Season 30 - Wives and Daughters (2000-2001)
Wives and Daughters is the most nearly perfect miniseries that exists that I can not watch. Based on Elizabeth Gaskell's unfinished novel of the same name it is a perfect compromise between fans of Austen and the Brontës. Because the world sucks and feels the need to always pit women against each other, for the longest time you had to identify as either an Austen fan or a Brontës fan, you just couldn't be both. Which is bullshit and where Gaskell enters the frame. She's like Austen with politics or the Brontës with more balls. She revels in a happy ending and social satire, much like Austen, but unlike Austen she deals with weightier subjects and, like her friend Charlotte Brontë, is willing to go a bit broody and bleak when the story requires it. In simpler terms, she's totally willing to kill characters that you love and have no regrets about it. Which is why I have such a problem watching this miniseries almost to the point I just can not watch it. Which pains me because I love it so very much. The thing is, I am perfectly comfortable watching Tom Hollander die over and over again. I even once had to watch Tom Hiddleston do the dirty deed. What I can't handle is Michael Gambon's reaction to Tom Hollander's death. Hollander is after all playing Gambon's eldest son. It is, to me, the most accurate portrayal of grief I have ever seen and it just rips open my very soul. Just even thinking about it makes my heart hurt. And this annoys me all the more because I didn't much care for Hollander's character, but he was so beautifully acted and pathetic and poignant. But where there is love, there is pain. And Wives and Daughters is probably the closest Gaskell ever got to writing a straight-up love story. Sure, she does go on about the inter-dynamics of mixing a family, but in the end, it's the love of two characters, Roger and Molly, that makes this perhaps the best miniseries I have ever seen. Even more than Andrew Davies's other beloved adaptation, Pride and Prejudice, this broke and mended my heart a hundred times over and left me nearly satisfied. For some reason Davies decided to focus on the fact that Roger's first love with Molly's stepsister, Cynthia, was more about attraction, whereas the love between Roger and Molly was more a meeting of the minds and companionship and mutual respect. I feel that they are soul mates, and in need of a good snog, thank you very much. True love wins the day, so let the curtain close on a kiss. And right there is why this is only nearly perfect. Because Roger and Molly never kiss. They have their HEA, the times, they are a changing, and yet, there is no true satisfaction. I don't know if this is because Andrew Davies had to create the ending himself. Usually left to his own devices he brings something to a miniseries that otherwise would be lacking, I'm thinking in particular of the songs in Tipping the Velvet, which also starred Keeley Hawes. Here he's so close. The proposal, the rain, the admission of love, and then the lack of a kiss. It just doesn't work. Which is why it's best I don't watch this miniseries. It angers and destroys me in equal measure.
Emily Wilde's Map of the Otherlands by Heather Fawcett
The Forsyte Saga wasn't just how Masterpiece Theatre came to be, it was also the beginning of what we now know as Event Television. It was a runaway success in England, the country virtually shutting down when it aired. The then president of WGBH seeing the viewing numbers once it aired stateside decided that there was an audience for British programming in America and created Masterpiece Theatre, with another Susan Hampshire led drama, The First Churchills, as the inaugural broadcast on January 10th, 1971. If, like me, you knew about the Forsytes more because of the Damian Lewis adaptation in 2002 than the original and have therefore been hesitant to embrace this older, and dare I say it, black and white production with flimsy sets and sometimes ludicrous old age makeup, let me say that I loved this production. It was just what I needed at this moment in my life. The newer series has so much emotion, it's like a raw nerve, and I can't handle watching it because I end up a blubbering mess, despite which I still adore it. Now this isn't meant to be a slight on the older series saying it lacks emotion, it's entirely the opposite, I think it's more realistic. People don't live their lives like they're one of the Brontes! They live it in little, contained rooms where specific sets and emotions are kept in check. Therefore when something does happen, when change upsets these little well ordered lives, it has a greater impact. I grew to love all the characters and all these little rooms. Over the twenty-six episodes my opinions of all characters were constantly in flux, but I knew one thing, I never wanted it to end. There was just something so comforting in watching this family's life unfold over the decades. I always wondered why the 2002 series ended when it did, not seeing out the series until the death of Soames AKA Damian Lewis, but now I get it. There's a VAST tonal shift when we move from the older generation to the younger. Before there were huge swathes of time, the whole series taking place over forty-seven years, and tons of characters with a set narrator, and then we have a small set of characters going slowly through a few years in their lives. To give you an idea of the change, in one episode nineteen years elapses, and in the final fourteen episodes, more than half the series, only seven years! But of all the shows I've watched this years for Fifty Years a Masterpiece, I know I will return to this, and interestingly enough another adaptation by Donald Wilson, 
