destroying the bureau by contracting the death of the bureau’s organizer, Ivan Dragomiloff (Oliver Reed). After infiltrating the Assassination Bureau, Miss Winter offers the contract to Dragomiloff, and he, curiously enough, accepts. By accepting the contract, he hopes to test the efficiency of his operatives, and so, a game of cat and mouse ensues as Dragomiloff travels throughout Europe trying to assassinate his operatives before they kill him.

This fast moving film directed by Basil Dearden takes Dragomiloff and Miss Winters to France, Italy, Germany, and Switzerland as they assassinate their way across Europe. Operatives include Phillipe Noiret as Monsieur Lucoville–puritanical crusader at home, and bordello owner by night, and Curt Jurgens stars as the splendid but crazed swordsman General von Pinck. Warren Mitchell (Alf Garnett of Till Death Do Us Part fame) plays Herr Weiss–the rather nervous Swiss assassin.

The sets are marvellous, and the romantic sparks between Diana Rigg and Oliver Reed ignite the screen. They are a wonderful contrast to one another–Rigg is the suffragette who hopes that her career as a newspaperwoman will strike a great blow for women everywhere. Reed as Dragomiloff cuts a powerful, potent figure, and even Miss Winter can’t resist his charms. Their on-screen chemistry is quite powerful. This film is a smooth, pleasant, entertaining diversion and is reminiscent of films such as The Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines, and The Great Race.

 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.

“I’ve got the impression you make enemies easily.”

A great deal of mystery still surrounds the life of Colonel Redl (Klaus Maria Brandauer), the head of counter-intelligence in the Austro-Hungarian Empire under the aging emperor. The historical drama Colonel Redl directed by Istvan Szabo is one possible version of the events surrounding the mystery. When the film begins, Alfred Redl is a small boy of Ukrainian peasant extraction, and his family is ‘honoured’ by the emperor’s acceptance of little Redl into a strict military school. This ensures Redl’s eventual career as a military officer in the Empire, and Redl’s hellish life at school is eased by his close relationship to Kristof Kubinyi (Jan Niklas), a boy from a noble family.

The lower class Redl sticks out like a sore thumb at the school–but he has his uses, and he’s manipulated into being an informer on several occasions. Interestingly enough, the officers at the school select him for this role because as a Ukrainian peasant, he’s an outsider, but it’s Redl’s strict, twisted moral code that makes him comply. Redl has little time, interest or patience for his fellow officers’ predilection for drunken debauchery. It’s clear to the viewer–unfortunately not to Redl, however, that his strict disciplinarian approach is part of his thwarted sexuality.

Redl rises quickly in the ranks–due mainly to patronage from Colonel von Roden (Hans Christian Blech) who admires Redl’s strict approach and unquestioning loyalty to the Empire. But whereas Redl would prefer to concentrate on his military strategy skills, von Roden steers Redl’s career into bureaucratic roles. Redl is eventually promoted and placed in charge of a remote garrison near the Russian border. Unfortunately, his inflexible approach alienates him from the men and leads to a breach with Kubinyi–for whom Redl harbours a secret, repressed passion.

The Crown Prince (Armin Mueller-Stahl) recognizes Redl’s meteoric career, and creates a web of intrigue and espionage that ostensibly will return honour and discipline to the decaying, predominately noble officer class of this corrupt militaristic society. The film’s themes–class conflict and blind loyalty are subtly woven into Redl’s story, and he remains an outsider, striving always to impress. The filmmaker stresses that this is a work of fiction, and certainly the cinematic details of Redl’s life do not match the official history.

The two heavyweight actors–Armin Mueller-Stahl and Klaus Maria Brandauer deliver impeccable performances. The film’s breathtaking cinematography–snow-covered landscapes, horses racing through the forests, and the ballrooms of the wealthy elite–captures the glories of the fading, decadent Habsburg Empire just before its inevitable collapse and destruction. DVD extras include interviews with director Istvan Szabo and Klaus Maria Brandauer. In Hungarian with English subtitles.

Ordinarily, I’m a bit of a Jane Austen snob….

In Mansfield Park–a film adaptation of the Jane Austen novel–young, poor Fanny Price is sent from her overcrowded and squalid Portsmouth home to live with her widowed Aunt Norris. The invitation from Aunt Norris was based on a fleeting, charitable whim, but the whim is already gone when Fanny arrives. Fanny is quickly passed to her wealthy relatives, Lord and Lady Bertram, who live at Mansfield Park with their 4 children–Tom, Edmund, Maria & Julia. Fanny’s loneliness is compounded by Aunt Norris who is determined that Fanny should never forget her humble place in the Bertram household.

