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Archive for the ‘novels of sensibility’ Category

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Dear friends and readers,

Not quite the familiar kind of title. I’d been reading Tolstoy’s War and Peace as translated by Louise and Aylmer Maud, revised, edited by Amy Mandelker, with Elisabeth Guertik’s superb La Guerre at la Paix just beneath for comparison since July;

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and began to listen to David Case reading an unabridged text by Constance Garnett last May.

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Frederick Davidson (David Case) reading aloud Constance Garnet’s translation unabridged

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An appealing small photo of Garnett

I finished book and mini-series about a week before Christmas. So 9 months. Translated texts by four women. Mini-series by men.

But if you count that I began to watch (and fell in love with) Jack Pulman’s 20 part 1972 BBC War and Peace (Anthony Hopkins as Pierre), last January and have gone through it at least 3 times; and then went on to watch Bondarchuk’s Russian 1966 War and Peace (it’s 5 disks lasting something like 9 hours, Bondarchuk himself is Pierre; and I’ve gone through the whole thing nearly twice); Andrew Davies’s 6 part 2016 BBC War and Peace (Paul Dano, Pierre; watching at least twice, the last time weeping throughout the whole of the sixth episode) with one time for the Vidor 1955 War and Peace (once, Henry Fonda, Pierre, John Mills as Platon, Audrey Hepburn Natasha) — this experience might count for two years perpetual engagement.

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Fonda as Pierre and Hepburn as Natasha

I probably proposed to the listserv at Trollope19thCStudies @ Yahoo to read Tolstoy together because I so loved the Pulman mini-series and wanted to understand it much better, see what depths it was drawing on, attempting faithfully to dramatize. Now I’d like to know so much more about Sophia as it was she was who copied out Tolstoy’s endless drafts and she who put together a final version of the book different from the one Tolstoy first published and the one translated and read today (except for those like Christian who read all the drafts). We have agreed that sometime next summer the group of us (whoever is there) will read and discuss Anna Karenina together.

You could say I immersed myself as I also read over the 9 months about 2/3s of A.N. Wilson’s biography, two old fashioned interpretive books (F. R. Christian and Rimvydas Silbajoris, close readers and real source students of the 1960s and 70s types), three of the chapters of John Bayley’s Tolstoy and the Novel, about one half of Alexandra Popoff’s book on the man who may be said to have preyed on Tolstoy in the last part of his life, his “false” disciple, Vladmir Chertkov, watched The Last Station and read Michael Hoffman’s shooting script (though not the book by Jay Parini), and now am one third into Alexandra Popoff’s life of Sophia Tolstoy.

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A superb shooting script gives a reading on the very old Tolstoy and his wife: Christopher Plummer as Tolstoy, Helen Mirren as Sophia

I posted about all this too (to a small Yahoo listserv called Trollope19thCStudies), at least twice a week, sometimes more.

Has Tolstoy changed my life? or view of the world? No. Did the texts and films out of his book affect my existence? Well if you look at time taken yes. I agree it’s one of the world’s great novels, though Tolstoy would not like to hear it called a novel, and its reach is even severely limited by Tolstoy’s aristocratic and masculinist outlook. It absorbed me; often the text felt packed vivid with life, provided such compelling reading — the exception is after a while his repetitive chapters on what real history is, how events in history come about, how to write about these, and attacks on historians for great writing as if history were the result of a handful of powerful individual’s choices at any given time. But because Tolstoy is alert to genre and other books, this book speaks to what is in others, and contextualizes these others with itself.

Probably for me what this book most taught me was about other books because of its conscious relationship to them, especially historical fiction, the more typical 19th century realistic novels. Since reading his book I’ve become aware how much his double-structure, of one half richly individual stories, and the other larger political (war is politics by other means) contexts, taught other historical novelists since him. They imitate him, from say (to cite two recent books I’ve read in the past) Adhaf Soueif’s In the Eye of the Sun (individual Egyptian and British characters contextualized with the larger Arab-Israel conflicts since 1948) to Virginia Woolf’s The Years.

If this seems dry, it isn’t to me for whom books have meant so much.

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A significant book — it includes historical films and adaptations

I read books as deeply reflective of the author and his or her life so that the book may be read as a disguised family history gives it another sort of meaning as a site of memory.

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I hope to read this when we get to Anna Karenina

It’s easiest to fall back on the characters to grasp the book’s meaning in itself. Most of the characters are so convincing in terms of 19th century novels (the women less so than the men’ Tolstoy said early on he was imitating the English novel); what was happening in the “war” part of the novel and its politics so relevant. When I thought I would be bored say after a week’s hiatus (sometimes more), I’d fall back into the text and find myself engaged all over again. I felt that the characters could carry on almost without Tolstoy, and he ended where he did because one must end somewhere. 1317 pages (the Maud text) is enough. But this is absurd: the characters are given life by him, reflect and are shaped by his inner life, and the story comes to an end because what he wanted to say about them, where bring them to, has been accomplished. Silbajoris is particularly lucid on why the worlds of perceptions in War and Peace feel possessed by some real person (Chapter 5).

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Hopkins as Pierre in the Moscow burning episode

Since the male characters are those given most depth and reality, the females kept much more to stereotypes that males (Tolstoy specifically) see and understand, to enjoy War and Peace you must enter into a male-centered approach. At first this feels less gender- and class-driven (most of those we travel any time with are a tiny highly privileged group within larger Russia) because of the way Tolstoy shapes their conflicts as innate and generic to any private self. I bonded strongly with the central male character, Pierre Bezhukhov: the book is his journey from early adulthood as he gradually and with much emotional pain, and many divagations, decisions which hurt him, adjusts to living in and alongside his society in a way worthy of him, yet never gives scope to what his high intelligence and noble nature could do, were he given real room. I loved him for his kindness to others too.

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James Norton as Andrei dancing with Lily James as Natasha at her first ball (2016 W&P)

By contrast, the more secondary, normative, and higher ranking male, Andrei Bolkonsky, behaved in alienating ways, but I grieved for his self-deprivation and early death, brought on by his efforts to please conventional powerful authority figures whose corruption, blindness and narrow egoism he never fully comprehends. Nikolai Rostov, not quite tertiary, incapable of any self-examination or criticism of his society chance, yet so well-meaning, ends doing well from luck (though Tolstoy discounts chance repeatedly and his tenacious instinct for self-preservation.

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Thomas Arnold as Denisov entranced with Natasha at a home party (the same 2016 W&P)

A whole continuum of male characters contextualizes them, from their peers in years, the evil-committing pair, smart, effective and spiteful (he enjoys inflicting violence) Dolokhov and his mate (until he is killed) the utterly selfish, grasping, male animal Anatole Kuragin (apparently his rake-gambler type was in an original draft intended to be the central character) to the good-natured characters, the slightly obtuse (all the more survivable), Denisov (who I loved), the selfless conscientious yielder-soldier Tushin (who saves lives risking his own), and the half-mad uneducated pesant Platon Karataev (who his society throws away with his blessing). Then there are the older corrupted, the hollow-courtier of a man, Prince Vasily, the deeply humane (paradoxically) wise in experience general Kutusov. I could go on to add so many who come alive for one scene, one moment, one or a set of chapters, giving us this or that experience of life through their story-event.

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Frank Middlemass as General Kutusov (1972 BBC W&P)

For the men a group of issues emerges from the “le monde” chapters. The same public versus private, ethical (which has to do with doing right to others and to one’s gifts) versus amoral behavior (anti-social, inhumane). These feed into profoundly anti-killing, anti-war paradigms as senseless in the “war” chapters. Tolstoy’s answers are not satisfactory (sometimes perverse because of his religiosity), but he asks the candid questions without cant for his era and these questions and some of his answers are transferable. He says repeatedly that a war takes the willingness of thousands of men to spend huge amounts of time killing one another. The commanders care about their place in the organization first and their theories about how to plan for war show few consider its realities. People do not respond sensibly to crises, rarely acknowledge a coming disaster before it’s upon them.

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Bondarchuk’s War and Peace: Part 3: 1812

With the women he does not ask the crucial questions but he shows them suffering from powerlessness, so circumscribed and hemmed in, and with an added strong sexual standard (they are judged according to their sexual chastity and obedience to norms of marriage), lack of agency (under the thumb of a parent or authority figure): the saving element is their relationships with one another are detailed so believably and movingly, that what lies outside this seems almost unimportant.

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Morag Hood as Natasha trying to explain to draw sympathy from Sonya (Joanna David) why she finds Anatole’s offer to flee so irresistible (1972 W&P, “Madness” episode)

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Sonya bitter at what has been demanded of her, tells Natasha (against the countess’ orders not to) that Andrei lies very sick in the convoy (1972 W&P, “Life and Death”)

The central women characters are the ingenue heroine, Natasha Rostov, said to be modeled in part by Tolstoy’s (mis-)perception of his wife (who wrote an autobiographical story under this name, which she burned). Bondarchuk believed in the existence of this type and took her story and made it the center of the second part of his family so it becomes a sentimental heroine’s text within a heroic yet damning story of war. There’s the family dependent, semi-servant, Sonya (whose last name we never learn) and Marya, the cruelly abused sister (by her father) of Andrei. Most important throughout is the Countess Rostov who (like Pierre’s cousin, Katische) whatever it has taken from her, whatever she may have to demand of others, stands tenaciously and resolutely for obeying hegemonic hierarchical norms so as to stay wealthy — while her husband, the hopelessly non-competitive lazy amiable Count Rostov cannot hold onto even a wagon during a siege.

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Angela Downs as Marya crushed by her father’s jeering cruelty over a proposal of marriage for her money — Anatole cannot even be faithful or interested in her for two days (1972 W&P, “Two Proposals”)

Equally central to the story (though not gone into psychologically very much) are Pierre’s (to Tolstoy and in the book), vicious and corrupt wife, Helene Kuragin; the semi-mistress (or sexually used) dependent of the Bolkonskys and companion-maid to Marya, Mlle Bourienne, and the female equivalents of Prince Vassily, Anna Pavlovna Scherer, the hollow saloniere, the parrot of what it is socially acceptable to say and do, with whom the novel begins, and the mother of the trained-to-be heartless Boris Durbetskoy (ever rising in rank and wealth), Anna Mikhilaovna, sycophant extraordinaire.

I found the readings of Natasha found in Pulman and Davies of great help in coming to terms with Tolstoy’s central anticipatory Freudian account of the “enthrallment” of Natasha to the sadistic Anatole: after her engagement to Andrei, she is in considerable distress from how Andrei’s family has rejected, mortified her, her self-esteem badly wounded by Andrei’s leaving her, the very sheltered nature of her life a risk. About four of us felt similarly that we were not given anywhere near the insight into Sonya’s feelings her plight as lover (physcial too) of Nikolai and pillow-like confidante of Natasha when she is harassed into allowing herself to lose chance of personal fulfillment because she lacks sufficient money to make up for the Rostovs’ coming bankruptcy. Helene is a monster in the novel because she’s sexually promiscuous, has no understanding of what integrity or virtues might mean, in Tolstoy’s ms incestuous with her brother; as with Dolokhov Davies tries to humanize her as wanting pleasure, adulation, and independence at any price (many human beings are cool towards one another, use one another).

