Masterpiece: America's 50-Year-Old Love Affair with British Television Drama
Masterpiece: America's 50-Year-Old Love Affair with British Television Drama by Nancy West
Published by: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers
Publication Date: November 24th, 2020
Format: Hardcover, 264 Pages
Rating: ★★
To Buy
"Fifty years, 450-plus programs, 2,250-plus episodes, and 250 awards: these are Masterpiece's achievements by the numbers, and they are a record to be proud of. Out of the thousands of TV shows produced in America since the 1950s, roughly thirty have reached the fifty-year mark. Most of these are soap operas, sports, or news programs. No other primetime dramatic series comes close to Masterpiece's longevity nor has won as man Emmy, Peabody, or Golden Globe awards. On a less tangible level, few programs have cultivated as loyal a viewer following." In 1961 when Minow gave his infamous "Vast Wasteland" speech television was undergoing a sea change. Gone were the anthology series and high art television produced in New York City, Kraft Television Theatre, CBS Playhouse, Goodyear Theatre, and Playhouse 90, and in were the lowbrow comedies produced in LA. In fact Gilligan's Island openly mocked Minow with their eponymous boat. But when The Forsyte Saga aired in 1969 on NET, the forerunner to PBS, the way back to quality anthology television and out of the "Vaste Wasteland" was apparent. Everyone was talking about the Forsytes and three months after its finale it was on Stan Calderwood's mind when he was in London. Stan would go on to be the first president of WGBH and he cold called the BBC. He needed content for the newly formed PBS and the BBC had it. A deal was quickly struck and on January 10th, 1971 Masterpiece Theatre launched with The First Churchills. A show not without its flaws, too many wigs and maybe a little too racy, but their audience was hooked. By the time the first season finished in 1972 they knew they had something special. Even Minow approved. The show, while initially more focused on literary adaptations, knew that if they maintained the same thematic relevance of tradition, nostalgia, and conventionality, they would maintain their audience because these are all things that Americans crave that their own country is unable to provide, especially in the sphere of television. Masterpiece Theatre was aspirational television. Just by being a viewer you were being educated and thought of as bettering yourself. Checking out history books from the library to compliment your viewing wasn't unheard of in the many letters they received from viewers over the years. While this occasionally has led to the show being viewed as having a superiority complex that only caters to white upper and middle class viewers the fact that after all this time it is still around, still competing, speaks to its success. In fact, while America is called a country without traditions, it certainly has created one on Sunday nights around the television.
If you're a fan of beautifully made books this will be an offense to you. What I thought would be a coffee table sized tome with copious pictures is a small volume that looks like it was made by a nearly defunct university press. The paper meets the "minimum requirements" for "Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials" and that is patently obvious. The font is minuscule and appears to have had no typesetting. The photographs are laughable and misidentified. As another reviewer pointed out, why is the the British DVD cover for Sherlock even in here instead of a picture from a press kit? In other words, if you were looking for a book whose very presence was worthy of a show named Masterpiece, this is not it. If you're a fan of Masterpiece though, this book might give you a little more of an historical framework with regard to the political climate when the show was formed and the fact that it lacks diversity. But that is all. It reads like a textbook, which isn't surprising as Nancy West is a professor at the University of Missouri. Though it doesn't read as a very good textbook. It reminded me too heavily of the introduction to television and film books I read in my undergrad comm arts classes. Except that this book has constant niggling errors. I mean, come on, when Wolf Hall aired it wasn't the only Tudor show to air in almost twenty-five years! Just a decade earlier Henry VIII starring Ray Winstone aired as did The Virgin Queen starring Tom Hardy. And yes, I know I shouldn't be saying that Robert Dudley, the 1st Earl of Leicester, is the star of a show about Queen Elizabeth, but come on, it's Tom Hardy! And I'm sorry, but misidentify Brian Blessed in a photograph is actually a crime in my world. One would think creating a framework for this book wouldn't be hard, Nancy West could have even used The Best of Masterpiece Theatre from the thirty-fifth anniversary as a starting point, but no, instead she's all over the place. She's discussing personality traits of Worricker, a series literally no one watched, and doesn't really talk about shows from the seventies or eighties, focusing more on her favorite actors. Which is where this book gets weird. As you trudge through the morass of text the author's personality comes out more and more and she's a bit of an odd duck. She starts lusting after the vicars on Grantchester and any attractive man she feels needs a qualifier. I get that Andrew Davies and Pride and Prejudice paved the way for this, but in a scholarly approach to the history of the show, maybe talk about it in some sort of discourse, don't just drool. But the main problem of this book is that she hates America. She hates everything about this country from its supposed lack of culture and tradition and its need to psychoanalyze itself to its television. What did Thomas Magnum ever do to you!?! You know some of the biggest names from Masterpiece appeared on Magnum, P.I.? Ian McShane? Jenny Agutter? Francesca Annis? Julian Glover? Peter Davison? Any of these ringing a bell? Nope? Actually, not surprising. None of them are hot vicars. And yes, I think she's a fan of Fleabag. But if you want to read a book by a fan of this show, might I suggest Rebecca Eaton's autobiography? You'll get more insight than you'll ever find here.
