#so i am watching through every hamlet adaptation i can find because why not and this was phenomenal

[please-dont-pet-the-okapi]

Prince of the Himalayas (2006) dir. Sherwood Hu

[longitudinalwaveme]

GAH!!!

There's been a couple polls so far where I had to deliberate for a minute or two, but this one? This one is by far the hardest (at least so far). These are two of my all-time favorite Shakespeare plays, I hate to knock either one of them out so (relatively) early in the tournament....and I'm actually really not sure which one I like better.

Macbeth is definitely the one I've read (and seen) most frequently. It's actually my single most seen and viewed Shakespeare play; I've probably read it somewhere between 60 and 80 times, and I'm fairly sure that I have at least a couple entire scenes memorized. I've also watched it all the way through seven times (four times as a filmed play or movie and three times in person), which is a lot for me. So in terms of sheer amount of time spent with it, Macbeth tops almost every play except possibly King Lear (since I spend a lot more time writing about and drawing scenes and characters from Lear than I do writing about or drawing scenes and characters from Macbeth).

Othello, by contrast, I don't see or read quite as frequently. While I have read the play probably about 20 to 30 times, I've only seen it all the way through once (though admittedly, this is in part due to the fact that it's only been performed in my area once since I really became interested in Shakespeare, at least to my knowledge, while Macbeth has been performed at least three times). So I don't have the extreme familiarity with it that I do with Macbeth.

That being said, part of the reason that I've read and seen Macbeth so frequently is, well, because it's short. It's one of the shortest Shakespeare plays, which makes it easier to stage or film largely uncut, and also makes it easy to read through in a single afternoon. Or, in my case, an hour or so. (I am a rather huge statistical outlier when it comes to reading speed. When I was thirteen, I read War and Peace in a week, and I got through Les Miserables in two or three days a few years later.) As a result, it's easy to read through the play over and over and over again in relatively quick succession, and also fairly easy to find good film versions of the play that contain almost all of the text and therefore don't irritate me through excessive cutting. (I totally acknowledge why most filmed versions of other plays have to cut dialogue...but I can't deny that it always annoys me.) While I haven't seen enough filmed Shakespeare to make any blanket statements, Macbeth seems to be the one that's easiest for filmmakers to adapt---certainly they seem to struggle less with it than Lear or Hamlet. This again probably comes back in part to the length, as it's one of the few Shakespeare plays that can be easily fit in your standard two-hour movie time frame, but the prevalence of cool battle setpieces and creepy witch special effects opportunities, as well as the fact that you really only need two, maybe three, actors who can pull off intense dramatic passion and soul-searching (as opposed to Othello, where you need at least five), also probably play into things.

Othello, by contrast, is a lot longer, has fewer dramatic setpiece scenes, and requires a larger number of really strong actors. So it gets filmed well less, and I've seen it less. Filmed versions of this play (and even modern acting versions of this play) are also sometimes affected by the specter of racism that haunts Othello's performance history. So the fact that I've seen it less is less because I don't want to see it frequently and more because I know that it's harder for people to do well (and potentially a lot more uncomfortable to watch if a given performance gets something badly wrong).

As for why I've read it less, that's mainly due to the fact that Macbeth is very easy to fancast with characters from other franchises I enjoy. Reading the script of Macbeth as though Transformers characters are acting out the roles is incredibly, albeit stupidly, fun. With Othello, I find this to be much less easy to do, in part because the characters in Othello are generally more fleshed out than their counterparts in Macbeth (the two leading characters aside). I can easily read Macbeth as effectively just a script; Othello's characters are so distinct that I can't easily mentally place other characters into the roles and have them act it. Reading Othello is always about reading Othelllo; reading Macbeth is sometimes in part about combining Macbeth with my other nerd hobbies.

So, setting aside which one I've seen or read more, which play do I actually like better?

Macbeth has a lot going for it. Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, the two leads, are both really strong characters---indeed, they're the only characters in the play aside from Macduff and his family that I have any strong emotional attachment to. Lady Macbeth in particular has long been a favorite of mine, since there's so many ways to interpret her character and the actions she takes in the play. I also love me a good female villain (even if I personally slightly prefer Goneril and Regan from King Lear). Macbeth, for his part, is a hauntingly effective depiction of a man becoming a monster. (That's been said by everyone else already, but it is still true.) Together, they also have one of the most interesting marriage dynamics in Shakespeare, and, in spite of the fact that they are literal murderers, they still have a more healthy relationship than a lot of his more sympathetic protagonists do.