I particularly admired how Tolstoy could move from such large perspectives, vast battles made sense of so that they are de-mystified, seiges, how human beings behave so barbarically in mobs, and as particular individuals (the mayor of Moscow scapegoating a miserably abused once idealistic middle class young man so that he is torn to bits after weeks of mental and physical torture and abuse in the czar’s prisons) to paying attention and bringing to life the smallest details in a scene (Platon’s dog howling at his death but then trotting after someone else), the most seemingly unimportant creatures (down to insects), and how beautiful with acutely felt life he could make a landscape. This is compensation: the joy some human beings feel at a hunt (competition in killing, the thrill of this some feel) and how sometimes he seemed to break taboos over what one can show about human beings even today. The death scenes are startling: from the fights over who gets what once the agonized or nearly unconscious presence vanishes, to the process of death itself going on all that while.

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Rebecca Front as Anna Mikhailovna holding fiercely onto the will; Fenella Woolgar as Katische, Pierre’s cousin, has tried to steal in order to destroy it, Stephen Rea as Count Vassily looking on (2016 War and Peace)

Ellen

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Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser (Caitronia Balfe) singing & dancing gaily and wryly

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Murtagh Fraser (Duncan LaCroix) dancing stiffly and awkwardly (from Episode 14, “The Search”)

Claire: May I make a suggestion? Perhaps you could sing a song to jazz up the dance a bit.
Murtagh: Jazz?
Claire: To spice up, enliven. A song?
Murtagh: Yes.
Claire: Something toe-tapping, like

He was a famous trumpet man From out Chicago way He had a boogie style that no one else could play He was the top man at his craft But then his number came up And he was gone with the draft He’s in the army now A-blowing reveille. He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B

Murtagh: What?
Claire: It’s a bonnie tune.
Murtagh: But you need a Scottish song …
Claire (sometime later):

Here’s to all you lads and lasses That go out this way Be sure to tip her coggie When you take her out to play Lads and lasses toy a kiss The lads never think what they do is amiss Because there’s Kent and Keen and there’s Aberdeen And there’s none as muckle as the strathabogie wogie For every lad?! wander just to have his lass And when they see her pintle rise They’ll raise a glass And rowe about their wanton een They’ll dance the reels as the troopers go over the lea Because there’s Kent and Keen and there’s Aberdeen And there’s none as muckle as the strathabogie wogie He giggled, google me He was a banger He sought the prize between my thighs Became a hanger And there’s Kent and Keen and there’s Aberdeen But there’s none as muckle as the strathabogie wogie If you see a strapping redheaded fellow, let me know. There’s a big redheaded lad come through these parts. But there’s none as muckle as the strathabogie wogie And no there’s none as muckle as the wanton tune of strathabogie

Dear friends and readers,

In these last three episodes the first season concluded with moving from transitioning to a downright reversal of gender roles. This is taken to a level meant to astonish viewers: where else is a man broken in spirit and raped? The rescuers are all women or women-led. First, the two heroines (Jenny, his sister, Laura Donnelly, one, her breasts filled with milk), and then one, his wife, Claire, alone with her subaltern hero’s brother-mate, now discovered to be rather a replacement father, Murtagh, go on quest for said hero, Jamie Fraser (Sam Heughan). They find him having escaped hanging, thrown into chains in a dungeon, having been humiliated to the point of robbing him of all pride, tortured (his right hand smashed with a hammer), raped, brought to want suicide by one half of the series doppelganger hero-villain, Black Jack Randall (Tobias Menzies).

He is rescued by the concerted repeated courageous efforts of said wife-heroine, and a band of his mates; then he is nursed, his hand re-structured by her (now we move back to usual gender roles), taken loving care of by all, including brothers, in a monastery. Finally, coaxed out of intense self-hatred, depression, nightmares, but not just recalled rather driven back to life by Claire (again he is the one worked upon) and simply taken into flight across the waters. The three episodes form a kind of climax and denouement trilogy to all that has gone before. Taken to another level.

What many viewers might not know or not realize (or forget) is, like the 12th and 13th episodes (“Lallybroch” and “The Watch”), these three seem to follow the outline of the book’s ending, but in fact depart radically.

In the book the quest, which takes all of Episode 14 (as “The Search”) and then some of 15 (Wentworth Prison), takes 5 paragraphs out of the first of a closing series of long chapters (Part Six, 8 to be precise). While the capture, beating, breaking of spirit and body and rape of Jamie, is there in the book, it takes only about 2/3s of one chapter (35, “Wentworth Prison”) and is not placed as climax. In the mini-series, the actual core scenes of Black Jack and Jamie where Jamie allows Black Jack to make love to him and responds are held off as a flashback (reminding me of Richardson’s Clarissa) until near the end of 16, the last episode (“To Ransom A Man’s Soul”) so they become the climax.

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Murtagh, Father Anselm (Ian Hanmore) and Claire discussing what seems the hopelessness of bringing Jamie out of his intense grief and loss

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Jamie responding, remembering, dreaming moving to the flashback (which I will not put stills from on my blog lest I attract the wrong kind of attention) (from Episode 16, “To Ransom a Man’s Soul”)

As in the book’s versions of Episodes 12 & 13 a lingering depiction of a story about a tense return home ending unexpected disaster from treachery, so that the theme is rooted in characterization and as much about what is meant by home, and men’s relationships to women there, in the book’s versions of 14-16 we are given a luxuriating in woman’s romance:

a full emphasis on Claire’s attempts to save Jamie by negotiation, entering two different Scottish households, one the armed castle type run by Sir Fletcher, and the other, another old-fashioned country house farmstead of the McRannochs, where Claire meets the wife as well as husband. In the book, as heroines have done before her, she is successful because she enlists the aid of the non-violent home-y private knowledge of the MacRannochs, including their cattle. The cattle is just about all that is kept in the mini-series: a way to barge into the prison and during the fracas and violence, sluice Jamie out. In the book Claire, Jamie and Murtagh flee to France — across the waters — immediately, and are taken into a French monastery, recalling to his mind the one he fled to (and told Claire of) after his first nearly mortal encounter with Black Jack, which inflicted on him his criminal status and permanently scarred back.

In the mini-series the monastery is in the highlands (and not safe, but hidden enough for a while) and,by contrast, the final scene is on the shore, a goodbye to Scotland for now, and the three principals sail away — rather like many a male-centered sea story.

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Beyond intrigue, comedy and action-adventure, what survives from the book is the agon of Jamie and Claire forced apart by Black Jack on threat of destroying another part of Jamie’s body (Episode 15, “Wentworth Prison”)

In the book after Claire has performed her physical and psychological re-fashioning of Jamie, they find this French monastery unsafe. Reminding me uncannily of Sophie Lee’s Recess now, they flee into a cave where they stay, make intense love, and then crawl out through the earth to reach the sky and build another future than is in the cards for themselves and others.

But there another political level to this drama (as pointed out by Emily Nussbaum in the New Yorker last year): the torturing of Jamie mirrors our own politics. Gabaldon wrote Outlander in 1995 well before 9/11, before systematic torture was practiced by the Bush administration, allowing it to spread and become acceptable elsewhere. It’s important to emphasize this political source for what we see, not only as demonstrating even women’s historical romances are about history and politics (as certainly historical fiction is), but because a newly elected US president has condoned torture and people he’s appointed condon it too. I believe the scenes are made emphatic and developed intutively as timely: there are two between Black Jack and Jamie, in the first Jack smashes Jame’s hand because it seems Jamie will not bend, not yield, in the second the intensely painful submission scene. It should be remembered that no information is being extracted. There are too many studies for me to cite showing that torture is useless for extracting truthful information; perhaps Elaine Scarry’s The Body in Pain is most pertinent here: she argues not force itself alone but the fear and infliction on someone of bodily pain lies behind powerful state gov’t’s successes. Here the English.

The mini-series might be said to be a (long-distance) descendant of Walter Scott, historical fiction, with a heap of fashionable post-colonialism; the book is a similar descendant of Ann Radcliffe (combining all three of her famous romances) by way of Daphne DuMaurier’s occasionally kinky eroticism, woman’s historical romance (often part fantasy).

Pace the book about these forms I’m reading just now, Bowden’s Descendants of Waverley, the differences between these two genres is considerable. I’ve now gotten myself the British DVD set of the new 2016 Poldarks and the fat books of Complete Scripts, Series 2 by Deborah Horsfield, and will be leaving off writing about the Outlander mini-series for a while, but I’m also struck by how both mini-series (1970s and again now) albeit in very different ways, as they go on become more literally faithful to the books as well as actual 18th century history.

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Surface mining in the new Poldark (seen by the second episode of the 1st season)

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The opening scene at Inverness (1, “Sassenach”)

The World of Poldark by Emma Marriot, a companion volume to the 2016 TV series has many short essays on historical topics; The Making of Outlander by Tara Bennett, a companion volume to this one on-going TV series has almost none: history is only brought up as a detail to explain this facet of a costume or prop or why a particular ritual or song took a certain hybrid form. Winston’s Graham’s original book about Poldark’s Cornwall had much about Cornwall itself (for real), his relationship to it, and his characters to history, actual photos of real places, all set-up as life-writing.

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Cornish perpendicular gothic window, a photo from Graham’s edition of Poldark’s Cornwall

Gabaldon’s equivalent Outlandish Companion has much about Scottish history seen through a prism of fantasy, romance, with astrological tables, ancient Scottish symbols, words, drawings of ruins, playful illustrations, all set-up as a kind of substitute (almost) for reading four of the Outlander books. I began these blogs on Outlander by way of having some comparative and intertextual context for the new Poldark.

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Permutations of a bracelets from Outlandish Companion

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None of this is to stay this Outlander mini-series is not a marvel of good writing (especially the over-voice linking much), interesting human sequences, studies of gender, some post-colonial history, strong structure, effective music and effective scenery (beautiful when wanted), the cinematography breath-taking, the close-ups deeply moving, but to recognize what has happened to it in an adaptation meant to engage male as as well as female viewers. So I’ll conclude with just two elements I was struck by in these last three.

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Coming up to the monastery

The use of the past is not just a pretext. The unfamiliarity of the past is important as when Claire and Murtagh travel across northern Scotland to find Jamie in an era without maps, daily newspapers, telegraph, telephone, TV, internet, lots of published maps (no GPS, no cell-phone). We are comforted by their overcoming the lack of technology, and we delight in how eras can be brought together. So Claire entertains with jazzed up versions of Scottish songs, sounding like a radio program from the 1940s. She tells fortunes of women glad to hear their husbands will die young. She fights one imitator for (in effect) copyright — and he cheats and uses her materials. It’s fun to see Murtagh’s awkward dancing. The visualization and sounds of all this is in fact what the book cannot provide.