Even if you weren't prescribed a rest cure for your postpartum depression so you can get back to your wifely duties that have nothing to do with the house when you have a spinster sister-in-law and everything to do with opening your legs, six weeks in the Bertha Mason suite with bars on the windows and a bed clamped to the floor would drive you round the bend. And that is exactly what happens here. The Yellow Wallpaper was written by Charlotte Perkins Gilman in 1892 and strongly portrays what it is to be a woman, especially a woman under the "care" of her husband. Who happens to be a doctor. And if you're a woman you know exactly how inept doctors are when it comes to women's health, more so during the Victorian era. This adaptation is Henry James meets Alice's Adventures in Wonderland with some Shirley Jackson and Angela Carter on the side. And yes, I know that only one of those predates this story, but the other authors, in particular Jackson and Carter, can be seen to be profoundly influenced by Gilman so it makes sense that in adapting the earlier work the later would influence it. There's a definite ouroboros effect going on here. What I find most fascinating about this adaptation is that someone at the BBC obviously watched The Company of Wolves and followed it up with Dreamchild and went, OK, now this is what we want to do, but without any budget, anybody have any ideas? And someone went, well, have you read Charlotte Perkins Gilman's The Yellow Wallpaper? Woman menaced by wallpaper? I think we can manage that! They transplanted the story to England and created something that really needs to be seen to be believed. I mean, more than anything it felt like an episode of 
When it comes to Agatha Christie adaptations I find they are very hit or miss, especially since the BBC took over the rights back in 2014. There are a few adaptations that I haven't even been able to finish, I'm looking at you Partners in Crime. So it was with trepidation that I went into watching The Pale Horse, mainly because it was adapted by Sarah Phelps, a writer who views herself above the source material. After her stellar adaptation of And Then There Were None she decided to go her own way and force us to watch Toby Jones have sex in The Witness for the Prosecution, made Ordeal by Innocence about cold war fears, turned Poirot priest in The ABC Murders, and now made this very unremarkable adaptation of The Pale Horse that doesn't have anything going for it except a stellar cast left to do nothing. This adaptation tries to lean into the mood versus the meaning, and occasionally it succeeds. There's a very nice Midsommar vibe that could have been worked but instead was almost forgotten. The supernatural element could have been a corker, but again, barely touched on. In fact, of all Sarah Phelps's adaptations this is her biggest fail because it didn't even incite anger in me for some memorable WTF moment, instead it was completely forgettable. I kept wondering while watching it that perhaps it was constrained by the two one hour parts and if it was three parts like most of the other BBC adaptations it might have thrived. But then I realized, I did not want to watch three hours of whatever this was trying to be. 
The White Cottage Mystery by Margery Allingham
I seriously don't know why or how I knew Doctor Who was returning. At this time I didn't really use the internet for much, other then to do homework (see, I can't escape school now that it's sucked me back in, and in fact this fall is the first time since 2006 I haven't had classes) and to play online games with my friends. But there, in the back of my mind, I knew that there was a new series and that, well, obviously, I had to see it. The one thing I did know, from my various British addictions, was you could be sure, whenever the show showed up in the US, it would be a long time since it had aired in England. In fact it was almost a full year from the airing of "Rose" on the BBC till it aired on Sci-Fi (or Syfy as it now ludicrously is). As it turns out, I didn't have to wait that long...
In the spring of 2005 I was done with college (round one) and at a bit of a loose end, thinking maybe grad school, maybe not. My friend Sara had gone to graduate school in Halifax, Nova Scotia at NSCAD. She was graduating that spring and having a big gallery show/thesis/dissertation combo event with mashed potatoes on the side (seriously, there were mashed potatoes at the opening). Her whole family and a few of her close friends, me included, decided to descend on Halifax. Cold and wet and bleak and full of children wielding led pipes... the drug capital of Canada... needless to say, I didn't go out much. After most everyone else had returned to their respective homes, I stayed in Canada for another two weeks or so. I spent most of my time in Sara's little cramped apartment. She had one roommate, Kenny, and no spare space. The kitchen was minuscule, the bedrooms were tiny, the bathroom was somewhat large, but the hallway was non-existent as it kind of merged with the stairwell and the ceiling in this stairwell was mildly psychedelic, as the landlord had plastered the ceiling with these swoopy wave patterns. It was white, but there was like glitter mixed in. This ceiling fascinated me, because all I could think of was who would spend that much time on a ceiling? It would have actually fit in quite well with a few of the TARDIS interiors over the years.
Here I was, far from home and my cat, in another country, but I was going to watch Doctor Who! Not just any Doctor Who, the newly rebooted series! I remember the Sunday night before there was a horrid cold front that moved in. Sara and I were driving back from PEI and it was so windy the car was struggling the whole way back to Halifax. And then the wind that night. It howled and howled. I started putting on more and more clothes in an attempt to keep warm. The next day the whole apartment was frigid, because of the fact the landlord turned down the heat during the day. The cold continued into Tuesday, but I didn't care, I had a fire in me to keep me warm, I had The Doctor. I remember it was still a little light outside the window as I sat down on the edge of the orange plaid blanket that covered Kenny's bed. I was instantly hooked as soon as Christopher Eccleston said "Run!" I mean, the first episode sure had it's flaws, but, well, that was to be expected. Mickey was the main flaw, but then, well, Rose left him in the dust didn't she? When the episode ended and I realized that come the next Tuesday I would be in New York again and not able to watch "The End of the World" I was beyond depressed. When Christopher Eccleston's face lit up in that wide smile surrounded by the London Eye, well, I knew I couldn't wait till this show came stateside.
I still think how naive I was to the ways of the internet. I didn't know about downloads or torrenting. I knew about Amazon UK, and so, I pre-ordered the DVDs, which came out in batches of three episodes every so often and then took about a month to get to me. So over the course of 2005 I slowly watched all the series. Each episode making me more and more a Whovian. In fact, that Christmas when they aired David Tennant's first episode simultaneously in Canada and England, I told Sara all I wanted for Christmas was for her to tape that episode, she did and I was ever so grateful, it was like being back in Canada again!
So this weekend isn't the best weekend, it's kind of the last weekend... of my break that is. Come Monday morning I'll be schlepping myself and my books to school once more. You can tell the excitement in my voice I'm sure! Why couldn't the snow come on Monday not Thursday, when I was 