Macbeth's poetic language game is really strong, and very creepy and effective. The speeches of Macbeth that surround the murder of Duncan are phenomenal, Lady Macbeth's speeches in Act I Scene v and Act V scene i are terrific, and the Three Witches trochee speeches are some of the creepiest verse I've ever read. The language helps to establish the really effective atmosphere of dread and horror for which the play is famous.

Finally, Macbeth is kind of the Shakespearean tragedy version of a popcorn flick. It's so full of battles and horror and murder that it's hard for the play to lose your attention. (It might be notable that the single talk-iest, least action-filled scene in Macbeth, Act IV scene iii, is often dramatically reduced in film versions and even in stage productions. Could this be because it's the only scene that a performance can't theoretically bluster through by relying to some extent on either horror or action?) The play moves at lighting speed, and it's full of spectacle. A good 80% of the scenes, especially before Act IV, get burned into your memory through the sheer shock and awe of the play.

However, and this is a BIG however, Macbeth sort of struggles in the character department. Macbeth and Lady Macbeth are fantastic, as mentioned, but, with the possibly exception of Macduff and his family, who at least get points for having strong family bonds and allowing the play to explore the nature of grief, every single other character in the show is a bit thin. Malcolm doesn't interest me all that much (though it definitely doesn't help that his best scene, the aforementioned Act IV scene iii, gets cut all the time), and despite his huge volume of lines, a lot of them are kind of generic and don't develop his character all that well. The Three Witches are creepy and very effective atmospherically, but they're really less individual characters and more symbolic plot devices. Duncan and Banquo's murders are largely only interesting because of their effects on Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. Banquo's a bit better than Duncan, since he's on stage more, but neither one really feels like they get the necessary time to breathe as their own individual characters. And don't get me started on Macbeth's endless parade of Scottish nobles. They're all the same, and although I know from having read the play several dozen times the basics of which one says and does what, I probably still don't remember how many scenes, say, Angus or Lennox is actually in. And while we're on the topic of characters, Fleance is a total dramatic dead end. I know why he had to be there (gotta please King James, after all), but when one looks at the play just as a script, having him be prophesied to be king, and then have the plot never do anything with him after he escapes his father's murderers, makes him seem almost irrelevant.

Othello, by contrast, has a much stronger cast of characters. Othello is interesting (whether one finds him to be sympathetic or a frustrating idiot, or somewhere in between, he is at least a layered and complex character), Desdemona is a lot more fun and spirited than she's sometimes given credit for (and I would watch an entire play from her POV), Emilia is fantastic (the way she tells off Othello, her husband, and society's hypocrisy regarding marital infidelity is great), Cassio is fun and nicely well-rounded, Roderigo's sheer stupidity is hilarious, Brabantio is a realistic and suitably unpleasant Shakespearean dad (he's in the running for the Top 10 Worst Shakespearean Dads, maybe even in the Top 5...though he has some stiff competition), and even relatively minor characters like Bianca and Lodovico are given some quirks that help flesh them out. And then there's Iago. He's a thoroughly loathsome, utterly despicable man...but I've always found him to be a blast to read (or watch). Iago is probably the single best Shakespeare villain (and it pains me to say this, as the Macbeths are great, the villainous quartet from King Lear is a really strong group of antagonists, and Richard III, though he probably bears relatively little resemblance to the actual historical king, is a delight). He's just hypnotic. You know he's awful, but he's so creepy and so clever that you can't look away. When played right, he also is often the funniest person in the play (at least in the first two acts).

The deaths in Othello also hit harder than those in Macbeth (with the exception of the murder of Macduff's family, which has the distinct shock/horror/pity advantage of including the death of at least one child). Desdemona and Emilia's deaths are very powerful and haunting, and Othello's own suicide is likewise very effective. The fact that, unlike Macbeth, none of these three were mass-murdering tyrants also ensures that the "horror and pity" factor completely outweighs the "this guy had it coming" factor. Roderigo's death (if he does, in fact, die---I always assumed he did but I have read interpretations that claim he did not) isn't quite as good, but it does at least show Iago in direct physical action for the first time in the play, which is always fun.