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Claire snacking inbetween performances (14, “The Search”)

Love and friendship are matters of affinity, companionship and then physical love are compensatory and crowning expressions of a valuing of one another’s individual qualities, rather than an end in itself. Black Jack is perverse because he wants to devour and punish, inflict pain to feel his power. The good features of any personality are the most solitary ones, the indwelling mind which keeps to its own integrity. So at the end of both book and this first series, we have the deeply gratifying coming together of loving affection between parting men and wedded men and women.

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Claire saying goodbye to Willie who has been the most loyal of all Jamie’s friends

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Fair is the wind for France

************************************

I have not mentioned the music of this series thus far. Let me end on that which begins and haunts most episodes: the theme of the Craig Na Dun stones and women’s dance.

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A header on one of the fan sites for this mini-series

Sing me a song of a lass that is gone …

The song is a re-working of a traditional Scots folk tune: The Skye-Boat Song, with words paraphrased from Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem, “Sing me a song of a lady that is gone.” Brian McGreary who composed it describes himself as “a Jacobite fanatic,” he did his thesis on the Jacobites and the music of the era. He used a “live orchestra and live soloists … live bagpipes, the live fiddle, the bodhran, which is the drum that can change pitch, [which we hear] predominantly in the main title … ” It was an attempt to be authentic Scots, using one of the great Scottish writers. It’s sung by Raya Yarborough and is part of the paratext opening for each episode.

There is a music or a theme associated with Frank, Claire’s tenderly loving husband from the 1940s and it’s classical, 20th century, what we associate with Vaughn Williams, English composers drawing on English folk song. There is a theme for Frank and Claire together, and there is a theme for Claire and Jamie together, heard in different permutations, bodhran, Scottish percussion, small string ensemble, a deeper more baritone setting with low strings or a viola da gamba when the focus is on Jamie (from The Making of Outlander, pp 22-27). But no theme for Claire. Ah well. She gets to do the over-voice, the perspective …

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.

Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
Eigg on the starboard bow;
Glory of youth glowed in his soul;
Where is that glory now?

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.

Give me again all that was there,
Give me the sun that shone!
Give me the eyes, give me the soul,
Give me the lad that’s gone!

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.

Billow and breeze, islands and seas,
Mountains of rain and sun,
All that was good, all that was fair,
All that was me is gone.
— Robert Louis Stevenson

ethereal

People disappear all the time. Young girls run away from home. Children stray from their parents and are never seen again. Housewives take the grocery money, and a taxi to the train station. Most are found eventually. Disappearances, after all, have explanations. Usually. Strange, the things you remember. Single images and feelings that stay with you down through the years (the epigraph to Outlander, the first words heard in the series, spoken by Balfe).

Ellen

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Charlotte Smith (1749-1807) by George Romney (1792)

Sonnet 69 from Elegiac Sonnets

Written at the same place [where refugees land], on seeing a seaman return who had been imprisoned at Rochfort

Clouds, gold and purple, o’er the westering ray
Threw a bright veil, and catching lights between,
Fell on the glancing sail, that we had seen
With soft, but adverse winds, throughout the day
Contending vainly: as the vessel nears,
Encreasing numbers hail it from the shore;
La! on the deck a pallid form appears,
Half wondering to behold himself once more
Approach his home. — And now he can discern
His cottage thatch amid surrounding trees;
Yet, trembling, dreads lest sorrow or disease
Await him there, embittering his return:
But all he loves are safe; with heart elate,
Tho’ poor and plunder’d, he absolves his fate!

Dear friends and readers,

Although I’ve been putting my blogs on historical fiction set in the 18th century, both in film and in novels on this blog (e.g., Poldark and Outlander), and have now and again put teaching 18th century texts (Fielding’s Tom Jones) and enjoyment in reading and viewing arts and music and books of the era, I’ve kept scholarship in the area in my Austen reveries blog. Hence I’ve not posted much at all about Charlotte Smith, a consuming interest (in her life) and love (for her poetry and some of her novels) in my life now for many years (see More First Encounters).

Charlotte Smith was a great and profound poet in the later 18th century, the mother of romanticism (with Wordsworth a father, and Radcliffe, mothering the Gothic), and an absorbing original novelist. I attended the second conference devoted just to her at Chawton House Library in Hampshire this past October, gave a paper on her as a post-colonial writer, and after a five-year effort published the first affordable paperback scholarly edition of her second novel, Ethelinde, or The Recluse of the Lake.

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The purpose of this blog is to encourage anyone interested to buy it at Valancourt Press, which will take you to Amazon, and its occasion is a wonderfully thorough and insightful blog by the novelist, literary critic and publisher, Tyler Tichelaar:

Charlotte Smith’s Ethelinde: A Missing link between Romanticism and the Gothic, to which I append my comment and then some:

I didn’t sufficiently emphasize in my introduction the book as a romantic novel, though I did talk about the poetic landscape and how (from contemporary reviews and a contemporary almost immediate French translation), it seems what most struck people. We have to remember that Ann Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest was first published in 1790, the same year as Ethelinde, and The Mysteries of Udolpho came four years later. So this novel was a revelation. In the sequence where Ethelinde goes to her father’s tomb, she anticipates and imitates the haunted gothic of Victorian fiction. I probably didn’t think of the romantic connections because it’s a rare novel by Smith where she does not include any of her poems. Maybe because she thought she’d created poetry in words enough with the landscapes. I agree with Robert the book does not feel very Burney-like, Smith is so corrosively angry in her satire on awful characters. But I feel certain all these women read one another. I also forget Smith’s novels became part of the Jacobin novelists of the 1790s too (Rogert Bage’s Hermsprong, Thomas Holcroft, Godwin’s Caleb Williams, Wollstonecraft’s Maria; or The Wrongs of Woman) and Walter Scott wrote a long beautiful perceptive appreciation.

Valancourt has brought the book out as a hardback. I conclude it’s selling well — for a book of this sort. The publisher & editor has indicated to me he’s not really interested in going on to publish another by Smith: his business seems to have begun by concentrating on publishing rarer older gothic and Victorian novels (out of copyright) but in the last few year more contemporary and gay novels have been added to the list. If he should change his mind, I think I’ll ask for a payment this time 🙂

Several Smith novels are available as Broadview Press editions, e.g. Celestina; Kentucky Press, e.g. The Young Philosopher. A couple others are available in good facsimile reprints but no notes and no introduction, no bibliography (e.g., The Banished Man, about war-torn Europe and France from an emigre’s perspective). Montalbert is in one of these reprints of ECO texts where there are four tiny pages per page, but you can buy it cheaply. Even The Romance of Real Life is available in an OCR facsimile.

Marchmont is now the only novel by Smith not available in an affordable edition. It was Marchmont I and the publisher spoke as an alternative to Ethelinde when we first discussed the project, and I probably chose Ethelinde because it’s historically more important (see above — it was a revelation), and I’d read part of Ethelinde. And yet Marchmont is a powerful book — it has this extraordinarily frank depiction of a debtor’s prison (anticipates Dickens) and makes use of a terrible siege in France, Toulon, and so calls attention to the reality that the “terror” of and many of the early directorate’s actions were a reaction against invasion from other capitalist-royalist national leaderships with their armies and the complicated politics within France. Trollope’s La Vendee is about the counter-revolutionaries in the countryside.

Fragment Descriptive of the Miseries of War

To a wild mountain, whose bare summit hides
Its broken eminence in clouds; whose steeps
Are dark with woods; where the receding rocks
Are worn with torrents of dissolving snow;
A Wretched woman, pale and breathless, flies,
And, gazing round her, listens to the sound
Of hostile footsteps:–No! they die away–
Nor noise remains, but of the cataract,
Or surly breeze of night, that mutters low
Among the thickets, where she trembling seeks
A temporary shelter–clasping close
To her quick-throbbing heart her sleeping child . . . (1797)
from Smith’s The Emigrants

Smith deserves to given her rightful place in the literature of the era and be read for pleasure by more modern readers than the usual academic specialists at long last. I’m so glad Valancourt made an appealing compact edition.

Ellen

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Frank (Tobias Menzies) listening to Rev Wakefield (James Fleet) arguing he must give up Claire and go on to Oxford (Both Sides Now)

Wakefield: It’s fashionable in this modern age to dismiss the idea of good and evil, but there is evil, and it finds purchase in good men by giving sin the sweet taste of ecstasy. The Nazis drank from that poisoned cup, thinking all the while they were slaking their thirst with the sweetest wine.
Frank: Are you suggesting that I have been drinking from the same cup?
Wakefield: Evil has but one cup. They drank long and deep. Yours was but a sip.Make it your last. Turn away from the darkness that beckons you, and go back into the light.
Frank; You mean leave Inverness.
Wakefield: Aye. Go back to Oxford. You start your life over.
Frank: And what of Claire?
Wakefield: Let her go, just as she has let you go.
Frank: So you believe that she left with the highlander of her own volition?
Wakefield: Have you ever read Sherlock Holmes, Frank? Marvelous books. One point he makes, when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

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Jamie in a favorite spot since boyhood, over-voice mediation for episode begins (The Reckoning)

But the truth is, I’d forgiven everything she’d done and everything she could do long before that day. For me, that was no choice. That was falling in love … I should have been happy that the MacKenzie clan wasna about to tear itself apart and that I’d repaired my relationship with Colum and Dougal. But I wasn’t. The rift with Claire was an open wound that would not heal. I needed to do something, make a decision, choose a course of action. But what? (a meditation there from the middle and 3/4s of the way through the episode)

Dear friends and readers,

In her book on the Descendents of Waverley, Martha Bowden writes that modern historical fiction fuses romance, fantasy, and embodies history through novelistic elements; it’s an intersection of past with present or realism which enables the reader to experience the past as if we were there. It invites us also to think we could have been actor in the past, bringing the future into existence, and are rooted in the past through our ancestors too.

Amy Elias (Sublime Desire) and Martha Bowden (Descendants of Waverley) reveal a paradigm for the kind of historical romance Outlander draws upon (whether book or film): modern historical fiction and/or romance is written with an awareness of the essential unknowability of the past at the same time as there is this intense desire to go back to the past and experience it intimately. Even in such a plainly realistic and conventional historical fiction, Winston Graham makes this point central to his Forgotten Story (set in Cornwall, 1898), The Grove of Eagles (Cornwall, 1580s) and The Four Swans (Cornwall, 1790s). Post-modern historical fiction does this with its embedded histories in the past, its ironic self-reflexivities. This too is what time-traveling permits. It’s a spiritual questing to reach the irretrievable: “There is a yearning that resembles the yearning for mystical knowledge.”

