This is a superb production, thanks to Kenneth Macmillan's choreography, first performed in the 1960s with the peerless pairing of Nureyev and Fonteyn. The "beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear" of this Royal Ballet performance is Alessandra Ferri's Juliet. She looks lighter than air, and her astonishing technique is matched by her acting skills; she is both gawky and elegant, sometimes from one moment to the next. How does dance reflect Shakespeare's verse, letting movement replace the spoken word? Surprisingly clearly; Romeo and Juliet's mirrored dance steps take the place of the sonnet they compose together, and the ease and grace with which Juliet dances with Romeo, contrasted with the stilted formality of her dance with Paris, says it all. And Romeo's dance with Juliet's inert body is both macabre and unbearably poignant. Prokofiev's music is a star, too. The screechy violins express the barely-concealed violence of the Capulet-Montague brawl, and the dissonant chords break into even the lovers' tender pas de deux. I wish this production were available on video or DVD; my taped-from-cable copy is dying.
Reviews
7 Reviews
Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Silk Stocking
(2004 TV Movie)
Superb Acting; Trite Script
19 November 2005
Rupert Everett has the aquiline profile and world-weary vocal delivery that are necessities for a screen Holmes, but he (and the excellent actors around him) are hamstrung by a cliché- ridden script. Sherlock Holmes, telling Watson to "keep your breath to cool your porridge"?? The last two times I heard that expression on screen were both in adaptations of Pride and Prejudice--and I certainly mean no disrespect to either of them. Holmes is also made to deploy a Mary Poppins aphorism about pie crusts and promises--perhaps you remember it from your childhood Disney viewing.
This is a good-looking production (apart from the occasional wobble from the annoyingly popular unsteadicam), though I have it on good authority that London fog did not swirl rapidly around the lampposts and chimneypots. Beautifully designed interiors include a Duchess' drawing room, a Victorian graveyard, an underground lair of the villain (he always has a lair, doesn't he), and a ceramic-tiled morgue. Costumes are in a muted color palette of cream, black, olive green, and brown, and the girls in their costumes for a classical tableau look as if they have stepped out of a Alma-Tadema painting.
In addition to Everett as Holmes, the production is graced with a uniformly strong cast. Ian Hart brings an acerbic vigor to the role of Dr. Watson, and Neil Dudgeon injects Lestrade with some humor. The superb Helen McCrory, as Watson's American fiancée, initially appears brash and pushy (she calls Holmes "Sherlock" throughout, even though his best friend Watson invariably calls him by his last name), an often-observed trait of American women in British film/TV productions, but she is too good an actress to keep to that one-note character. Guy Henry is disgracefully underused--give him a bigger role!
The story is a new one, which is not in itself a criticism; it is creepy and intriguing. The most glaring problem of the show is with the script; I hope that director Simon Cellan Jones continues to make more Holmes stories--but that writer Allan Cubitt will not.
This is a good-looking production (apart from the occasional wobble from the annoyingly popular unsteadicam), though I have it on good authority that London fog did not swirl rapidly around the lampposts and chimneypots. Beautifully designed interiors include a Duchess' drawing room, a Victorian graveyard, an underground lair of the villain (he always has a lair, doesn't he), and a ceramic-tiled morgue. Costumes are in a muted color palette of cream, black, olive green, and brown, and the girls in their costumes for a classical tableau look as if they have stepped out of a Alma-Tadema painting.
In addition to Everett as Holmes, the production is graced with a uniformly strong cast. Ian Hart brings an acerbic vigor to the role of Dr. Watson, and Neil Dudgeon injects Lestrade with some humor. The superb Helen McCrory, as Watson's American fiancée, initially appears brash and pushy (she calls Holmes "Sherlock" throughout, even though his best friend Watson invariably calls him by his last name), an often-observed trait of American women in British film/TV productions, but she is too good an actress to keep to that one-note character. Guy Henry is disgracefully underused--give him a bigger role!
The story is a new one, which is not in itself a criticism; it is creepy and intriguing. The most glaring problem of the show is with the script; I hope that director Simon Cellan Jones continues to make more Holmes stories--but that writer Allan Cubitt will not.
Clarissa
(1991)
Excellent!