I also find the themes of marriage (and male/female relationships in general) and of the effects of racism and generally being othered to be very compelling and interesting. The play isn't just about them, but the fact that they're there adds more depth to the play and makes it really interesting to talk about.

The language in Othello is likewise great. Othello's speeches are beautiful, Emilia speeches towards the end of the play are total fist-pumpers, and Iago's speeches are some of the best villain monologues in fiction. I think Macbeth is better at using its language to establish a tone, but Othello's language is still extremely effective.

But if Macbeth's biggest weakness lies in its characters, Othello's biggest weakness lies in its plot. Iago's intrigues are the basis upon which the whole play turns, and, if the audience or reader isn't convinced that Iago could do what he does within the timespan provided by the play, then that can ruin the whole thing. Stories that rely heavily on manipulation to drive the plot forward are always a risky proposition, as they run the risk of certain characters coming across as unbelievably stupid. Personally, I think that Othello largely manages to avoid this problem, but I also know that how convincing Iago's intrigues are is heavily dependent on the strength of a performance. Othello is very easy to stage in such a way that the non-Iago characters end up looking frustratingly stupid...but when it's pulled off, it works really, really well, and is, I think, more emotionally impactful than Macbeth.

I hate to cast my vote, since I like them both so much, but I think Othello just barely noses Macbeth out. It's just got the more complex characters and themes that I find more interesting.

After a narrow victory over Julius Caesar, Othello has another tough match-up with Macbeth! Does tumblr like a power-hungry would-be king or manipulation and betrayed trust? Vote now! And remember to keep any debate in the notes kind and civil. May the best play win!

[insanityclause]

Coriolanus is a play that’s more respected than revered. Why does it have a rather difficult reputation? Coriolanus is relentless, brutal, savage and serious, but that’s why I find it interesting. Shakespeare sets the play in ancient Rome: a far older place than the Rome more familiar to us – of Julius Caesar or Antony and Cleopatra or the later Empire. This Rome is wild. A city-state wrestling with its identity. An early Rome of famine, war and tyranny.

In the central character, Caius Martius Coriolanus, Shakespeare shows how the power of unchecked rage corrodes, dehumanises and ultimately destroys its subject. I’ve read that some find Martius a hard character to like, or to relate to – less effective at evoking an audience’s sympathy than Hamlet, Romeo, Juliet, Rosalind, Othello or Lear. Yet there is a perverse integrity and purity to be found in his obstinacy and honour, which sits alongside his arrogance and contempt.

The play’s poetry is raw and visceral, quite different from the elegance, beauty, clarity and charm found elsewhere in Shakespeare’s work. The warmth and delight to be found in his comedies are absent here. But the unstinting seriousness and intensity of the play is what makes it fascinating.

How well did you know the play? I didn’t know it well. I had seen an early screening of Ralph Fiennes’s terrific film adaptation at the Toronto film festival in September of 2011. I was fascinated by the visceral intensity of the play: the power, hubris, and force of the title character; its lasting political resonance; and the immediacy and profundity of the familial relationships, particularly between mother and son – Volumnia and Martius – which struck me as perhaps the most intense and psychologically complex presentation of that bond I had come across in Shakespeare.

What drew you to Coriolanus as a character? I was fascinated by the evolution of Martius/Coriolanus as a character through the play. His arc is purely tragic. He begins the play as Rome’s most courageous warrior, is quickly celebrated as its most fearsome defender, then garlanded by the Senate and selected for the highest political office.

His clarity of focus, fearlessness and ferocity of spirit, all qualities that make him a great soldier, undo him as a politician. His honesty and pride forbid him from disguising his contempt for the people of Rome, whom he deems weak, cowardly and fickle in their loyalties and affections. He cannot lie. “His heart’s his mouth / What his breast forges that his tongue must vent.” He becomes a tyrant, branded a traitor, an enemy of the people: an uncontained vessel of blistering rage. He is banished, changed “from man to dragon”. Joining forces with his sworn enemy, Aufidius, he plots revenge against Rome: “There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.” And then finally, at the very end, as he watches his own mother, wife and son kneel at his feet and beg for his mercy, he reveals – beneath the hardened exterior of contempt – a tenderness and vulnerability not seen before.