This desire for some grand experience is centered in an event that erupts unspeakably and re-erupts; it’s a reaction formation against the trauma of history; it is continually deferred, it is awesome, strange, beyond comprehension, with an emphasis on the irretrievable for all involved. Is this not the way Outlander works? At the close of the first season we were on a boat with Jamie (Sam Heughan), Claire and Murtagh (Duncan Lacroix) bound for France, for Claire, to try to stop the battle of Culloden as ever taking place:

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As the second season begins (“Through a Glass Darkly”), Claire is sudden groaning with despairing trauma; she has been lifted from the time of Culloden to 1948, and cannot know who won. We have skipped Culloden — and so has she. Her questioning and research into learned tomes cannot reach the names of the individuals who played such a large fole (fictionalized); she agrees to become Frank’s wife once again with the vow not to try to know what happened, to give up her connection to the Scots rebellion:

clairegroaning (Through a Glass Darkly, Season 2, Episode 1)

whathappened (ditto)

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Claire groaning at the center of her return to the stones, circa 1948; demanding frantically of the 20th century man who won Culloden; researching the Reverend Wakefield’s library with Mrs Graham (Tracy Wilkinson) by her side (ditto)

By the end of the second season (Episode 13, “Dragonfly in Amber”), we have still not yet been at the battle; we move to 20 years on, meet Jamie and Claire’s grown daughter who is told but at first disbelieves who her father was, but no Culloden. According to Martha Bowden and Amy Elias and others the mother of all these can be found in the later eighteenth century women’s gothic history/romance by Sophie Lee (The Recess) and of course Ann Radcliffe. I see Daphne DuMaurier’s dark vision as everywhere in Outlander as I see Walter Scott’s invention of a new self-conscious controlled genre.

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I return to Episode 8 and go on to 9 of Season 1 of Outlander in our journey through this mini-series, and these turn out to be an an extraordinary pair of episodes of Outlander, from this Bowden and Elias perspective. Both are (I now see) pivotal to the whole series, which project just this sort of romancing and playing with sublimity. Season 1, Episode 8, Both Sides Now continually moves back-and-forth between 1945 when Frank Randall is persistent in seeking for an explanation from the police and anyone else as to where his wife, Claire (Caitrionia Balfe) has vanished; and 1743 when Claire, after the shock of the violence she finds she must not only endure, but watch “her” side (the British armed forces and some renegade Scots), murder as ruthlessly, tries to reach her own century with where her status as a woman is so immeasurably raised that she can as a matter of course feel safe, something not true in the middle 18th century.

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— Frank by the stones, desolate, following Mrs Graham’s story, calls “Claire!” (opening stills of Both Sides Now, Season 1, episode 1)

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She unnerved, frantic rushes up, presumably hearing his voice, and calls to him, only to be captured by the British, (ditto)

It’s this movement back-and-forth, with history across times becoming one, not so much as a continuum, as the two specific times occurring at the same time, and in both cases the characters cannot know what has happened to them, they cannot explain what will happen, and they try to at the same reach and stave off the eruption of the sublime.

For the mini-series self-conscious fitting into modern historiography in fiction, we have in Both Sides Now a continual paralleling so that the doppelganger is not just Tobias Menzies as Frank and Black Jack Randall. The young woman in 1945 who lures Frank to a dark alley in Inverness where he is set upon by thugs, and nearly murders them is a type of Claire who unknowingly lures redcoats to ambush Claire and Jamie twice in the same episode and is taught to arm herself and murder others attempting to murder her.

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Or (another parallel) as Frank learns of the legends of the stones from Mrs Graham, so Claire distraught is taught to use a hidden dagger to protect herself.

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Mrs Graham telling Frank

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Claire listening to Jamie

The world of Inverness in 1945 grows out of the world of the Highlands in 1743. Both are historical periods, for World War Two fits Scott’s criteria of 60 years since. Both nightmares of death and destruction.

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Jamie telling Claire he must punish her because it’s expected and she will therefore not forget next time that the lives of everyone depend on her conforming — note that in this scene we see them through a gird of bars (The Reckoning)

Season 1, Episode 9, “The Reckoning,” the quiet reversal of gender roles undergirding the romancing of the series is brought out explicitly: so rare as to be nearly unique for at least the last couple of decades, the over-voice and narrator of this episode, thoughtful, inward, self-reproaching, self-exploring is not that of the female, but of the central male of the series: Jamie. As 9th episode opens he is meditating in just the same way Claire did at the opening of Episode 1 (Outlander):

Strange, the things you remember. The people, the places, the moments in time burned into your heart forever while others fade in the mist. I’ve always known I’ve lived a life different from other men. When I was a lad, I saw no path before me. I simply took a step and then another, ever forward, ever onward, rushing toward someplace, I knew not where. And one day I turned around and looked back and saw that each step I’d taken was a choice. To go left, to go right, to go forward, or even not go at all. Every day, every man has a choice between right and wrong, between love and hate, sometimes between life and death. And the sum of those choices becomes your life. The day I realized that is the day I became a man

One cannot over-emphasize how unusual it is to find a man speaking this kind of meditation, providing melancholy retrospective assessments and confiding plans. In the first episode of the second season Jamie is experiencing terrifying nightmares about Black Jack Randall who had whipped, raped, sodomized, almost destroy Jamie’s hand, branded him, broke his spirit in the two concluding episodes of the first season. It’s not a coincidence that this is the (for many women readers) infamous episode where Jamie beats Claire, spanks her hard with whip. What is happening is Gabaldon and her team of film-makers are moving between gender behaviors for both Jamie and Claire

So, at the same time as Jamie is our thoughtful semi-depressed narrator and meditator, as in many of the episodes where Claire narrates, is melancholy, questing and presides (so to speak), it is here Jamie who concocts the plan to rescue Claire, Jamie who tries to “clear the air” with Claire, almost (not quite) with no avail

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He tells her she is at fault for the British capture of her and danger to the men because she disobeyed him

Claire: Christ, Jamie, I went for a walk!
Jamie: I ordered you to stay put.
Claire: I don’t have to do what you tell me to.
Jamie: Aye, you do. You are my wife.
Claire: Oh, your wife. Your wife. Oh, you think I’m your property, don’t you? You think I belong to you, and you can’t stand for someone to have something else that belongs to you.
Jamie: You do belong to me, and you are my wife whether you like it or not.
Claire: Well, I don’t like it! I don’t like it one bit! But that doesn’t matter to you either, does it? As long as I’m there to warm your bed, you don’t care what I think or how I feel. That’s all a wife is to you, something to stick your cock into whenever you feel the urge. Let go of me, you you fucking bastard!
Jamie: You foulmouthed bitch! You’ll no speak to me that way! I went to ye at Fort William armed with an empty pistol and my bare hands. When you screamed … Ye’re tearing my guts out, Claire.
Claire: I’m sorry. Jamie Forgive me.
Jamie: Forgiven.

It is Jamie Frazer (to give him his clan name) who persuades Column to return the gold that Dougal Mackenzie (Graham McTavish) and Ned Gowan (Bill Patterson) have been gathering along with the rents to fund the Scots rebellion. In his Jacobites, Frank McLynn tells us the Mackenzies were a clan who held out against Culloden; that their clan leaders were cautious and remained led by ties to lower Scottish landlords. (It is also true that there were quiet “traitors” to the Hanoverian cause among the British nobility, or people with Jacobite and French and catholic leanings, so the Duke of Sandringham as characterized in the series is within the realm of historical probability.)

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Colum Mackenzie (Gary Lewis) incensed against the gathering of funds for a rebellion by

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Dougal Mackenzie, Ned Gowan, Jamie Frazer

In Both Sides Now, the triangles of Jamie-Claire-Black Jack/Frank where Black Jack desires Jamie, Jamie and Frank desire Claire and she both of them begins to take on the nightmarish pairing of Black Jack and Claire in Jamie’s mind so that when in the 16th episode of the 1st season (“To Ransom a Man’s Soul”) Jamie sees Claire coming to nurse or make love to him, she turns into the lurid violent sadistic Black Jack. When the second season opens, “Through a Glass Darkly,” and Claire has landed in 1748, for her Frank turns into Black Jack. In the last third of the episode, when Frank’s hand turns into Jamie’s and Claire stepping off a plane to come live in Boston as Frank’s faculty wife becomes Claire stepping off a ship on the Normandy coast, Jamie is having nightmares where Claire turns into Black Jack.

As to the adumbration of explicit gender reversals, and romancing, in the penultimate scene of The Reckoning, upon returning to Castle Leoch, Jamie is confronted by Laoghaire with whom he had an understanding. She loves and expected him to marry her, and demands an explanation in the very glade that she seems to know he has loved and spent much time in since a boy.

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Laoghaire Mackenzie (Nell Hudson) accosting Jamie

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Jamie left in his glade-landscape after Laoghaire leaves

She is the aggressor offering her body to him, swearing he and he alone will be her lover, and he must tell a truth that he married Claire not just because Dougal told him to, but because he wanted Claire and now loves and will remain faithful to her. This will bring on her attempt to have Claire branded a witch and burnt. The last scene of the episode ends with Jamie swearing he will forgo tradition and never “chastise” Claire again, her saying yes to having sex with him again, and another of these (to me) alluring love-making scenes during which she threatens to cut his heart out if he does hit her and he demands she nonetheless call him master:

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The strong eroticism of romance

But then they find — uneasily — Laoghaire’s “ill-wish” (a set of hard twigs and branches tied together with thongs) under their bed.

History fused with romancing, at the center a historically sublime (horrifying crucial event of war) whose enactment is ceaselessly deferred.

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Modern photograph of Culloden battlefield

Ellen

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Jamie (Sam Heughan) and Claire (Caitrionia Balfe) drinking, eating, confiding on their wedding night (Outlander 7)

Friends and readers,

I carry on my comparison of Outlander with Poldark (see Outlander as a descendant of Waverley): as film art, as mini-series, made using the same kinds of cinematography (rich, mesmerizing, computer enhancement continual), dramaturgy (figures in a landscape not on a stage, montage, juxaposition), briefer dialogue, both seen as “women’s material,” albeit with plenty of male heroes and villains about, this dyptych again shows where the new Poldark is lacking (see scripts): the pair are symmetrically structured with the underlying paradigm for both a repetition of the same alluring exploration. As Emily Nussbaum puts it,

Outlander is, finally, as thoughtful about male vulnerability as it is about female desire, a rarity for television. It’s a quality that makes the show appealingly romantic in multiple senses (Emily Nussbaum, “Out of Time,” New Yorker, April 8, 2016)

When Dougal proposes that Claire marry Jamie, he says to Jamie and Claire separately that his purpose is both to secure Claire from the depredations of Black Jack Randall (yes played with fierce intensity by Tobias Menzies), and (as Murtargh [Duncan Lacroix] also suggested was needed, wanted) and to secure for Jamie an older mature woman.

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It might startle some viewer that Jamie responds to Claire asking him if he will mind that she is not a virgin, no, as long as she doesn’t mind that he is (not that he’s never kissed a woman, “I said I was a virgin, not a monk”). But it fits the frequent reversals of roles in this series.

Garrison Commander when viewed as a whole is the second of two linked phases: in the first (from Jane’s memories in Rent or Outlander 5) we see Tobias capture, at first seem to negotiate with but then longingly flay Jamie, flog him until his back is permanently seared, scarred, somehow made shameful (like a slave’s); in the second, Garrison Commander, Claire lands in his hands for a few hours, and just as she thinks she has succeeded in winning him over to take her into an English situation where she can make her way back to Craig Na Dunn or where she wants to go, he kicks her hard in the stomach, threatens her humiliatingly and seems about to knife her mortally (as it is mortally dangerous for Jamie to come into the English lair).