15 January 2005
Warning: Spoilers
This adaptation of Samuel Richardson's enormous novel (1400+ pages) held me riveted when it aired on PBSlike the film Dangerous Liaisons, its source is an epistolary novel, and we see the many faces of the characters depending on to whom they are writing. The charming villain (apparently Richardson was distressed that so many of his women readers were attracted to him) Lovelaceor Loveless, depending on the pronunciationand the unassailable heroine Clarissa make a pair of worthy adversaries. I'm surprised at how many reviewers found her annoying; she is a bit, admittedly, in the novel, but Saskia Wickham turned in a splendid performance as the good woman who is deceived again and again by the snaky allure of Sean Bean. And he has a wonderful opportunity in this role to show his acting rangehe's the courteous suitor, the ardent wooer, the pitiless rapist.
What makes these two characters such a deadly match is how alike they are; neither will bend from what they pride themselves on: for him, it's his reputation as rake par excellence, and for her, it's her purity and independence. They destroy any chance they might have had for a happy union (in his good moments, Lovelace has it in him to be a devoted husband), and in the end, they destroy each other. In the film, every time you think Lovelace is going to go straight, he blows it (much like the moment in Dangerous Liaisons when all Valmont can say for himself is 'It's beyond my control.'); even his friends have had enough of him by the end. An important and well-judged departure from the book is the excision of Clarissa's cousin, the man who must avenge her; here, Lovelace's best friend Belford has the honor. Which he does in a superbly choreographed rapier duelthe fights were but one of the excellences of this production.
A lot of the dialogue comes directly from the book, shaped from the letters; while much of the visual characterization work comes from the actors' watchful glances at one another, we also get snippets of dialogue overheard through closed doors (spying and eavesdropping being an important feature in both book and film). The amazing thing about these moments is that the prostitutes and Lovelace never drop character until they are positive that Clarissa can't hear them: she may suspect that her landlady is not the respectable widow she claims to be, but she has nothing on which to hang her doubts until she is well and truly trapped. Speaking of traps, another reviewer wondered why Clarissa didn't just run home to mom and dad. Don't forget what was waiting for her therea most unwelcome marriage to the loathsome Mr. Soames (played with gusto in a hideous wig and furry teeth by Julian Firth). Besides, her parents wouldn't even speak to her after she defied their will in continuing to correspond to Lovelace and refusing Soames, a detail that is sort of glossed over in the film. 'A woman must know when to bend,' her mother tells her, 'or she will surely break.' The tone in which she says this indicates that she's already broken, as does the stoic, brittle look on her face as her husband and Soames draw up Clarissa's marriage settlement.
There's not a weak performance or a clunky line of dialogue in the whole thing. Clarissa tells Lovelace that he is 'not a man who improves upon acquaintance;' a party guest puts Lovelace down with 'No one who knows Mr. Lovelace believes that he can commit little sins;' Mrs. Sinclair, the brothel madam, growls at Clarissa, 'I am amazed, madam, at the freedoms you take with my character.' Hermione Norris as Clarissa's best friend is outstanding; like Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, she has a low opinion of men and marriage, and she gets in some of the best digs. Sean Pertwee is equally outstanding as Lovelace's friend Belford, who begins as a wanna-be rake, and ends as Clarissa's staunchest defender, in awe of her goodness. The scene after Lovelace rapes Clarissa, when he apologizes and asks for her hand in marriage, is impeccably done; she looks so beaten down, and he looks sincerely sorryuntil she refuses him. Then the snake reappears, and it's clear that he will never let her go.
The production values were amazingabsolutely stunning mid-eighteenth-century costumes (especially the warp-printed taffeta gowns of Mrs. Sinclair and the fake Cousin Charlotte); a scene from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas as it might have looked in the 1740's; outdoor shots of formal gardens and London streets (watch out for that sedan chair!); lovely interiors of churches, country inns, mansions, and assembly rooms; and a score that used a harpsichord to highlight the unease between the characters. It is one of the best literary adaptations I've ever seen, and I wish it were available in the US, as my TV-taped copy is getting worn out.
What makes these two characters such a deadly match is how alike they are; neither will bend from what they pride themselves on: for him, it's his reputation as rake par excellence, and for her, it's her purity and independence. They destroy any chance they might have had for a happy union (in his good moments, Lovelace has it in him to be a devoted husband), and in the end, they destroy each other. In the film, every time you think Lovelace is going to go straight, he blows it (much like the moment in Dangerous Liaisons when all Valmont can say for himself is 'It's beyond my control.'); even his friends have had enough of him by the end. An important and well-judged departure from the book is the excision of Clarissa's cousin, the man who must avenge her; here, Lovelace's best friend Belford has the honor. Which he does in a superbly choreographed rapier duelthe fights were but one of the excellences of this production.