That shift, from splenetic warrior to merciless “dragon” to “boy of tears”, fascinated me – and the fact that his intransigence, valour and vulnerability all seem to be located in, and released by, his complex attachment to his mother.

How does this play about politics and people resonate in today’s society? The play raises the question as to how much power should reside in the hands of any individual: a question that will never go out of date. “What is the city but the people?” cries the people’s tribune, Sicinius (in our production, brilliantly played by Helen Schlesinger). The people must have their voices. And, beneath that, I think the play also raises another complex question as to what degree any individual can withstand the intensity of idealisation and demonisation that comes with the mantle of unmoderated leadership or extraordinary responsibility.

It’s a physical role – how did you prepare for it with fight director Richard Ryan? Josie Rourke and I knew it was important to the clarity of the play that Martius be credibly presented as a physical presence. As a warrior, we are told, he “struck Corioles like a planet”. Big boots to fill. Hadley Fraser, who plays Aufidius, and I began working with Richard Ryan three months before we started full rehearsals on the text of the play. The fight between Martius and Aufidius is a huge opportunity to explore their mutual obsession (“He is a lion that I am proud to hunt”).

We also hoped there would be something thrilling about presenting it at such close quarters in the confined space of the Donmar. We wanted to create a moment of combat that was visceral, brutal and relentless. We knew it would require skill, safety and endless practice. The fight choreography became something we drilled, every day. Hadley was amazing. So committed, so disciplined. It created a real bond of trust between us.

You previously starred in Othello at the Donmar. What’s special about that space? The Donmar is one of the most intimate spaces in London. I must have seen at least a hundred productions there over the last 20 years, and as an audience member it always feels like a thrill and a privilege to feel so close to the action. There’s a forensic clarity to the space: the audience are so close that they see every movement, every look. For actors, there’s nowhere to hide. That’s exciting.

It’s what makes the Donmar special: the closeness, the proximity. Hard to imagine in the wake of Covid-19. Theatres everywhere need all the support they can get. But that’s what’s encouraging about National Theatre at Home. It’s keeping theatre going, but it’s also a reminder that the sector will need real support to stay alive: from the government and from us, the people who love and cherish it.

There is a rather bloody shower scene – what are your memories of that moment? I remember that the water was extremely cold. But I was always grateful, because the preceding 20 minutes – scurrying up ladders, down fire escapes, into quick changes and sword fights – had been so physically intense that the cold water felt like a great relief. Martius says to Cominius just moments beforehand: “I will go wash / And when my face is fair you shall perceive / Whether I blush or no.” So I washed.

The scene did have a thematic significance. So much of the play, and the poetry of the play, is loaded with references and characters who are obsessed by the body of Martius as an object: how much blood he has shed for his city; how many scars he bears as emblems of his service. His mother, Volumnia (​in our production played with such power and clarity by Deborah Findlay), says in a preceding scene that blood “more becomes a man than gilt his trophy”. Later, during the process of his election to the consulship, to the highest office, Martius is obliged by tradition to go out into the marketplace and display his wounds, in a bid to court public approval; to win the people’s voices. Martius refuses, in contempt for both practice and people.

In the shower scene, Josie wanted the audience to be able to see the wounds that he refuses to show the people later on, but we also wanted to suggest the reality of what those scars have cost him privately. We wanted to show him wincing, in deep pain: that these wounds and scars are not some highly prized commodity, but that beneath the exterior of the warrior-machine, idealised far beyond his sense of his own worth, is a human being who bleeds.

It’s an intense performance, in a three-hour play. How did you unwind after the show? My first thought is that I was always unbelievably hungry. Thankfully, Covent Garden is not short of places to buy a hamburger. I will always be grateful to all of them.

How did you modify your performance for the NT Live filming? The whole production for NT Live was very much the same as it was every night during our 12-week run. Naturally, as a company, we couldn’t help but be aware of cameras on all sides, especially in a space like the Donmar. We were all so grateful that the National Theatre Live team had come over the river to the Donmar. I always hoped the broadcast would capture the headlong intensity of the whole thing. The play opens with a riot, and does not stop.