The Wedding has three phases of love-making: the first just after the episode begins and the two, just married, come into their apartment together, almost as a duty:

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the second after a long period of conversation about themselves, only Jamie tells far more of his family, background, memories than Claire, this a deep coming together lovingly, tenderly:

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and then the third after Jamie tells her of his preparations for the wedding, where he takes over the woman’s role it seems — securing the priest and ring, getting the proper beautiful clothes which will endow them with great dignity, and finally the ceremony itself; and then third, hungrily, far more aggressively, letting go,

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after which they are hungry and morning has come. We are allowed to dwell on each phase feeling it with no interference as it were.

It is framed by another wedding: as the episode opens we see Claire walking a city, perhaps London streets, in modern outfit with Robin Hood hat, and Frank suddenly eagerly begging her to marry him now, at city hall, with no preparations. She protests she has not yet met his parents, to which he responds, well now you’ll meet them as Mrs Frank Randall.

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He is (like Jamie) while in the male position, yet abject and in need of her permission. This scene makes a striking contrast to the elaborate decorative ritual Jamie and Claire go through,

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and lest we forget this, at end when morning comes and Jamie has left the room, Claire picks up the wedding dress, and out tumbles her wedding ring from Frank. In order to marry Jamie she had taken the ring off, and put it down the front of her corset, and now it falls to the floor almost going down a crack. But not quite. She kneels and picks it up and puts it on the ring finger of her right hand. This knits The Wedding back to the Garrison Commander for of course we know the same actor plays Black Jack as plays Frank.

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There is nothing like this kind of consistent loving development in Horsfield’s Poldark. it’s partly the result again of taking a small and self-enclosed portion of a single novel (Chapters 12-15, “The Garrison Commander,” “A Marriage is Announced,” “A Marriage Takes Place,” “Revelations of the Bridal Chamber”); but it’s also this trusting to the material, not feeling that you have to supply something else, or qualify it.

Nussbaum suggests that what we watch in the first season is a “continual crumbling” of a bridge they build between them. I think that’s so, from when she “disobeys” him and he beats her, to when after the witch trial, she at long last tells him of who and what she is, where she comes from (the future), her other husband, and he generously takes her to the stone and leaves her to make up her mind. She does — for him, and again it’s his vulnerability risked, and her desire knitting them as one, her strength too as she says to him, “Get up, soldier” (making us recall her as as a battlefield nurse).

I just reveled in these two episodes. Yes because I loved the love-making (the first time watching I was embarrassed by the candour and directness of the scenes), but also because the way the development was placed against a background of serious disruption of any morality among the English and hedonistic vicarious joy among the Scots (though sometimes the episode again made me feel Claire had landed among a group of disciplined frat boys). In Garrison Commander there is an earnest British soldier who first sees Claire while she is with the Scotsman seeking rent, and thinks she may be their prisoner; he takes her for safety to the English fort, only to find she is now open prey and he can do nothing about it because of his lower rank. This holdover of emotion of a subaltern is matched by Dougal (Graham McTavish) in The Wedding, who clearly would cuckold Jamie, were Claire to be open to this; Jamie’s is as subject to Dougal and Colum as other of the British officers who would try to stop Randall, protect Claire but they can’t. Dougal is the linchpin of both episodes: following Claire into the English stronghold, pulling her out, engineering this wedding, to hold onto her. He has decided she is not a spy and wants her identity as useful to him and has a fierce authority over Jamie, his nephew it seems.

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These patterns are not found in the chapters, rather they are filled with nuanced dialogue and thought between Claire and Jamie. In the novel for these chapters there are no memories of Frank. There is loss here: effective as the outward dialogue in the scenes of clash in Garrison, of argument at table, and of gentle and raucous comedy (the priest who must be dragged out of bed and then bribed to perform the ceremony, the trading of Biblical passages, Ned Gowan (Bill Patterson) among teasing prostitutes who are presences out of The Beggar’s Opera), I found the long give-and-take conversations in Gabaldon’s novel much more moving. The movie can risk only suggestive fragments of Jamie’s childhood, boyhood, who was this relative and who that. This is a building up of a picture of him as having pride as Laird.

The next episode, Both Sides Now (Outlander 8) will be a continual movement back and forth from 1943 and the desperate Frank at the police office, with the Reverend Wakefield, told by Mrs Graham that some supernatural neolithic charm has taken Claire off to another time, with Claire and Jamie traveling or wandering themselves as semi-outcasts through the highland’s landscape. They encounter a beggar, Hugh Munro in the novel, now called Willie (Finn Den Hertog) whom Jamie welcomes warmly, and has himself been made permanently mute (his tongue cut out), his feet ruined, during a captivity among the Turks, in Algiers, as a galley slave. Now he wanders through the world.

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He is a parallel to Frank.

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And this new trio comes near danger.

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Again this is a lingering juxtaposition not in the book. But this is for another blog.

Ellen

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WARNING: Embargoed for publication until 00:00:01 on 13/09/2016 - Programme Name: Poldark - TX: n/a - Episode: episode 3 (No. n/a) - Picture Shows: Geoffrey Charles and Francis.  Geoffrey Charles, Francis (KYLE SOLLER) - (C) BBC - Photographer: Adrian Rogers
Kyle Soller as Francis Poldark returned from Bodmin, with his son, Geoffrey Charles

[Note: this blog assumes the reader has read all twelve of Graham’s novels, viewed the 1970s mini-series, and is interested in the content and art of the books and this older and the new 2015-16 mini-series]

Ross: “Have I told you what I feel about a disobedient wife?”
Demelza: “Have I told you what I feel about a reckless husband?” (Horsfield, end of new episode 10)

Dear friends and readers,

I had been holding off on writing about the second season of Poldark while watching the first two episodes of the BBC Broadcast on a BBC iplayer, but have given up trying to cover both airings. This week PBS put off for another week their first double-hour program. I have been told that the PBS production will eliminate 8 minutes of and blend (mash is the term) together the first two 60 minute hours of the BBC productions. And since by the third episode of this season, something genuinely interesting and worthwhile is beginning to emerge, I wanted to record it. For all I know it won’t be apparent in the PBS version for quite some time.

The second season, building on the first, is developing a different emotional temperature, a different mood for the story and characters of Horsfield. In a phrase, I’d call the mood an intersection between Thomas Hardy and Mary Webb (as interpreted by their wider readership and in the Hardy and one Webb film adaptations that have been made), contemporary edginess (it’s called), and a contained version of smoldering Lawrence (seen recently at its best in Joe Wright’s films). Quite a number of blogs by now and some comments on two of mine (“disconcerting news,” the “Horsfield scripts”) have been saying that the events to come are going to crucially change the characters and meaning of the series from that of the original books as well as the 1970s films (which except for the opening and closing episodes of the first season mostly stayed with Graham), but while I can see how these changes have been prepared for from the beginning of the first season (especially in the characters of Kyle Soller as Francis and Heidi Reed as Elizabeth Chynoweth Poldark and Jack Farthing George Warleggan), thus far the hinge-points of the book have been held to.

What’s been strikingly altered is the presentation of story and characters: I don’t mean the substitution of a stage for a pictorial presentation. That goes without saying for most films since the mid-1990s (not all, Wolf Hall and surprisingly some The Hollow Crown dared to return to theatrical-like direction), but the order of the events and dialogue content (so, e.g., in Graham’s book and the 1970s films Demelza tries to win Judge Lister over by discussing high cultural music and now Eleanor Tomlinson introduces however opaquely the issue of perjury). We have seen George Warleggan made into a personally injured villain (in the book and in the 1970s he is more simply a ruthless capitalist) and presented as persistently trying to corrupt Aidan Tuner as the fiercely fair-dealing, sincere and egalitarian Poldark to become his follower; more worrying (for those who are attached to the older conception of Ross and Demelza as founding their very identities in their relationship with one another) are the jarring sudden hostilities in apparently unprepared-for or unexplained scenes in Episode 3 between Demelza and Ross. She accuses him of coldness, withdrawal, indifference to her, and he ignores her at first. I say apparently because in reading the complete scripts for the first season I discovered that many brief character-rich scenes and suggestive dialogues were cut, creating just the same effect in the film realization as we see in the second season.

WARNING: Embargoed for publication until 00:00:01 on 13/09/2016 - Programme Name: Poldark - TX: n/a - Episode: episode 3 (No. n/a) - Picture Shows: Demelza.  Demelza ((ELEANOR TOMLINSON) - (C) BBC - Photographer: Adrian Rogers
Not only has Demelza’s hair been smoothed out and made far thicker, her outfits given somber soft blues and greens, but Tomlinson is directed to look out at the world with a narrow eye when she is seen standing alone

The second and third episodes of this season were much better than the first which attempted (as was done in some of the episodes of the first season) to pile too much in, use continual rapid juxtapositions of too many story-lines at once. Here my comparing this Poldark with the precisely contemporary mini-series Outlander was useful: Gabaldon’s series is historical romance: while the films try to frame the story as a post-colonial critique of the British oppressions of the Scots, there is little exact history, and only a generalized version of crucial customs dramatized (such as the role of rents in controlling members of a clan). Graham’s books (and the 1970s films kept this up) genuinely attempts to convey specifics about the poaching and game laws, prison conditions, mining, banking, the customs of scavenging (and later smuggling, and county politics) and what Horsfield is trying to do is get some of this in. She has to struggle more than the 1970s films because she is so determined to personalize through George Warleggan, add scenes projecting a group identity to which all right-minded people will want to belong.

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Robin Ellis as a bitter Ross (the older episode 9)

I cannot deny that I continue to love the 1970s mini-series: I have been re-watching them in tandem and they stand up beautifully. For those interested, you can click on links next to the new series and read about the older comparable episodes.

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Episode 1 (or 9): for comparison, commentary on the 1975 Episode 9 and Graham’s book.

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Aidan Turner as Ross in the first episode of this second season (he is rightly made thinner by episode 3 as in Jeremy Poldark he and Demelza and their household have not enough to eat; throughout all 3 episodes he needs a shave) at a moment of intense guarded suspicion

The structuring and explicitness of the episode make it quite different from the equivalent episode in the 1970s and Graham’s book. Horsfield has re-conceived of the prologue to the trial (so to speak) as a group of parallel stories running alongside one another, each of which is ratcheted up into a row of climaxes against one another.

In the book and in the 1975 film the story moves naturally forward, with different characters taking part as the chronology (or so it feels) calls for it. In the 1970s 50 minute hour each scene is allowed to develop on its own: so it opens say with the menacing threat-determination of Tankard and his men to bribe Jud into giving evidence against Ross. We then move to Demelza’s visit to Penvennen. There is no paralleling. Nor is there this explicitness. When in this 2016 episode Demelza heads off to see Penvennen it is made explicit she is going there to try to influence the man.