A lot of the dialogue comes directly from the book, shaped from the letters; while much of the visual characterization work comes from the actors' watchful glances at one another, we also get snippets of dialogue overheard through closed doors (spying and eavesdropping being an important feature in both book and film). The amazing thing about these moments is that the prostitutes and Lovelace never drop character until they are positive that Clarissa can't hear them: she may suspect that her landlady is not the respectable widow she claims to be, but she has nothing on which to hang her doubts until she is well and truly trapped. Speaking of traps, another reviewer wondered why Clarissa didn't just run home to mom and dad. Don't forget what was waiting for her therea most unwelcome marriage to the loathsome Mr. Soames (played with gusto in a hideous wig and furry teeth by Julian Firth). Besides, her parents wouldn't even speak to her after she defied their will in continuing to correspond to Lovelace and refusing Soames, a detail that is sort of glossed over in the film. 'A woman must know when to bend,' her mother tells her, 'or she will surely break.' The tone in which she says this indicates that she's already broken, as does the stoic, brittle look on her face as her husband and Soames draw up Clarissa's marriage settlement.
There's not a weak performance or a clunky line of dialogue in the whole thing. Clarissa tells Lovelace that he is 'not a man who improves upon acquaintance;' a party guest puts Lovelace down with 'No one who knows Mr. Lovelace believes that he can commit little sins;' Mrs. Sinclair, the brothel madam, growls at Clarissa, 'I am amazed, madam, at the freedoms you take with my character.' Hermione Norris as Clarissa's best friend is outstanding; like Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, she has a low opinion of men and marriage, and she gets in some of the best digs. Sean Pertwee is equally outstanding as Lovelace's friend Belford, who begins as a wanna-be rake, and ends as Clarissa's staunchest defender, in awe of her goodness. The scene after Lovelace rapes Clarissa, when he apologizes and asks for her hand in marriage, is impeccably done; she looks so beaten down, and he looks sincerely sorryuntil she refuses him. Then the snake reappears, and it's clear that he will never let her go.
The production values were amazingabsolutely stunning mid-eighteenth-century costumes (especially the warp-printed taffeta gowns of Mrs. Sinclair and the fake Cousin Charlotte); a scene from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas as it might have looked in the 1740's; outdoor shots of formal gardens and London streets (watch out for that sedan chair!); lovely interiors of churches, country inns, mansions, and assembly rooms; and a score that used a harpsichord to highlight the unease between the characters. It is one of the best literary adaptations I've ever seen, and I wish it were available in the US, as my TV-taped copy is getting worn out.
A lovely classic!
16 December 2004
This is one of my favorite 'comfort films'--I associate it with being home from college at Christmas, when I first saw it on late-night TV. I now own it on DVD and watch it almost every Christmas. The 18th-century costumes are absolutely superb (love that moment when Margaret Lockwood as the Stepmother removes her black widow's cloak to reveal her scarlet gown), the script witty (especially when Julian Orchard as the prince's camp cousin shows up), and the performances delivered with a light touch (Annette Crosbie and Kenneth More are the best at this). Richard Chamberlain never looked so dashing--the way he gazes adoringly at Cinderella!!--and Cinderella herself, Gemma Craven, is sweet and lovely, with an excellent voice.
A couple of the songs clunk a bit (you decide which ones), but the dancing is great, especially in the ball scene and the 'Position and Positioning.' The dancers come from the Royal Ballet (the dancing mice, too), so the dancing is a delight. And Richard Chamberlain has a dance number with Christopher Gable of the Royal Ballet, and he certainly doesn't suffer by comparison!
And oh, the costumes! I first saw a rather faded copy of this movie, and I loved the frosty pastels of the ballgowns (in fact, I thought Cinderella's dress was white); I was slightly disappointed by the brighter colors on the DVD. But not too disappointed--this is a beautifully-dressed film.
My favorite scene is Cinderella's flight from the ball; she runs down a series of staircases as the clock tolls midnight, rose-petals fluttering down all the time, and her pale-pink gown and frothy white wig gradually darken into her ragged blue dress and chestnut hair. It's a stunning effect.
A couple of the songs clunk a bit (you decide which ones), but the dancing is great, especially in the ball scene and the 'Position and Positioning.' The dancers come from the Royal Ballet (the dancing mice, too), so the dancing is a delight. And Richard Chamberlain has a dance number with Christopher Gable of the Royal Ballet, and he certainly doesn't suffer by comparison!
