I was watching PBS last night only to see that Masterpiece Contemporary is going to rebroadcast this next Sunday, which completely ruined my usual pleasant anticipation of what is to come next. I saw this last year when PBS first aired it, and not only was it a waste of time, it was so awful that the depressing awfulness stayed with me long after I watched it. If you really want to see the pointless waste of life and love come to its grimy, inescapable, petty and all-too-human end, watch this. If you want to be depressed and left feeling used after watching, you'll not be disappointed, I promise.
But what's really sad is that two of the greatest actors in British theater -- both brilliant and even believable in this completely self-absorbed, anal-retentive, unceasingly self-obsessive string-of-consciousness piece of crap -- selected this dog to perform in anyway. I was struck by how luminous Emma Thompson still is and how beautifully she has aged, and Alan Rickman is, well, the delight that Alan Rickman always is. And yet even these two could not retrieve the show, or give any hope to their characters' existence.
In fact, now that I think about it, it is entirely possible that their brilliant acting made it as bad as it was, but that just brings me back to my original point: brilliant "singers" but the "song" is still nauseating. If it's the excellence of Alan Rickman's acting that watching his character seriously reminds me of someone who obsessively studies their own boogers and scabs in private, that's not his fault, but proof of both his own talent and the complete uselessness of the character he's playing. Perhaps that's the art of the piece, but it's just not my cup of tea.
I don't want to give spoilers; I will just say that the most extreme definitions one could ever place on the words "narcissistic" and "selfish" are understatements when applied to this plot and its dreary execution. The problem is NOT the actors, it's the play itself. It's depressing as hell and, for me, utterly pointless.
Definitely read all the reviews before watching, because it may be that you are one of the folks who finds the art in this piece and would be absolutely delighted with it. I, unfortunately, am not. I love these particular two players in just about anything -- they could act the phonebook as far as I'm concerned -- but this play is just a depressing dog from start to bitter, useless end, and I felt honor bound to warn others.
But what's really sad is that two of the greatest actors in British theater -- both brilliant and even believable in this completely self-absorbed, anal-retentive, unceasingly self-obsessive string-of-consciousness piece of crap -- selected this dog to perform in anyway. I was struck by how luminous Emma Thompson still is and how beautifully she has aged, and Alan Rickman is, well, the delight that Alan Rickman always is. And yet even these two could not retrieve the show, or give any hope to their characters' existence.
In fact, now that I think about it, it is entirely possible that their brilliant acting made it as bad as it was, but that just brings me back to my original point: brilliant "singers" but the "song" is still nauseating. If it's the excellence of Alan Rickman's acting that watching his character seriously reminds me of someone who obsessively studies their own boogers and scabs in private, that's not his fault, but proof of both his own talent and the complete uselessness of the character he's playing. Perhaps that's the art of the piece, but it's just not my cup of tea.
I don't want to give spoilers; I will just say that the most extreme definitions one could ever place on the words "narcissistic" and "selfish" are understatements when applied to this plot and its dreary execution. The problem is NOT the actors, it's the play itself. It's depressing as hell and, for me, utterly pointless.
Definitely read all the reviews before watching, because it may be that you are one of the folks who finds the art in this piece and would be absolutely delighted with it. I, unfortunately, am not. I love these particular two players in just about anything -- they could act the phonebook as far as I'm concerned -- but this play is just a depressing dog from start to bitter, useless end, and I felt honor bound to warn others.