Fanny grows up at Mansfield Park and remains in touch with her impoverished family in Portsmouth. Dreadful Aunt Norris more or less rules Mansfield Park by default–this is partly due to Lord Bertram’s interests in the West Indies and partly due to Lady Bertram’s inertia and inebriation. Maria is engaged to the doltish Mr Rushworth, and while Maria acknowledges that her future husband is a fool, she is willing to overlook this fault as it is ameliorated by a large fortune. Fanny’s sole friend is Edmund–the younger son, and he is slated to become a clergyman. But then an attractive and worldly brother and sister–Henry and Mary Crawford join local society, and their presence sparks everyone’s dormant passions.

I was prepared to dislike this production from director Patricia Rozema–Jane Austen is close to my heart, so I intend to be a bit picky when it comes to screen adaptations of Austen’s novels. I did not, for example, like Emma (the Gwyneth Paltrow version), and I couldn’t abide Sense and Sensibility (Emma Thompson). I do like the BBC adaptations of Austen’s novels, however. I must admit that I almost didn’t even bother watching Mansfield Park as I dreaded yet another disappointment. However, encouraged by another Janeite I decided to give this DVD a go.

The strength of this production is in its acting and in its humour. All of the actors and actresses are top notch, and the script flowed forth with a light, ironic touch. Henry and Mary Crawford were simply perfect. Unfortunately, the script writer did seem to mingle Jane Austen (the real person) with Fanny Price when creating the Fanny Price for this film. This gave Fanny Price pertness and wit that was largely absent from the novel. Also, many excellent parts from the novel were cut, and the PC additions to the script were–quite frankly–out of place and slightly ludicrous. However, overall, I enjoyed this film version of the book–it’s not perfect, but for perfection, I can always go and read Mansfield Park yet again.

“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.

“How dare you enter my private quarters.”

The Bawdy Adventures of Tom Jones is a visual romp through the naughtier bits of the 18th century. Based on the novel by Henry Fielding, this film version concentrates on a mixture of bawdy double-entendres and slapstick comedy. It’s the story of Tom Jones–an illegitimate foundling who is adopted into the household of Squire Alworthy. The film includes many scenes of serving girls with extremely low-cut dresses bending over, and female servants romping through bedrooms as they are chased by their over-eager masters. Obviously, as the title of the film suggests, there’s a theme here.

Anyone familiar with the novel Tom Jones will be disappointed in this film. It’s certainly not a fair presentation of the novel. While the costumes and settings are pleasant to behold, there’s also the odd song thrown in for good measure–is this film supposed to be a musical?

I’m not quite sure how Trevor Howard was persuaded to accept the role of the libidinous Squire Western. Luscious Joan Collins slithers around in her role as Black Bess (Black Bess, by the way, was the name of Highwayman Dick Turpin’s horse). This film serves as a distraction, but it does not do justice to the novel. As a film in its own right, it’s fluff with no substance. It’s Benny Hill meets Tom Jones–if you can imagine that.

“He only wants for guidance.”

In this excellent BBC adaptation of Anne Bronte’s novel, an attractive young woman and her young son move into long-neglected Wildfell Hall. The woman (Tara Fitzgerald), Mrs. Helen Graham, claims to be a widow who is forced to make her living as an artist. Some of the local families try to befriend her, but they find Mrs. Graham to be abrasive and unfriendly. Local farmer, Gilbert Markham (Toby Stephens) is attracted to Mrs. Graham, and this does not escape the jealous eye of local lass, Eliza Millwood. Soon spiteful rumours abound about Mrs. Graham and her relationship to her landlord, Mr. Lawrence. Mrs. Graham tells Giles the truth about the past–including her desperate need for secrecy regarding her true identity. It seems that Mrs. Graham is really Mrs. Huntingdon–the wife of a dissolute rake who leads a life of debauchery in his constant pursuit of pleasure.

One of the reasons I enjoy The Tenant of Wildfell Hall so much is it clearly depicts Victorian notions of womanhood. Bronte, however, through the characters and the story shows the absurdity and unfairness of the woman’s role. Helen Huntingdon embodies the Victorian ideal of “the Angel in the House” and certainly Huntingdon expects angelic behaviour from her–no matter what abuse rains down on her head. Huntingdon thinks himself above criticism, and yet he holds Helen to the highest standard. He’s a petty bully with a penchant for gratuitous cruelty. While he criticizes Helen’s housekeeping abilities, her performance as a wife and as a mother, he also calls her “half mortal, half angelic.” Helen embodies this perfect Victorian ideal, but we see the absurdity of her sacrifices as Huntingdon tramples on Helen’s “delicate goodness” again and again. Bronte’s book was a scandal when it was published in 1848, and while this adaptation no longer has the ability to make the average viewer swoon, nonetheless, there is great power to this story.