Four stories are ratcheted up and paralleled and contrasted: Ross’s with Demelza, Francis’s with (as it were) the bad devil on one side tormenting him), George, and the good person, on the other, Elizabeth, equally tormenting him. Francis is slowly despairing, and we see the steps he takes as he sees what is happening, finds himself unable to do anything useful, and driven wild with the life he feels has been imposed on him, attempts to get rid of it as a burden he cannot endure. There is Dwight Enys’s preparation for his testimony, his talk with Ross, his worries at what will ensue, his riding along and then the call to take care of her dog, by the new rich young heiress character, Caroline Penvennen: Gabriella Wilde, for most of the three episodes presently every bit as hostilely as the promiscuous “slut” Keren: she is ostentatiously supercilious and disdainful:

WARNING: Embargoed for publication until 00:00:01 on 13/09/2016 - Programme Name: Poldark - TX: n/a - Episode: episode 3 (No. n/a) - Picture Shows: Caroline Penvehen.  Caroline Penvenen (GABRIELLA WILDE) - (C) BBC - Photographer: Jon Hall
The choice of red, the hats, the way she holds her body and head makes her stand out as not part of this group identity

George at the beginning and again at the end of the episode wants Ross to ask for help and to offer to be a kind of partner (none of these exchanges between Ross and George occur in Grahm’s books or the earlier mini-series); upon being refused the first time he makes up these ugly pamphlets and spreads them. (This is what I’ve seen happen in films that mean to be popular: you have to account specifically and personally for something happening. In the book and first film George’s hatred is more generalized, and he is not so focused on Ross. We see him prevent Demelza from getting into the assembly by implying she’s a prostitute based on her obvious lower class status.

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Promotional shot of Eleanor Tomlinson for season 2

I was to Bodmin jail two weeks ago and can confirm that Ross’s entry into that tunnel hall is inside Bodmin jail, but again it’s odd how artifical the direction makes the settings feels. Why must so many of the characters be on cliffs at the height of emotion – it’s not persuasive that Ross and Demelza, Francis and Elizabeth should have out their intimate conflicts against pretty blues skies and cliffs. The photography sometimes made the hour seem unreal again. I don’t say everything: George is seen inside his house, Dwight and Ross, Pascoe and Ross, and later Clymer and Ross, Elizabeth and the aunt, Francis and Verity are all face-to-face head on encounters inside. But the parallels are overdone. Francis is writing while Ross is writing, and back and forth the camera goes to Elizabeth’s face, then Demelza’s. It’s an overdone, over anxious (lest we be bored) episode.

Among other unrealities of this first episode is this unreal focus on Ross: all the characters are made to have Ross on their minds almost all the time (except Caroline, absurdly over her dog and indifferent say to the people who are to elect her fiance, Unwin Trevaunance). That Ross explicitly refuses to help himself, insults and insists, and says what he knows will put him in jail is a way of ratcheting up the action, making it more suspenseful since obviously such behavior (we think, with his lawyer, Jeffrey Clymer [William Mannering] will surely lead to him being hanged. In Graham’s book and 1970s film Robin Ellis as Ross will not lie or act without integrity but by no means does he do all he can to ruin his case. The book and 1970s’s character’s first statement is unacceptable, but he does not defend it strongly in the counterproductive manner Aidan is directed to do. Filling the hour up this way, with this back and forth movement, has a stasis effect. They are all acting it very well but it’s so artificial, like puppets on display.

The only character I was able to come close to was Francis Poldark: he is prepared for very well; each of the scenes is designed to show us his aching self-hatred and despair; the scene with Verity is not as sharp as the one between Norma Streader and Clive Francis in the 1970s simply because it is not given enough time for his bitterness and her concern for him to be voiced, but that final moment before the letter, his cocking his pistol and thinking are pitch perfect in Graham and in both series. Perhaps Horsfield overdid it by making us believe the pistol went off; in the 1970s we “merely” see Clive Francis put the gun in his mouth.

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Episode 2 or 10 (this does follow the matter of the second quarter of Jeremy Poldark up until the moment of non-conviction; for comparison, see outline and quotations from 1975 Poldark Episode 10)

WARNING: Embargoed for publication until 00:00:01 on 30/08/2016 - Programme Name: Poldark - TX: n/a - Episode: Generic (No. n/a) - Picture Shows: Verity **EMBARGOED UNTIL TUESDAY 30TH AUGUST** Verity (RUBY BENTALL) - (C) BBC - Photographer: Ellis Parrinder
Ruby Bentall as the satisfied matron of the second season (her hair has been smoothed out too) – as in the book and the 1970s films she shares a room in the Bodmin hotel with Demelza (promotional shot)

The dramaturgy of this episode is much better than the first: the action is allowed to flow forward naturally. This is an good effective episode. While there is juxtaposition, the central story of Ross’s coming trial and the swirl of events around it is kept to. I’ll follow the trajectory as it is possible to do this: We hear alluring minor music and watch a blurred flashback of Ross and Demelza happy on the beach together: this a parallel of the opening of the series where we saw Heidi Reed as a young Elizabeth on the beach with a young Ross, also soft focus. Switch to Turner’s face in the darkness with a candle by his side: he is remembering back. Now a side shot of him at the desk; slow moving, very well done. We see the corridor, hear the keys as the door is opened, Clymer comes in, the long list of people prepared to testify against Ross, including Jud (his potential testimony a “nail in the coffin”).

Camera on the streets, as yet peaceful, but we see how these wandering tough hard men with their torches could easil be turned into an actively violent mob. Demelza walks among them in the streets, determined to get into the assembly this time and talk with, persuade people who could help Ross. Now she slips in and meets with the kindley Penvenen (Caroline’s uncle is given her name in this iteration) and a superficial tactless Caroline: oh your husband is on trial, what did he do? Penvenen warns her she can only make things worse (as she is warned in the book and in the 1970s), but searching about, she spots Judge Lister, and makes for him. Caroline offers to go out with Unwin to the balcony; says she enjoys a baying mob.

Elizabeth pacing in a darkened Trenwith; reproaches Agatha for ever predicting the worst outcome; the old woman defends herself saying she is playing “snap” to entertain herself, “go to Bodmin, Elizabeth” she urges then, and Elizabeth is off to the coach.

Programme Name: Poldark - TX: n/a - Episode: episode 1 (No. n/a) - Picture Shows: Aunt Agatha.  Aunt Agatha (CAROLINE BLAKISTON) - (C) BBC - Photographer: Adrian Rogers
Caroline Blakiston as Aunt Agatha, nonetheless brooding over her win

Back in Bodmin, a crowded tavern, Jud seen morose with drink, all listening to talk of the election (as unjust, as a joke, as giving the ordinary person nothing), Luke Norris as Dwight is POV and he overhears talk about hunger, France, the revolution, ideas coming over to England, this world a power keg, Dwight speaks to Jud, surely all of us are for Ross

It is here that the group identity comes to the fore, presented complexly but as what people live in as in some soup. Thus the juxtapositions have some depth of apprehension, some larger context.

First juxtaposition from lawyer and Ross in jail to assembly. Clymer says Ross’s defense is proving difficult; and he takes out the will Ross had made. He has left all he can to Demelza. At assembly Penvenen is telling her “influence, I don’t have that sort. Tomlinson very good here: quietly, “I’m a little despairing;” as Lister is pointed out: he’s “somewhat severe.” “Does he like his port? “Resolutely sober. Ross telling the lawyer to “bequeath Wheal Grace and my other debts and liabilities; I really have left her nothing.” He is despairing too. She approaches Lister and it seems to go well. A nasty exchange of Caroline with Dwight: she is bored, not entertained; Dwight tells her he’s thankful not she’s not his business. In the elction names called are now tied in second place and Warleggan says to Trevaunance “Get up on chair and claim it: men irritated by Trevaunance begin to throw eggs and rocks. “Get me back inside. In the prison the man who is going to die for simply being aggressive at the election pushed into jail. “I’m a free man, [with] a right to speak.” He is punched in face, thrown down, jail shut, Ross watches. It seems he has no such right.

Warleggan to Penvenen: “See he’s established.” “Almost at expense of his life” inbetween Caroline’s supercilious remarks to Dwight who holds his own: “You’re mistaken madame, I neither solicit nor despise … Caroline sees people as rable. Penvenen glimpses Demelza talking to Lister, “oh my god you will hang your husband,” and now George is on the alert, goes over, interrupts her awkwardness, says who she is and judge becomes indignant; on the way out with Lister, George thinks he’s clinched it against “those who stir up disorder” (It is George who made the guy get on a chair, and he is indirectly responsible for the hanging of the man in the cell next to Ross’s). George does count his chickens before they hatch.

The great scene between Dwight and Francis: opening the door and there is Francis. Horsfield omits the plangent language and sorrow Clive Francis manifested but the scene is still effective.

Back to lawyer and Ross, are you going to die on a point of principle? There is a parallel with Francis who hates himself on a point of principle. Asks Enys the question in the book, “Are you a fatalist? or do you believe we are masters of our own destiny (again the 1970s sticks closer to Graham’s words, masters of the dance). Horsfield’s Francis: “Well the thing’s not done so for the moment you have a talkative companion instead of a silent one.” There is something artificial and arch in the 1970s version; this feels realer, truer, quieter.

Demelza accosts Warleggan: “Why do you hate him?”; and they clash over class status: “You will always be a miner’s daughter” while he is now a gentleman; she is a gentleman’s wife …

Programme Name: Poldark - TX: n/a - Episode: episode 2 (No. n/a) - Picture Shows: George Warleggan.  George Warleggan (JACK FARTHING) - (C) BBC - Photographer: Adrian Rogers
A promotional shot of Jack Farthing as the proud seething Warleggan of the second season

In the prison: lawyer to Ross: case against you is too strong, not a question of whether you’ll be found guilty but whether and what that sentence will be …perhahps you will reconsider before you sleep tonight …

Demelza now in the room with Verity: “if anything I made it worse Verity I lost my child how can I bear it if I lost Ross, too.” (She is seen in all three episodes going to the empty bed.” Camera on Ross considering in the prison. Effective juxtaposition

Elizabeth on her way in the coach, switch to Francis fixing the gun. Quicker now: Jud watched by Tankard, accosted by Prudie. Tankard reassuring Warleggan: he has augmented the crowd by people paid to share our views; George boasts he has convinced his Lordshiop without a penny changing hands

Dialogue of Ross and fellow prisoner: I wish you justice ..

Then the voice of the remorseless judge: as ringleader and instigator; for what happened that night – you will be hangd by neck until you die. Demelza, behind her Verity looking on. Ross coming out of jail. Horsfield is determined to make us disbelieve that Ross can get off so she adds Demelza’s father coming in to accuse Ross of lack of respect for law, custom, other men: “this man did think himself about the low. The whole long scene of trial very well done. so many against him, but if jury believes him. Camera on Francis, Dwight, Elizabeth … Turner does look handsome.