What have you been watching during lockdown? I was gripped, moved and inspired by The Last Dance, the documentary series about Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls in the mid-90s (Steve Kerr!). Normal People for its two extraordinary central performances from Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar-Jones. I’ve rewatched old tennis matches, which somehow I have found very comforting: in particular, the 2014 Djokovic/Federer Wimbledon final. And – because we all need cheering up – Dirty Dancing.

[thesaltofcarthage]

“Coriolanus” on National Theatre Live’s YouTube channel free this week

A NEW! interview with Tom Hiddleston from The Guardian:

Coriolanus is a play that’s more respected than revered. Why does it have a rather difficult reputation? Coriolanus is relentless, brutal, savage and serious, but that’s why I find it interesting. Shakespeare sets the play in ancient Rome: a far older place than the Rome more familiar to us – of Julius Caesar or Antony and Cleopatra or the later Empire. This Rome is wild. A city-state wrestling with its identity. An early Rome of famine, war and tyranny.

In the central character, Caius Martius Coriolanus, Shakespeare shows how the power of unchecked rage corrodes, dehumanises and ultimately destroys its subject. I’ve read that some find Martius a hard character to like, or to relate to – less effective at evoking an audience’s sympathy than Hamlet, Romeo, Juliet, Rosalind, Othello or Lear. Yet there is a perverse integrity and purity to be found in his obstinacy and honour, which sits alongside his arrogance and contempt.

The play’s poetry is raw and visceral, quite different from the elegance, beauty, clarity and charm found elsewhere in Shakespeare’s work. The warmth and delight to be found in his comedies are absent here. But the unstinting seriousness and intensity of the play is what makes it fascinating.

How well did you know the play? I didn’t know it well. I had seen an early screening of Ralph Fiennes’s terrific film adaptation at the Toronto film festival in September of 2011. I was fascinated by the visceral intensity of the play: the power, hubris, and force of the title character; its lasting political resonance; and the immediacy and profundity of the familial relationships, particularly between mother and son – Volumnia and Martius – which struck me as perhaps the most intense and psychologically complex presentation of that bond I had come across in Shakespeare.

What drew you to Coriolanus as a character? I was fascinated by the evolution of Martius/Coriolanus as a character through the play. His arc is purely tragic. He begins the play as Rome’s most courageous warrior, is quickly celebrated as its most fearsome defender, then garlanded by the Senate and selected for the highest political office.

His clarity of focus, fearlessness and ferocity of spirit, all qualities that make him a great soldier, undo him as a politician. His honesty and pride forbid him from disguising his contempt for the people of Rome, whom he deems weak, cowardly and fickle in their loyalties and affections. He cannot lie. “His heart’s his mouth / What his breast forges that his tongue must vent.” He becomes a tyrant, branded a traitor, an enemy of the people: an uncontained vessel of blistering rage. He is banished, changed “from man to dragon”. Joining forces with his sworn enemy, Aufidius, he plots revenge against Rome: “There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.” And then finally, at the very end, as he watches his own mother, wife and son kneel at his feet and beg for his mercy, he reveals – beneath the hardened exterior of contempt – a tenderness and vulnerability not seen before.

That shift, from splenetic warrior to merciless “dragon” to “boy of tears”, fascinated me – and the fact that his intransigence, valour and vulnerability all seem to be located in, and released by, his complex attachment to his mother.

How does this play about politics and people resonate in today’s society? The play raises the question as to how much power should reside in the hands of any individual: a question that will never go out of date. “What is the city but the people?” cries the people’s tribune, Sicinius (in our production, brilliantly played by Helen Schlesinger). The people must have their voices. And, beneath that, I think the play also raises another complex question as to what degree any individual can withstand the intensity of idealisation and demonisation that comes with the mantle of unmoderated leadership or extraordinary responsibility.

It’s a physical role – how did you prepare for it with fight director Richard Ryan? Josie Rourke and I knew it was important to the clarity of the play that Martius be credibly presented as a physical presence. As a warrior, we are told, he “struck Corioles like a planet”. Big boots to fill. Hadley Fraser, who plays Aufidius, and I began working with Richard Ryan three months before we started full rehearsals on the text of the play. The fight between Martius and Aufidius is a huge opportunity to explore their mutual obsession (“He is a lion that I am proud to hunt”).