And oh, the costumes! I first saw a rather faded copy of this movie, and I loved the frosty pastels of the ballgowns (in fact, I thought Cinderella's dress was white); I was slightly disappointed by the brighter colors on the DVD. But not too disappointed--this is a beautifully-dressed film.
My favorite scene is Cinderella's flight from the ball; she runs down a series of staircases as the clock tolls midnight, rose-petals fluttering down all the time, and her pale-pink gown and frothy white wig gradually darken into her ragged blue dress and chestnut hair. It's a stunning effect.
The Reluctant Debutante
(1958)
Kay Kendall is divine!
16 December 2004
As others have noted, the plot is pretty slight, but it's a charming film, thanks to the effortless performances of Rex Harrison, Kay Kendall, and Angela Lansbury. The adults run away with this movie, rather like Beatrice and Benedick own 'Much Ado About Nothing,' even though Hero and Claudio are really the plot. The mile-a-minute dialogue between the older generation outshines the tame goings-on between Sandra Dee (who is completely adorable) and John Saxon (ditto). The reviewer who called Peter Meyers a Mortimer Snerd look-alike was spot on; he's so hilariously boring!
But to return to the exquisite Kay Kendall--her comic timing is superb and so is her dress sense! She looks totally fabulous in this film. It's terribly sad to see it and realize that she had not long to live. Film comedy lost a jewel in her.
According to the closing credits of 'What Every Girl Wants', 'The Reluctant Debutante' inspired that lamentable movie. Don't watch that; watch this!
But to return to the exquisite Kay Kendall--her comic timing is superb and so is her dress sense! She looks totally fabulous in this film. It's terribly sad to see it and realize that she had not long to live. Film comedy lost a jewel in her.
According to the closing credits of 'What Every Girl Wants', 'The Reluctant Debutante' inspired that lamentable movie. Don't watch that; watch this!
The Phantom of the Opera
(2004)
It started so well, and then the singing began.
12 December 2004
Warning: Spoilers
SPOILERS I've never seen a theatre performance of this show (though I know the music very well), being somewhat suspect of musicals where the audience raves about the sets more than they do about the performances, but after seeing the dazzling trailer for it, I went on the film's opening day with high hopes at least for the visual side. The music for the songs is lovely, but the lyrics are alternately trite and odd (what on earth is going on in Christine's lament at her father's grave, "Wishing you were somehow here again"?); to the film's credit, some of the recitative (the half-sung dialogue that strings the songs together) is mercifully changed to spoken dialogue, but not enough of it. You can just about get away with this convention on the stage, but it was patently silly on the screen.
So back to when it started so well; the framing device of the auction created a melancholy mood of loss as the once-grand opera house had fallen into complete disrepair, and the sight of the famous chandelier blazing into life to the accompaniment of the Bach-inspired chords of the overture actually brought tears to my eyes, but unfortunately the overture sequence was the most thrilling part of the whole film. Borrowing heavily from both Moulin Rouge (the silent-film opening as the camera swoops down into the opera house) and Titanic (the cobweb-covered theatre seats morph into red velvet and gilding as the scene flushes with color), the constantly-moving camera took us immediately into the backstage world of a theatre performance. Then the singing started, and the overwhelming feeling was that of sensory overload. Too much color and texture crammed into the frame, and far too much shrieky singing. Minnie Driver, the main perpetrator of the shriekiness, is nevertheless commendable for bringing life into all of her scenes; she looked as if she was having a ball in this film as the bossy diva Carlotta, chewing on all the scenery and being laced into opulent dresses.
This is one of the most visually sumptuous films I've ever seen; a great deal of its whopping budget clearly went into this aspect, and I did enjoy the look of the 1870's fashions and theatre costumes, though Christine's opening ballet costume would NEVER have flown in that era-a bare midriff? Please. In a stage production, the eye-popping sets are more or less static; we see pieces of the building, but not how we get from one place to another. In the film, we see every part of the cavernous opera house as the actors seldom stand still while they're singing, and it's a triumph of scenic design. But I wonder how the aforementioned 'Wishing you were somehow ' would have played had it been filmed in a real Parisian cemetery, and not in the Tim Burtonesque version of the film. This is the story's one scene that is played away from the opera house, and the funeral statuary is stunning in the film, but far larger than the real thing; the viewers were always reminded that it was a set.
