Season 39 - Tess of the D'Urbervilles (2009)
When this adaptation of Tess of the D'Urbervilles first came out I tried to watch it. I thought I had only made it through one of the four episodes but apparently I somehow actually made it through two of them. Now you might be thinking, oh, she had a problem watching this because Thomas Hardy is quite bleak and this is about rape, abuse, and eventual death, but you'd be wrong. It's not that I was OK with how horrible this story is, it's that I could barely get into the story due to the piercing headache I got at the hands of the score. Rob Lane's score is horrible, shrill, and just bores into my right eye socket and makes me almost pass out in pain. Every. Single. Time. The strings and the strings and the strings. Just make it stop! If his goal was to make me feel in pain to understand Tess's pain, well, good job. Now hopefully I'll be able to see out of my right eye again in the near future. People talk about the power of music, damn, this music packed a punch. And not in a good way. Just thinking about it makes my face hurt. What annoyed me even more about the score is once I was able to sit with the pain of the cluster headache behind my right eye I realized that the recurring theme of the score was triggering me to hum another song. You know how Tom Petty sued Sam Smith for similarities in Smith's song "Stay With Me" to Petty's song "I Won't Back Down?" Well, if you didn't, you now know. Petty won and is now listed as a co-writer. This came as no shock to me because every time I heard "Stay With Me" I'd get "I Won't Back Down" in my head. The same thing happened once I pushed through the pain here. I started getting the theme to Gosford Park by Patrick Doyle in my head. Which made me extra angry. Because not only is this music horribly painful to listen to, it's not even original. I really just can't with this miniseries. I was promised Anna Massey and instead I have baby voiced Gemma Arterton and a whole bunch of actors I have previously loved either being evil or miserable. Poor Jodie Whittaker, what this miniseries does to her makes the backlash of her becoming the Thirteenth Doctor look like child's play. And what do you get if you actually make it all the way through the miniseries!?! Fuck all. The love of Tess's life, Angel Clare, there has to be a special hell just for him. Let me recount for you what happened at the beginning of the third episode for your enlightenment. Oh, and to set the scene, it's their wedding night! Angel, in the depths of agony: I hired a whore once. Tess: I forgive you. BTW I was raped. Angel: You're a whore! Here's £25. I'll see you when I see you, I'm off to Brazil. Me: Hopefully to die from some horrible tropical disease. Fuck you Angel Clare. Fuck you and your hypocrisy. You could have all been happy, instead you chose misery. In fact, I wish for you to have to listen to the score to this miniseries for an eternity. That might just make up for what you did to Tess. Maybe.
There are some authors who you just expect bleak and depressing stories from. It doesn't matter if you've read all their work. You might have read one or two of their books and were able to extrapolate the general vibe. George Eliot is just such an author. Not so depressing as Thomas Hardy, but it takes a lot to beat his bleak tales. I honestly had no idea what to expect from Silas Marner: The Weaver of Raveloe, I mean, it would be epic if there was some deep lore about the production wherein Ben Kingsley spent years learning how to properly use a loom and then literally only used it for perhaps five minutes of screen time, but that was just my wishful thinking in the vein of how Daniel Day-Lewis role prepares for a role. But good on Sir Ben for working those pedals like his life depended on it. And shoeless no less! In fact, he's giving us a very nicely turned out leg here. Too bad you were never invited to the dance up at the big house Silas, you might just have won the heart of fair maiden. Instead, this here is a tale of a man who is taken advantage of because he is disabled and only learns to trust again after raising a foundling. And yes, that is a lot to take it. I mean, really, this is a prime example of how evil people can be. Silas is again and again taken advantage of because of his condition. This was written and set in the 1800s so there was no available diagnosis of catalepsy, but it just shows how time and time again anyone viewed as "other" is ostracized. And characters openly plot against Silas because of his condition. His best friend frames him for stealing their congregation's funds and Silas is thrown to the wolves, losing his standing, his fiance, everything. He has a fit on the side of the road and Jim Broadbent of all people is like, he had money on him boys, let's go rob him! Of course someone who needed money more overheard this conversation and robbed him first. To treat a disability as an opening for exploitation is abhorrent. I was literally enraged and then to have his redemption be Patsy Kensit!?! Oh please. Spare me. Literally, spare me anything to do with Patsy Kensit, who is, of course, the legitimate daughter of the heir to the big house. Which means she could have a life of luxury once she discovers her hidden heritage, but instead decides to continue living with Silas and get married. I mean, there's loyalty and then there's stupidity. Couldn't they have worked something out that made everyone happy? Or at least financially viable? The problem is, clocking in at ninety minutes this tale is too short to do justice to what's going on. The heir to the big house is secretly married to an opium addict played by the incomparable Angela Pleasence and I don't think she's actually conscious for a single scene. Why would you hire such a wondrous talent and then not deign to use her? The tale needed to be fleshed out, the rich and the poor balanced. I wanted more and this felt like the CliffsNotes version. Just tacking on a happy ending where it's people and not money that makes life worthwhile doesn't sweep away the bitter taste in my mouth for how Silas was treated. It was only moments before after all. Mere moments.