Prosecution: all the people lying (not in book), the paid witnesses – the audience is on Ross’s side, calling the witnesses liar, that’s a lie. One man says he saw Ross assault a customs officer, “aye sir assault’s a terrible thing sir.” Close up of all faces, POV Demelza, she goes outside cannot breath and now we learn she is pregnant when Elizabeth comes to her and senses it: “I never thanked you for nursing me … at such a cost how can you bear it .. I’m with child again.” Then Jud’s great moment: not as highly theatrical as 1970s; but in this version he says Ross didn’t help (when he did), claims Ross said “there’s women and children aboard who need saving from watery grave.” He did not say this, not in the book which is careful to keep to or skirt the truth. Now George turns bitter at Tankard.

Then Captain bray’s fair testimony – flashbacks to give concrete experience (not in previous episodes of 1st season); it was like a Dante’s inferno. Ross asks him, what did I do: “You came and offered me shelter.” Lawyer catches Bray on the issue of not knowing what Ross did afterward. We see Francis watching Ross

poldarkparallelcousins

Prosecutor far more explicit about RP as revolutionary, chief perpetrator – repeats strong testimony Ross gave at indictment; “I did not consider it a riot, do you approve of food to keep them alive … did you have anything to do with Sanson’s death …regrettably nothing whatsoever/.

Dwight Enys is made chief witness for defense mental breakdown; he alone speaks for him in this version. He insists on his degree, his knowledge, and on the strangeness of Ross’s actions. A strong response on the court, and judge orders people for Poldark removed.

Tankard and George talking: the mane cannot bear for Ross to have anything, even a worthless mine left to his wife. Francis and Elizabeth meet: Francis feels she came for Ross; very awkward, stressed conversation. “Ross will be gratified” [to see her]. She: “Are you?”

Lawyer urges him; “you must grovel – do so now or you will not live to see the sun rise tomorrow. He starts but he cannot go on; it’s George’s scornful face he cannot bear. He is eloquent and says values all agree with on scavanging, starving, who should get flotsam and jetsam on beach and why. Judge unmoved and informs jury if they think Ross not guilty of three counts, if he participated he is still guilty. But they go out and back quickly and it’s not guilty. In this film this seems astounding; but it the book it’s prepared for by telling us of custom (juries loathe to convict) and in the 1970s trial not so stacked against Ross, Ellis as Ross not so angry, more witnesses for him. Francis cannot accept Verity’s husband he says: people do not change. Ross, Dwight (or is it Henshawe) on the horses, the workers on the beach waiting.

Francis and Elizabeth home to Agatha, and there is a getting along suddenly, a light in Soller’s eyes, and Demelza and Ross in their house. She says this is all I want, this private life together (true to book here) and a child in the crib, but he demurs.

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Episode 3 (or 11): Book 2, opening of Jeremy Poldark (for comparison see outline and quotations from 1975 Poldark Episode 11).

WARNING: Embargoed for publication until 00:00:01 on 13/09/2016 - Programme Name: Poldark - TX: n/a - Episode: episode 3 (No. n/a) - Picture Shows: Captain McNeil.  Captain McNeil (HENRY GARRETT) - (C) BBC - Photographer: Jon Hall
Henry Garrett as Captain MacNeil — his complacent normalized self provides a coda of prosaic pro-life emotion distinct from the surrounding intensities

This is equally good as Episode 2 (10) and for the same reasons: the story is allowed to flow naturally; the actors given room and time to develop a scene; it stays yet closer to the events Graham whose book is very good, but it is here that the mood becomes drenched in a sense of the west country culture as providing meaning and purpose and community and that is what gives satisfaction.

Ross, now thin, leading horse with hay, longing look at two mines. We move into the Warleggan palatial house, inside George practicing boxing with Tankard looking on. Ross studying Wheal Grace maps –- back to unnecessary threats of Jud, Pascoe’s voice, saying loan shortly due. Now we get this inexplicable jarring outbursts: Demelza: “She’s scarcely seen him?, he “Would you have me neglect …” This is true to the book only Demelza is not angry over it. Ross: “We’ll talk soon I promise. Dwight chopping wood (has Horsfield been watching any Andrew Davies’s films lately?), Caroline passes, Demelza on the beach …

Meeting of Wheal Leisure group, what’s left of it, a woman shareholder sold to Coke, Tankard comes in as representing Coke. They know he’s a Warleggan mole. Juxtapose to Francis and Elizabeth declining invitation to Penvenen luxury county party where Warleggan will be and then (truly good feeling conveyed by Killer), Francis’s delight in son in taking him to fields. Better than chasing money and prestige and whatever else is admired. Demelza still on the beach, picking things up, MacNeil watching

The Wheal Leisure meeting ends. Henshawe they are going in direction of Trevorgie (from Wheal Grace) to see what they can find: All but Tankard and one wary man carry motion. MacNeil gains romantic entry to Demelza’s house –- he is there serving Trevaunance; brings a request for Demelza from Brodrugan about the cow, now Ross interrupts and he offers sudden jarring suspicions: Why the sudden sarcasm about Demelza liking Bodrugan? it comes from nowhere. It is prepared for in the book and is unmerited. We see
women washing at pond, the carriage with Caroline –- she is attracted to Enys as he moves about the village

Really very appealing moments of Francis and son in fields, POV Elizabeth to Agatha. Francis after having escaped death valuing life in a way that is consonant with his personality. Not asking of himself what he does not want, cannot do, does not care about.

Warleggan reading a letter; Tankard come to tell of meeting; we get another exaggerated dialogue (not credible) juxtaposed to Jud’s boasting.

Demelza angry at Ross’s suspicions: “Did you mislay manners, leaving me alone to deal with guest?” Ross says he not there for cow. She: “You give me cold shoulder and despise everything not at your high and mighty standard –- this is a jump without intermediary feeling. Perhaps it was there in the script, but not in this realization. Prudie: “What you saying to upset maid?

Demelza meets Elizabeth in wood; she is looks for Garrick, Ross hasn’t the heart for another child and she’s not told him, Elizabeth: “We’re to blame, discord not lightly set aside by Ross at least

Jud fleeing Warleggan’s men

Demelza in bed at night; Ross intently working hard at mine; back to Demelza in bed; Ross home to breakfast and then out to Truro. He comes home and she is staring at empty crib bed. He wants to talk, she looks encouraged but then it is money; he is working to find a new lead but the pressing concern is the debt. They must sell much that they have to make 400 pounds – ride to Truro, see if loan extended; the more he works better their chances, he tells her, “see what you can bear to part with and then look again.” She visits Brodrugan and cow with MacNeil looking on. Pascoe has secured his loan to be extended – 400 tomorrow – Demelza selling Emma their cow, Brodrugan gets aggressive (harassing her) and MacNeil interrupts to protect her. She is grateful.

Then we see Ross and Demelza walking, talking about what they can sell. They joke about Garrick and then we see them taking money for selling Emma, on the farm, pigs cock furniture. Caroline going to market too. Wareleggan smoldering at them. Dwight and Caroline encounters end in his curing her “hurt throat.” We see Ross and Demelza selling off their precious objects and a bitter encounter with Warleggan. They pay an amazed Pascoe: Ross: “we sold pretty much everything we own.”

Francis with child, real horse better, no more Uncle George, Uncle Ross in time will be our friend – these moments of hope and joy projected by this actor. They are part of the new emotional temperature of the series. (Not found in book or 1975 films.)

Mrs Tabb prefers Dr Enys to Dr Choake; and tells him Francis in better spirits these days; Elizabeth: “Hhe’s changed, did he intend to kill himself? Enys: “Whatever occurred, be glad of it, a broken man returned like that, and now playing with son.

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Promotional shot of Heidi Reed as Elizabeth for the second season

Jud set upon very hard. Dwight agrees to carry invitation to harvest supper to Ross and Demelza. A modest meal, Francis: “Admiring our harvest, I hope to augment it; later that night Ross and Demelza discuss invitation that Dwight brought: he will not go, George is a still friend there. Demelza: “she is not sure, but she is not in haste to go to Trenwith” either.

Prudie with apparent death of Jud, impossible idealization of Prudie – the guineas – Martin thinks it’s from the trade … Ross knew him since he was a child, useless but he taught me. This material was comic in the 1970s but it is not comic now. Just puzzling. Ross: “George has played us all – perhaps we should accept invitation and maybe some things can be mended.” He wants to “connect to Francis again.”

Happy harvest scene — Soller has sweetest of smiles – cousin tis an unexpected pleasure – all shaking hands. Harvest ritual in the fields, hurrah hurrah hurrah – wonderful dancing. (None of this in book or 1975 film.)

Warleggan to Tankard: “I ordered you to scare not murder. Idiot Unwin at party with Caroline intensely frustrated.

Francis with Ross and Dwight: Francis says he now knows George a complee utter blaggard, Dwight called away at Killwarren. Tremendously elegant luxurious meal at Penvennen. “Last night a murder” we hear MacNeil saying.

The funeral meal – so three levels of characters — Prudie’s ludicrous speech – the slab empty. Demelza outside escaping nasty mother of Elizabeth: Prudie thinks it body snatchers

Dwight’s scene pulling fishbone from Caroline’s throat; at luxury party Warleggan exerts pressure on the Wheal Leisure man who sided with Tankard and he faints.

Francis offers to go in with Ross – “hole in the ground,” he has money, few hundred, and they propose to try final attempt

Fish bone out. Francis must go to bed, Dwight comes in – thank you Cousin. Prudie the shame of it – Jud without explanation. George is exulting over his successful bullying. Jud now appears as a ghost, and tells how it was It’s there as a left-over of condescending humor to the “lower orders” (on Graham’s part first.

Elizabeth with Ross left downstairs, he looks to help her, she thanks him. Demelza walking back from Prudie will overhear. She: “The money came from George to pay for false gaming loss.” Ross: “I remember a time you were perfect – today in the fields you looked like a girl of 16 your age when I first knew you.” He is half flirting, “Cannot love overcome such obstacles. She: “I cannot imagine how” Ross says she “has brought light back into Frances eyes,” but we know that’s not the source of Francis’s gladness. She tells him you should go to bed Ross, Demelza will be thinking you’re gone astray … he looks down disappointed rueful. This is a justified extrapolation from a scene in the book not filmed before.

This too: Demelza gone to bed crying, she in bed awake when he comes in. She tells of Jud’s alive, and blurts out, “First Christmas you told me you loved me.” He: “First days of love different then.” This reminded me of Joyce’s The Dead: the story’s ending in crying and hurt. Ross picks up she’s pregnant; he says it is different a child is not a thought and if she can risk he heart again, so can he …

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Robin Ellis and Anghared Rees as Ross and Demelza making love the night before he must leave for Bodmin and the trial (1975 Poldark Episode 9)

To conclude, I’ve loved the books and still do, have taught Ross Poldark several times, Demelza twice, and Jeremy Poldark and Warleggan once. If Horsfield wants to soften the progressive politics of the books and 1970s films, eliminate the feminism, but not lose the inner life of the books which are so pro-egalitarian, decent in humanity, it seems to me to turn to a Hardyesque atmosphere is a good option. As yet there is no hint in these episodes that the series will take the crucial changes that people have been discussing elsewhere. Time (or next week on the BBC) will tell. I’ve commented enough on how much I valued the original emotional relationships and themes of the books and when they were kept to in the 1970s films.