In a film of a musical, the dancing is generally far superior to the stage rendition, because the dancers no longer have to worry about singing and dancing at the same time-the singing is pre-recorded, so the choreography is accordingly more challenging. There's little dancing in Phantom as written-a couple of ballet sequences and the Act 2 opening number, 'Masquerade'-but director Schumacher squanders all of it. Sluggish choreography, and worst of all, such jumpy editing of the dancer numbers that it was almost impossible to get more than a fleeting sense of what the dancers were doing. The recent film of Chicago certainly proved that dance numbers don't bore movie audiences; it's too bad that Schumacher did not trust his performers a bit more.
Which brings us to the main performers. Emmy Rossum is exquisitely lovely, with a voice to match, but she displayed no acting range. Dreamy and moody seemed to be her two expressions, and she came across as a totally powerless victim of the Phantom who might not even want to exercise her will enough to escape him. I have read the Leroux novel (and very silly and overwritten it is, too), but I didn't remember such a strong sense of seduction/rape fantasy. The end of the 'Music of the night' was creepy for the wrong reason-I felt we were right back in that silent-movie world of Rudolph Valentino abducting the innocent woman who secretly desires her abductor, and that's a scary place to be. The love triangle (Christine, Raoul, Phantom) is never fully resolved in the film, possibly because Gerard Butler makes such a hunky Phantom that it's difficult to see what the problem with his self-image is all about. Given the recent CGI contributions to film make-up, I had expected something pretty extreme; what the film gives us is an even smaller prosthetics job than the play, on one side of the face of a very handsome man. Lon Chaney, the silent film Phantom, is truly terrifying both with and without his mask-the makeup he designed for his performance recreates Leroux's description of the Phantom's skeleton face, and Chaney's performance commands both pity and terror. Butler's Phantom makes you want to tell him to get over it and on with his life. As for Raoul, the rival suitor, Patrick Wilson is amiable, pretty, a good singer, and a good swordfighter, and that's all he's given to do. The characters are rather cardboard-blame Leroux-but the actors could try a bit harder to imbue them with life.
And what was that completely forgettable ditty sung during the closing credits? Surely there was some curtain-call music they could have used instead.
So back to when it started so well; the framing device of the auction created a melancholy mood of loss as the once-grand opera house had fallen into complete disrepair, and the sight of the famous chandelier blazing into life to the accompaniment of the Bach-inspired chords of the overture actually brought tears to my eyes, but unfortunately the overture sequence was the most thrilling part of the whole film. Borrowing heavily from both Moulin Rouge (the silent-film opening as the camera swoops down into the opera house) and Titanic (the cobweb-covered theatre seats morph into red velvet and gilding as the scene flushes with color), the constantly-moving camera took us immediately into the backstage world of a theatre performance. Then the singing started, and the overwhelming feeling was that of sensory overload. Too much color and texture crammed into the frame, and far too much shrieky singing. Minnie Driver, the main perpetrator of the shriekiness, is nevertheless commendable for bringing life into all of her scenes; she looked as if she was having a ball in this film as the bossy diva Carlotta, chewing on all the scenery and being laced into opulent dresses.
This is one of the most visually sumptuous films I've ever seen; a great deal of its whopping budget clearly went into this aspect, and I did enjoy the look of the 1870's fashions and theatre costumes, though Christine's opening ballet costume would NEVER have flown in that era-a bare midriff? Please. In a stage production, the eye-popping sets are more or less static; we see pieces of the building, but not how we get from one place to another. In the film, we see every part of the cavernous opera house as the actors seldom stand still while they're singing, and it's a triumph of scenic design. But I wonder how the aforementioned 'Wishing you were somehow ' would have played had it been filmed in a real Parisian cemetery, and not in the Tim Burtonesque version of the film. This is the story's one scene that is played away from the opera house, and the funeral statuary is stunning in the film, but far larger than the real thing; the viewers were always reminded that it was a set.
In a film of a musical, the dancing is generally far superior to the stage rendition, because the dancers no longer have to worry about singing and dancing at the same time-the singing is pre-recorded, so the choreography is accordingly more challenging. There's little dancing in Phantom as written-a couple of ballet sequences and the Act 2 opening number, 'Masquerade'-but director Schumacher squanders all of it. Sluggish choreography, and worst of all, such jumpy editing of the dancer numbers that it was almost impossible to get more than a fleeting sense of what the dancers were doing. The recent film of Chicago certainly proved that dance numbers don't bore movie audiences; it's too bad that Schumacher did not trust his performers a bit more.