We also hoped there would be something thrilling about presenting it at such close quarters in the confined space of the Donmar. We wanted to create a moment of combat that was visceral, brutal and relentless. We knew it would require skill, safety and endless practice. The fight choreography became something we drilled, every day. Hadley was amazing. So committed, so disciplined. It created a real bond of trust between us.

You previously starred in Othello at the Donmar. What’s special about that space? The Donmar is one of the most intimate spaces in London. I must have seen at least a hundred productions there over the last 20 years, and as an audience member it always feels like a thrill and a privilege to feel so close to the action. There’s a forensic clarity to the space: the audience are so close that they see every movement, every look. For actors, there’s nowhere to hide. That’s exciting.

It’s what makes the Donmar special: the closeness, the proximity. Hard to imagine in the wake of Covid-19. Theatres everywhere need all the support they can get. But that’s what’s encouraging about National Theatre at Home. It’s keeping theatre going, but it’s also a reminder that the sector will need real support to stay alive: from the government and from us, the people who love and cherish it.

You previously starred in Othello at the Donmar. What’s special about that space? The Donmar is one of the most intimate spaces in London. I must have seen at least a hundred productions there over the last 20 years, and as an audience member it always feels like a thrill and a privilege to feel so close to the action. There’s a forensic clarity to the space: the audience are so close that they see every movement, every look. For actors, there’s nowhere to hide. That’s exciting.

It’s what makes the Donmar special: the closeness, the proximity. Hard to imagine in the wake of Covid-19. Theatres everywhere need all the support they can get. But that’s what’s encouraging about National Theatre at Home. It’s keeping theatre going, but it’s also a reminder that the sector will need real support to stay alive: from the government and from us, the people who love and cherish it.

There is a rather bloody shower scene – what are your memories of that moment? I remember that the water was extremely cold. But I was always grateful, because the preceding 20 minutes – scurrying up ladders, down fire escapes, into quick changes and sword fights – had been so physically intense that the cold water felt like a great relief. Martius says to Cominius just moments beforehand: “I will go wash / And when my face is fair you shall perceive / Whether I blush or no.” So I washed.

The scene did have a thematic significance. So much of the play, and the poetry of the play, is loaded with references and characters who are obsessed by the body of Martius as an object: how much blood he has shed for his city; how many scars he bears as emblems of his service. His mother, Volumnia (​in our production played with such power and clarity by Deborah Findlay), says in a preceding scene that blood “more becomes a man than gilt his trophy”. Later, during the process of his election to the consulship, to the highest office, Martius is obliged by tradition to go out into the marketplace and display his wounds, in a bid to court public approval; to win the people’s voices. Martius refuses, in contempt for both practice and people.

In the shower scene, Josie wanted the audience to be able to see the wounds that he refuses to show the people later on, but we also wanted to suggest the reality of what those scars have cost him privately. We wanted to show him wincing, in deep pain: that these wounds and scars are not some highly prized commodity, but that beneath the exterior of the warrior-machine, idealised far beyond his sense of his own worth, is a human being who bleeds.

It’s an intense performance, in a three-hour play. How did you unwind after the show? My first thought is that I was always unbelievably hungry. Thankfully, Covent Garden is not short of places to buy a hamburger. I will always be grateful to all of them.

How did you modify your performance for the NT Live filming? The whole production for NT Live was very much the same as it was every night during our 12-week run. Naturally, as a company, we couldn’t help but be aware of cameras on all sides, especially in a space like the Donmar. We were all so grateful that the National Theatre Live team had come over the river to the Donmar. I always hoped the broadcast would capture the headlong intensity of the whole thing. The play opens with a riot, and does not stop.

What have you been watching during lockdown?

I was gripped, moved and inspired by The Last Dance, the documentary series about Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls in the mid-90s (Steve Kerr!). Normal People for its two extraordinary central performances from Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar-Jones. I’ve rewatched old tennis matches, which somehow I have found very comforting: in particular, the 2014 Djokovic/Federer Wimbledon final. And – because we all need cheering up – Dirty Dancing.

Coriolanus streams on YouTube from 7pm on 4 June as part of National Theatre at Home. Available until 11 June. How to make a donation to the National Theatre. How to make a donation to the Donmar Warehouse.