My parents like to cite Doctor Zhivago as their beginning. But personally I think that a compelling case could be made for their mutual love of Thomas Hardy. Before they even met my Dad ranked Jude the Obscure as one of his favorite books of all time and my mom named her cat Eustacia after Eustacia Vye from The Return of the Native. Of course it turned out Eustacia was a boy but Stacey lived a long long life unlike most characters in Thomas Hardy's books. Because my parents held Thomas Hardy in such high esteem he therefore became an author I was reluctant to read. Mainly because if I didn't like him I could possibly be disowned. Or at least I thought so at the time. But my love of James Purefoy made me willing to finally give Thomas Hardy a chance. In other words, I was really excited for the 2003 adaptation of The Mayor of Casterbridge that was made for A and E. And I didn't even make it through the first episode. I honestly don't know how far I made it but it was just depressing and muddy and it was at the height of my hatred of Ciarán Hinds so I washed my hands of it. Which means I wasn't over the moon about watching the 1978 adaptation but I do love Alan Bates so I was willing to give it a try. The problem is that no matter who stars in this tale it's a story of a miserable and horrible man, Michael Henchard. He sells his wife while drunk and blames the drink. Of course it's not the drink that's to blame, it's something rotten and twisted within him. Because if he had been a little nicer, a little more generous, you know what? Everyone could have had a happy ending. Instead there's lots of misery and death and self-flagellation. I mean, seriously, this is a lot to handle. Watching someone in a downward spiral with no way to stop it is not something that is relaxing. This isn't a show to be watched passively. You're an active viewer. You're viscerally involved in watching this man's downfall and just hoping that his death comes soon enough that some happiness can be grasped by the survivors. But at least with Alan Bates driving this crazy train there is acting on such a level that, well, I'm sorry, Ciarán Hinds, you could just never reach it. The simplest expression, the way Alan Bates's face can morph from awe and love to sheer blinding terror and rage in just an instant made the fall of Michael Henchard riveting but not restful television. The fact that the supporting cast includes Anna Massey, Jack Lowden's doppelganger, and the face melting Nazis from Raiders of the Lost Ark, was just an added bonus. Or another drink at the pub put on someone else's tab? Because Michael Henchard is not a man the better for drink. In fact most of Thomas Hardy is just desperation verging on folk horror. Which, it's a vibe I can get behind. And a vibe this adaptation leaned into. Just look to the scarecrow and how the townsfolk scared Lucetta to an early grave. Seriously, if Carl Davis had made the score a little scarier this might have been horror. But isn't the fall of a man horrible enough as it is? Again, I'd say it depends on the man and Michael Henchard got what he deserved.
Max Gate by Damien Wilkins
The Other Daughter by Lauren Willig
A Curious Beginning by Deanna Raybourn
Sorcerer to the Crown by Zen Cho