Ellen

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Claire (Catrionia Balfe) medicates Jamie’s (Sam Heughan) back (near opening of Episode 2, directed Ronald Dahl, scripted Ronald D Moore)

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Claire remembering Geillis Duncan (Lotte Verbeeck) saying: “As I told you, there’s many things in this world we can’t explain …” (near end of Episode 3, directed Brian Kelley, scripted Anne Kenney)

We get no good
By being ungenerous, even to a [film],
And calculating profits — so much help
By so much reading. It is rather when
We gloriously forget ourselves, and plunge
Soul-forward, headlong, into a [film]’s profound,
Impassioned for its beauty and salt of truth-
Tis then we get the right good from a book.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh
(1857), i, 702-9

Dear friends and readers,

The general plot-design of these two episodes is quickly told (see Episode 1):

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As the group comes up to Leogh, it looms in the way of Udolpho:

2) exploring Castle Leogh and its grounds, Claire settles in, is re-dressed, meets Laird Colum Mackenzie (Gary Lewis), dines with the clan, is led to believe she will be allowed to return to Craig Na Dunn (the stones), but finds herself appropriated as a “healer” and forbidden to leave, as no one important believes her story of herself. Slowly her relationship with Jamie builds, meeting to help his wounds, bringing food to him outside the gate; he tells of of Black Jack Randall, an English enemy (Tobias Menzies), and the doubling figure of Claire’s gentle Frank with this violent Black Jack makes Jamie an intermediary link

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As the episode opens, we are back in time, five years before 1945, where Claire is bidding adieu to Frank her husband as she refuses to accept an offer of escaping front-line nursing

3) Claire becomes involved with a woman like herself, expert in the use of medicinal compounds, foods, healing, Geillis Duncan, and witnesses a culture of harsh punishments and mortifications, defies the fanatically punitively religious priest, to save the life of a boy said to be in need of exorcism. Again her relationship with Jamie builds, now she sees him rescue Leoghaire (Nell Hudson) from punishment, free a boy nailed to a pillory by his ear, take her to the Black Kirk to reveal the poisoned herb afflicting the boy.

The second episode feels more complicated than the first, building on it: we see Claire is in danger of being seen as a witch (by her apprehension of Mrs Fitz’s (Annette Badland) probable response to her story; the blending of time frame-times, from what Frank is doing now to to try find Claire, by himself by the rocks, with the Reverend Wakefield (James Fleet), to deeper past memory and again Claire at end of episode 3 with a vision of the stones, but the more she does deeds to gain gratitude, the more she is held fast.

seekingclues

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I’ve been trying to account for the deep appeal of this mini-series (at least to me and the legions of readers and viewers, mostly women) beyond the sex: I am intensely drawn to the sexual relationship between the heroine, Claire, and the central beloved hero, Jamie; its configuration is the same as Suzanne Juhasz says is central to women’s romance (Reading from the Heart) and is found in the relationship of Demelza and Ross in the Poldark books. (I gather for some modern young women brought up recently or women of the later 20th century this no longer appeals.) In the films, protective, gentle, tenderly loving, a helper-brother, in Demelza’s case a father substitute, in Claire’s an oddly feminized hero. But what else?

I am trying to see how it differs from Poldark beyond the genre (women’s historical romance v men’s historical fiction). Why does it seem so coherent, the story move forward with ease, with less strained staccato switches from scene to scene, and all the scenes allowed more dialogue and development.

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Cinematography at Black Kirk provides continual mirroring effect, as if the two were reflections of themselves in one another’s mirrors

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Claire amid the stones in a memory sequence (from Episode 3)

Sing me a song of a lass that is gone
Say, could that lass be I
Merry of soul she sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye
Billow and breeze, islands and seas, mountains of rain and sun
All that was good, all that was fair
All that was me is gone

It’s the time-traveling. a what if nature of the fiction set up in the past, a playing with time so different times blend and part, doubling of characters from the past and the future. The real material is the relationship between Frank (yielding, gentle, heterosexual) and Black Jack Randall (sadistic, bisexual), Claire and Jamie (he attracts dominant gay males) to both of these. Claire moves away from a stressful life-passage in 1945 where the marriage is not working, a double narrative echoed or repeated in Claire’s relationship to Geillis, who we will learn is also from the future. Christianity versus paganism is an important strand across DuMaurier’s works. There is no magic but the one break from realism in time transportation

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Jamie remembering his sister, Jenny Fraser (Laura Donnelly) raped by Black Randall (will occur in narrative in Episode 12, Lallybroch) (from Episode 2)

Swirling about these are the strong female types, with Claire as voice-over narrator, her memory controlling all. We’ve met Mrs Fitz, Colum’s silent wife, Letitia (Aislin McGuckin), Geillis; we’ve seen Jenny Fraser thus far. There is a succession of scapegoats (made to suffer) who Claire works to free from suffering at the risk of her life and identity: Jamie is continually offering himself up, and she continually rescuing him (as he will her in the traditional swashbuckling mode). It is a question of a transcendent identity: a drive to abandon the daily material world (so you cross the stones) to lose yourself in a Bronte love. Jamie’s alter-ego, semi-servant, brother, Murtagh Fraser (Duncan Lacroix) advises Claire that Jamie needs an experienced woman, not a girl-virgin; like a Walter Scott male companion-servant he finds his meaning is serving Jamie.

At the same time the mater is rooted in Scottish culture, literature, and myth:

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Murtagh, ever there (opening Episode 2), a companion first seen in Scott’s fiction

In both episodes there are these vast hall scenes, in the second a man sings ancient songs to pipes:

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Claire’s first entrance (within the first phase of episode 2)

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The harp-player and bard (towards the end of episode 3)

Now this one is about a man out late on a fairy hill on the eve of Samhain who hears the sound of a woman singing sad and plaintive from the very rocks of the hill.
[eerie music] [Gaelic singing continues] “I am a woman of Balnain.
“The folk have stolen me over again, ‘ “the stones seemed to say.
“I stood upon the hill, and wind did rise, and the sound of thunder rolled across the land.
” [singing in Gaelic] “I placed my hands upon the tallest stone “and traveled to a far, distant land “where I lived for a time among strangers who became lovers and friends.
” [singing in Gaelic] “But one day, I saw the moon came out “and the wind rose once more.
“so I touched the stones “and traveled back to my own land “and took up again with the man I had left behind.
” [applause] She came back through the stones? Aye, she did.
They always do.
It was a folktale, madness to take as fact, and yet half of what Gwyllyn had described had actually happened to me.

They have substituted Scotland for Cornwall: there is a loss DuMaurier is much darker ultimately and deeper, while Gabaldon more consistently self-conscious post-pastiche, playing though with similar strong female imagery

DuMaurier poem:

‘What can I cling to in life, what can I hold?’
With a cynical twist to the mind and a husk for the heart
The scapegoats of this generation go drifting past.
The children for whom the war was apparently won,
And nothing is certain, and nothing likely to last
For the child not bombed in Kensington (from DuMaurier Companion, edd Sarah Walters, p 131)

Gabaldon picturesque layering, the imagery is that of a woman’s body as as redemptive:

We struggled upward, out of the womb of the world, damp and steaming, rubber-limbed with wine and heat. I fell to my knees at the first landing, and Jamie, trying to help me, fell down next to me in an untidy heap of robes and bare legs. Giggling helplessly, drunk more with love than with wine, we made our way side by side, on hands and knees up the second flight of steps, hindering each other more than helping, jostling and caroming softly off each other in the narrow space, until we collapsed at last in each other’s arms on the second landing.
    Here an ancient oriel window opened glassless to the sky, and the light of the hunter’s moon washed us in silver. We lay clasped together, damp skins cooling in the winter air, waiting for our racing hearts to slow and breath to return to our heaving bodies.
    The moon above was a Christmas moon, so large as almost to fill the empty window. It seemed no wonder that the tides of sea and woman should be subject to the pull of that stately orb, so close and so commanding …. Outlander, the book p p 627

In technique the pace is slow, lingering, not much happens in the sense of moving the story forward. Instead we move back and forth in time as the film-makers develop the relationship between Claire and Jamie (the arc over-all) and unfold the other characters as Claire settles in and begins to practice her assumed profession and role. This too makes it differ from the new Poldark, which is too jumpy, with all too brief juxtapositions.

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britishinscotland
British in Scotland (Black Jack Randall from the back) as imagined in this film series

It’s common knowledge that literary criticism is not a popular form — nor is real film criticism; only a small percentage of readers read it. One of the pleasures of Margaret Edson’s play, Wit (known for its presentation of a woman dying of cancer, whose excruciation of pain is not so much from dying from cancer but from the techniques, chemo, radiation and operation, used to “fight” cancer, one of the pleasures is its meditations on reading and especially making editions and essays; at one point Vivian Bearing claims the greatness of her work is that she offers ‘a thorugh examination of each [John Donne] sonnet, discussing every word in extensive detail.”

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Jamie as Scots farmer-landlord at Lallybroch (memories from Episode 2)

Where does this detail come from? Let’s admit it: out of the mind of the reader elaborating thematically (it can be political, or moral, or psychological, or sociological, lots of options since the mid-20th century) on the text? and essentially it’s made up, it’s an extension. Take a much praised older book on Austen: Stuart Tave’s Some Words of Jane Austen. It’s no longer read much or liked because the words he tells his tales of are disciplinary of women: exertion (Elinor has to practice this] in S&S, expectations (Catherine’s false ones] in Northanger Abbey. mortification (Elizabeth’s) in P&P; the properness (Fanny) of the heroine in MP. We prefer the tales of say Claudia Johnson. One difference is these tales are not structured as narrative, but as arguments, within which the writer tells of the story of how her or his mind read the book.

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Claire discovering what year it is by opening a book (Episode 2)

Criticism is not popular because most readers it seems do not tell themselves these tales. Most stay with the literal fiction and do not recognize the truth of that exegesis. They don’t see it, can’t see it, can’t go that far away from the story and characters, and can carry or elaborate a theme very briefly. Or are bored. Don’t see the point. They can read fan fiction, though and fan fiction is a form of fiction that elaborates from the text by telling a story not producing an argument. Film adaptations are further fictionalizations of a text. Further specific visualizations, aural, sensory.

castle

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Castle and thistle (Episode 3)

The point is then which fictions about fictions seem to us to hold important truths — which seem to explicate the original fiction and which seem to us not connected enough to what we find there. What I am putting together is an attempt at adequate fictions about these films. All this from an intuition that the books and films descend from Sophia Lee’s Recess (1783, first gothic romance) at a distance, but immediately are an update of DuMaurier — so historical and regional romance inflected by time-traveling, what if fictions, playing with time so different times blend and part, doubling of characters from the past and the future.

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Same street used for 1945 and 1743 (Episodes 1 and 3)

Next time: the nature of the story-telling and Scottish post-colonialism in a film

Ellen

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