[kainosite]

Les Misérables 2018, Episode 3

Les Mis fandom: Andrew Davies is a scoundrel.  What is he?

Me: ... Scoundwel.

The Good:

• I can’t believe the BBC actually filmed the “Now the people of this town can see you for what you really are” scene of a thousand Valvert fanfics.  They know what the people want.

• The Thénardiers are still fantastic.  Somehow the BBC has achieved the impossible feat of portraying them as loathsome abusers whom you hate with every fiber of your being, while simultaneously making them the fun comic relief you’re sort of rooting for in their capacity as the wacky crime duo.  On Christmas Eve I wanted the Seargeant of Waterloo to burn to the ground with everyone inside it, except for Cosette who was out getting water, Éponine and Azelma who were playing on the swings and Gavroche who was out back playing with Chou Chou or something.  I still grinned when Madame Thénardier cheerily reminded her husband to bring the pistol the next morning.  Striking this balance is a truly impressive achievement that I’ve only seen equalled by the Dallas production of the musical.

Their family dynamics are also coming across very well, sometimes through very subtle touches.  The differential treatment of Éponine and Azelma vs. Cosette and the way the Thénardier girls have been trained by all the adults around them to see Cosette’s abuse as a hilarious game, Gavroche being conscripted to fill Cosette’s role as household drudge once Valjean takes her, Mme. T slipping a bill out of Thénardier’s stash once he goes after Valjean – it’s all really good.

Their reactions to Valjean were good too.  Mme. Thénardier was thoroughly unimpressed with this roughly dressed man she’d decided was a hobo and only reacted with hostility when he was kind to her little whipping girl, but Thénardier as the criminal mastermind of the outfit decided the moment he noticed Valjean paying inordinate attention to Cosette that he must be a pedophile and they’d stumbled upon a lucrative financial opportunity.  I know some people don’t like this change, but honestly it makes a ton of sense.  Valjean’s interest in Cosette is strange, and considering the usual clientele of the inn cheer whenever Mme. T hits the kid with the strap, the Thénardiers aren’t used to seeing other people regard her plight with compassion.  Unlike in the Brick, this Cosette is a very pretty child, something discernible even beneath the dirt.  And it’s Thénardier, so of course he thinks the worst.  Valjean doesn’t volunteer that he’s representing Fantine (perhaps in this universe where he knows Javert is so fixated on him, he’s worried that would make him too easy to trace?), so really, what else is Thénardier meant to think?

• There are some priceless interactions between the protagonists and Thénardier: when he’s trying to haggle and Valjean keeps ignoring him and just repeating “How much?”; Javert’s baffled “Nothing!” when he asks Javert what Javert is planning to do for him.

• Javert and Gavroche’s preliminary encounter over the coffee cup was a nice, subtle touch.

• A+ hair analogy between Fantine last week and Valjean this week.  A+ removal of the godawful ponytail.  That prison barber in Toulon deserves the Légion d'Honneur.

• I’m enjoying Javert’s meteoric rise at the Prefecture and I love Rivette.  “But Kainosite, you love every long-suffering lieutenant.”  Yes, what’s your point?  Javert deserves a long-suffering lieutenant and so do I.  Although it’s hilarious how much Oyelowovert is Fanfic Javert, in his relationship with his subordinates as much as in everything else.

I also enjoyed Javert’s phrenology skull, which I hope he sometimes monologues at Hamlet-style.  A black Javert might hesitate a little before going all-in on phrenology, but I do appreciate his commitment to cutting-edge criminology research.

• LMAO at Javert’s fanart commission.

• Valjean and little Cosette are adorable together, and I really appreciate how much time Davies devoted to just depicting them interacting and letting the relationship breathe.  The strength of their bond is going to be very important later on, especially to Valjean, so it’s worthwhile to establish it now.  And they were suuuuper cute.  This adaptation tends to cut out Hugo’s humor sections, so it was nice to get a bit of relief from the grimness with endearing family time.

• I rather like Cosette calling people “nosy bitches”.  I mean, who socialized this kid?  The Thénardiers, that’s who.  It makes her seem more like a real child and less like a perfect little doll designed to reward first Valjean and then Marius for fulfilling their roles as protagonists.