When the first proposed spin-off from Upstairs, Downstairs set in a boarding house run by Hudson and Mrs. Bridges, now Mrs. Hudson, had to be scrapped due to Angela Baddeley's death, John Hawksworth was apparently so stuck on the idea of doing a period show set in a residential hotel that we got The Duchess of Duke Street. Considered by most to be the natural successor to Upstairs, Downstairs, and I will fight anyone who tries to say, "what about Thomas and Sarah?" Because that show was a piece of shit and you know it! Based on the life of the Duchess of Jermyn Street, Rosa Lewis, who rose from humble cook to hotel owner, The Duchess of Duke Street, while having a certain Upstairs, Downstairs vibe with the patrons and servants of the Bentinck Hotel has in my mind more humble heart than it's predecessor. Here everyone is a little mad, a little off kilter, a little rough around the edges, and that endeared me to each and every character. The elderly Merriman, who came with the property and is a house-elf in human form, the doorman Starr and his faithful pooch Fred, Mary, The Major, who while technically a guest is also technically staff, and Charlie, the young buck who was turned down only to become the money man and love interest of our erstwhile owner, Louisa Trotter! Louisa is rough and gruff and she knows what she wants and doesn't let anyone stand in her way, let alone an annoying husband. But while every episode is a wonderful little vignette of Louisa fighting against convention and making a place in the world for herself and her family series two has one of my favorite episodes of any show ever, "Winter Lament." By this point Charlie is married to the rather sweet but weak Margaret and is no longer living at the Bentinck. Instead he's taken up residence at the ancestral pile with his wife who is not well. He begs Louisa to come and help, but it's too late, Margaret is too far gone and this episode feels as if the Brontes came back to life to write a television show. It's just such a weird little bottle episode but it's perfect. In fact it's because of this that I ended up watching all of Dynasty because Christopher Cazenove who plays Charlie plays Ben on that eighties soap staple.
Thérèse grew up beside her cousin Camille in his sickbed. When they were older it just made sense for her to stay in the bed and be his wife. She walks through her life in a daze. Nothing ever breaking through the monotony of her day to day existence with Camille and Madame Raquin. The shop bell below their home rings and customers must be served. Every Thursday their friends come over for tea and dominoes. Life plods on. Then one day Camille runs into his old childhood friend Laurent. Laurent's passion is painting, but sadly it can not support him so he's taken a mundane office job. But soon his passion is Thérèse. They begin a torrid affair resulting in the murder of Camille. This three part miniseries starts out rather sedately. The first episode is interesting but it isn't until the second episode, after the murderous denouement of the first, that it becomes something more, something memorable. Kate Nelligan as Thérèse and Brian Cox as Laurent fully embrace the over the top Gothic nature of the tale in such a way that they are mesmerizing. There's a feeling of the darker tales of Edgar Allan Poe when Laurent starts taking to visiting the morgue daily and having his dreams haunted by the dead. Also there's a wonderful unsettled feeling as to what Thérèse's motives were. Did she ever care for Laurent or was he just a means to get ride of her husband? Or did she really not know how her mind would unravel following Camille's death? The height of this is their frantic wedding night. They knew they could never just marry because then perhaps people would wonder what really happened to Camille. So instead, a year after their crime, they have finagled their Thursday night domino friends to insist that the two of them wed, and wed they are. But the haunted honeymoon to come is so deliciously Gothic it almost felt like the Brontes wrote it while taking acid. Laurent is haunted by the painting of Camille he executed that is hanging in the bedroom. He also keeps thinking he sees his dead friend's bloated corpse in their wedding bed. Thérèse is equally frantic. Soon they are beyond miserable, the three of them in the marriage, Thérèse, Laurent, and Camille. All this is happening behind their closed bedroom door while trying to maintain a happy facade for Madame Raquin. But soon that even cracks and tragedy besets tragedy until the scales are balanced.
There are only a handful of miniseries that I allow to be categorized as my favorites. They are sheer perfection and I return to them again and again because I love them so much. Wives and Daughters starring Keeley Hawes, Pride and Prejudice starring Colin Firth, The Forsyte Saga starring Damian Lewis, and a dozen more, these aren't just seminal to me, they made me who I am. As did Jane Eyre. This adaptation of Jane Eyre starring Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson will forever be the best adaptation of a Bronte book. Period. I came to Jane Eyre's story by such a roundabout route, watching different adaptations over the years on cable while never picking up the book. Ironically my first literary experience of the world created by Charlotte was actually in Jasper Fforde's book 
The Diabolical Bones by Bella Ellis
An Extravagant Death by Charles Finch
Modern English by Rachel Spangler
She Wore a Yellow Dress by John R. Cammidge