Fans of the novel should be happy with this adaptation. It is perfectly cast–even in the fairly minor roles. The photography is stunning, the costumes marvelous, and a haunting score accompanies the drama. There are several very clever camera shots. In one scene, the camera sweeps slowly and lovingly along the curve of Helen’s shoulders, and in some scenes, the camera appears to take a bird’s eye view of ballroom dancers. Tara Fitzgerald is always wonderful in these period piece roles. As Mrs. Graham/Huntingdon, she has a veneer of coldness, and Markham at first finds her “too hard, too sharp, too bitter.” Helen Huntingdon’s character is explored very well in the flashbacks of her awful married life to Arthur Huntingdon. Toby Stephens as Markham is in complete contrast to Huntingdon (Rupert Graves). Markham plays a solid, genuine lover–conscious of his social inferiority to the Huntingdons. Rupert Graves is an old hand with these sorts of roles, and he really does a spectacular job as Huntingdon–a man who’s used to using his boyish charm to get what he wants, and yet the most unpleasant side of him shows after Helen is at his mercy while he runs with his pack of equally dissolute friends. Huntingdon delivers some of the very best lines in the film. Bronte fans, and BBC costume drama fans should be equally delighted with this production. The video is 160 minutes long, and it’s worth every penny.

The Merry Monarch

Fans of the Restoration period will be delighted with this BBC dramatization of the reign of England’s king, Charles II. The film begins with Charles (Rufus Sewell) still living in exile, and then it swiftly moves to his return to England in 1660. The story touches on the political troubles faced by Charles during his reign, but the politics of the day share equal space with the trials and tribulations Charles experienced at the hands of his many mistresses. The Last King: The Power and the Passion of Charles II selects a handful of the King’s mistresses for this film–the more famous ones–Barbara Castlemaine, Nell Gwyn, and Louise de Keroualle. The Queen’s, (Catherine of Braganza) often-problematic relationship with Charles is also analyzed in quite some detail.

All the acting is top-notch. Rufus Sewell as Charles II, Shirley Anderson as Catherine of Braganza, and Rupert Graves as the Duke of Buckingham–are perhaps the most engaging members of this glittering cast of players. While many of the actors and actresses did not match my visual idea of their historical counterparts, the superb acting soon cast aside any marginal doubts I had. The costumes are sumptuous, and the sets excellent (with only a few cheesy spots during the Fire of London). The aging of Charles II is handled most adeptly.

However, with all the good points to the film, I would add that a basic knowledge of ‘who’s-who’ in the period is essential. The film does not yield explanations, so the viewer had better have a context to place the action in, or you may stand to be hopelessly lost. Also, this film chose to concentrate its focus on the women in the king’s life. My ideal mini-series about Charles II would probably last somewhere between 20-30 hours and include much more biographical information, and exploration of the political events of the age. While the film does an excellent job, many fascinating aspects to Charles’ character are not covered here. That is most unfortunate–but unavoidable given the time constraints. I was particularly disgruntled that Rochester had such a tiny role. But my little peevish grumbles aside, I have to acknowledge that the film was quite wonderful.

The DVD extra includes interviews with many of the major cast members. I often dislike these sort of interviews as I am usually disappointed, but in this case, the actors presented very intelligent interpretations of their characters, and this extra feature was worthwhile.

“I’ll send my groom to horsewhip you.”

In spite of a glittering international cast, sumptuous costumes, incredible sets, and a script written by George MacDonald Fraser, the film Casanova pays poor service to the life of Casanova. The story begins with Casanova (Richard Chamberlain) imposing himself on three women in a carriage, and then, after evading creditors, Casanova lands in prison where he reminisces about some of the highlights of his life. Casanova’s women, for the purposes of this film, include Hanna Schygulla, Faye Dunaway (delightfully naughty), Ornella Mutti, and Sylvia Kristel. Other big names in the cast include Sir John Gielgud, and Frank Finlay. (Ironically, Frank Finlay starred as Casanova in a marvelous 1971 BBC mini-series of Casanova’s life.)

The film fails on several levels–for a start, if you’ve read Casanova’s memoirs, you know that he was a wonderfully original story teller, but apart from that, the memoirs laid out the foundations of Casanova’s character. It is clear to the reader why Casanova led the life he did. In this film version, however, Casanova is almost a caricature of the legendary lover. The film is not funny enough to be tongue-in-cheek, and not bawdy enough to be a really naughty version of Casanova’s life. Also the film lacks wit and is rather tedious. It is as though the audience is supposed to accept the mythological status of Casanova as a given and sail on from there–at no point are we really privy to any single detail as to what makes Casanova a great lover, for example. The women just drop like flies at his feet. We don’t see Casanova, the lover, in action–we don’t see him setting up a plan to seduce a woman who wishes to hang onto her virtue. The BBC mini-series gave many examples of Casanova’s prowess in the art of seducing women–this film does not, and instead Casanova seems like a well-dressed Venetian ne’er-do-well. From director Simon Langton