Which brings us to the main performers. Emmy Rossum is exquisitely lovely, with a voice to match, but she displayed no acting range. Dreamy and moody seemed to be her two expressions, and she came across as a totally powerless victim of the Phantom who might not even want to exercise her will enough to escape him. I have read the Leroux novel (and very silly and overwritten it is, too), but I didn't remember such a strong sense of seduction/rape fantasy. The end of the 'Music of the night' was creepy for the wrong reason-I felt we were right back in that silent-movie world of Rudolph Valentino abducting the innocent woman who secretly desires her abductor, and that's a scary place to be. The love triangle (Christine, Raoul, Phantom) is never fully resolved in the film, possibly because Gerard Butler makes such a hunky Phantom that it's difficult to see what the problem with his self-image is all about. Given the recent CGI contributions to film make-up, I had expected something pretty extreme; what the film gives us is an even smaller prosthetics job than the play, on one side of the face of a very handsome man. Lon Chaney, the silent film Phantom, is truly terrifying both with and without his mask-the makeup he designed for his performance recreates Leroux's description of the Phantom's skeleton face, and Chaney's performance commands both pity and terror. Butler's Phantom makes you want to tell him to get over it and on with his life. As for Raoul, the rival suitor, Patrick Wilson is amiable, pretty, a good singer, and a good swordfighter, and that's all he's given to do. The characters are rather cardboard-blame Leroux-but the actors could try a bit harder to imbue them with life.
And what was that completely forgettable ditty sung during the closing credits? Surely there was some curtain-call music they could have used instead.
The Woman in White
(1997 TV Movie)
Vastly different from the book, but still good
8 May 2003
Wilkie Collins' "The Woman in White" is a great read--a creepy and funny mystery novel with multiple narrators, one of which is one of the strongest female characters I've ever come across in Victorian fiction. Unlike some of the other IMDB critics of this film version, though, I read it only after seeing the BBC production. While I thoroughly enjoyed the film, its plot is almost totally different from the novel. It made me wonder if the writers had read two Wilkie Collins novels and decided to combine them, taking the character names from one and the plot twists from the other.
The look of the production is impeccable--gorgeous costumes, lovely English country houses, and a use of light and shadow that perfectly captures the pervasive disquietude. I especially liked that two of the scariest scenes took place in broad daylight, in light-colored places, instead of such customary gothic locales as dark, cobwebby dungeons. The BBC's recent Victorian productions have all striven for an accuracy of period detail (no more beehive hairdos worn with hoopskirt gowns)--that includes dirt and squalor, along with sumptuous furnishings. The Pre-Raphaelite art angle, though not in the book, is neatly tied in, too.
And the acting is excellent. Tara Fitzgerald and Justine Waddell seem to have cornered the market on these period pieces, and Fitzgerald in particular, is perfect as Marion, the steely but loving sister of the soft and sweet Laura. Ian Richardson (the diabolical MP Francis Urquhart in the "House of Cards" trilogy) is brilliant as the girls' hypochondriac uncle, thrown into paroxysms at the sound of loud noises. Simon Callow is Count Fosco, the villain who kills with a caress. He and Marion are worthy opponents; don't miss the scene in the British Museum, when she glares at him over an Egytian sarcophagus and subtly lets him know that she is onto him.
One flaw in the production is the irrelevant voice-over at the beginning and end of the film, but it is not serious enough to mar one's enjoyment of this film.
The look of the production is impeccable--gorgeous costumes, lovely English country houses, and a use of light and shadow that perfectly captures the pervasive disquietude. I especially liked that two of the scariest scenes took place in broad daylight, in light-colored places, instead of such customary gothic locales as dark, cobwebby dungeons. The BBC's recent Victorian productions have all striven for an accuracy of period detail (no more beehive hairdos worn with hoopskirt gowns)--that includes dirt and squalor, along with sumptuous furnishings. The Pre-Raphaelite art angle, though not in the book, is neatly tied in, too.
And the acting is excellent. Tara Fitzgerald and Justine Waddell seem to have cornered the market on these period pieces, and Fitzgerald in particular, is perfect as Marion, the steely but loving sister of the soft and sweet Laura. Ian Richardson (the diabolical MP Francis Urquhart in the "House of Cards" trilogy) is brilliant as the girls' hypochondriac uncle, thrown into paroxysms at the sound of loud noises. Simon Callow is Count Fosco, the villain who kills with a caress. He and Marion are worthy opponents; don't miss the scene in the British Museum, when she glares at him over an Egytian sarcophagus and subtly lets him know that she is onto him.
One flaw in the production is the irrelevant voice-over at the beginning and end of the film, but it is not serious enough to mar one's enjoyment of this film.
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