It’s also an early hint at Valjean and Cosette’s unhealthy isolation and codependency.  The principal tenant is actually fulfilling her duty of care here in a society without any proper system for child safeguarding.  Cosette never seems to leave the apartment, certainly not to attend school or to learn a trade.  There’s no family resemblance between herself and her guardian.  (Incidentally, I’m impressed by how much Mailow Defoy really does look like the child of Lily Collins and Johnny Flynn.  All the matching between the kids and their “parents” has been superb.)  They give inconsistent stories about their relationship.  And Cosette is, as previously mentioned, an exceptionally pretty child.  The principal tenant should be worried - she doesn’t want Hector Hulot taking up residence in her building, and this pair are deeply suspicious.  But they can’t perceive her attention as legitimate concern, just as an unwarranted and unwanted intrusion into their little idyl.

• Similarly, Valjean’s early worries that he’s isolating Cosette too much by denying her all contact with the outside world or other children her own age are a nice piece of foreshadowing, as is her blithe answer that the only friends she needs are Valjean and Catherine.  Of course she’s content: she has food and warmth and security and the undivided attention of a loving adult.  To a child whose previous experience of the world has been so traumatic, their isolation must seem like paradise.  But this isn’t healthy and it isn’t sustainable, and the show is flagging that up early.  In many adaptations Valjean’s Cosette Issues seem to come out of nowhere, so it’s great that they’re laying the groundwork here.

• The whole “For a dark hunt, a silent pack” sequence is very well done.  There’s a nice piece of foreshadowing with the lamplighter hoisting up a candle as Valjean and Cosette are coming into Paris.  (Most of the Parisian lamps are nice flickery ones, although you do occasionally see those peculiar white ones we saw in Montreuil.)

I also appreciate Davies cutting Valjean’s canonical “Be quiet or Mme. Thénardier will catch you and take you back” line to Cosette from the Brick, which was an awful thing to say to a traumatized child.

• Things continue to look right.  The courtroom setup was really quite good.

The Meh:

• After watching the episode twice I think I finally understand what was going on with Javert at the trial.

His plan to entrap Valjean is no less incredibly stupid and risky than it was last week, but at least Javert has finally realized this.  He looks increasingly worried as each convict gives his testimony and identifies Champmathieu because they’re getting closer and closer to the end of the trial and Valjean still hasn’t acted.  Unlike Étienne in the 1952 movie, Oyelowovert has already testified and perjured himself, so he has no failsafe – if Valjean refuses to take the bait then Champmathieu is condemned in his place, the real Valjean is protected from legal pursuit forever, Javert’s perjury has real, long-term, perverse consequences, and Javert needs to find a new career.  The shock we see on his face when Valjean finally confesses is relief and the shock of seeing a scenario he must have played out a hundred times in his dreams becoming a reality before his eyes, or possibly a consequence of him coming in his pants, not shock at the revelation that Madeleine is Valjean.

But there are few members of the audience who are keener observers of Javert’s face than I am.  Most of those people are probably in the Valvert Discord chat, and none of them could figure out this scene on their first viewing either.  We should not have to analyze Javert’s microexpressions to determine the answer to a question as fundamental as “Did Javert sincerely believe Champmathieu was Valjean?”

• On the whole the trial was bad but I did appreciate Brevet just yanking out his suspender to show the court.  Although @prudencepaccard​ is gonna be mad it wasn’t checkered.

• The amount of time it takes Valjean to escape from Toulon is really of no great importance to anything.  Maybe this Javert gave them specific instructions to search him with care so his files kept getting confiscated and it took him longer to file through his chains.  We know the Orion incident never happened in this universe, so maybe it took two years for Valjean to spot a good escape opportunity.  Who knows?  Who cares?  It has zero impact on the plot.

People concerned about the extra time Cosette was left languishing with the Thénardiers should direct their complaints to Brick Valjean, who faffed around in Montreuil for a month while her mother lay on her deathbed constantly asking for her, and only decided to go pick her up once he was under arrest and it would obviously be impossible.  Davies’ sins pale in comparison to Hugo’s in this regard.  At least Westjean tried to send someone to retrieve her.

• ‘Rosalie’?  Okay, fine, but I’m not sure why this adaptation feels compelled to give everyone first and last names.  Thénardier could just call her ‘Darling’.

• I know they also abandon Catherine in the Brick, but in the Brick Valjean doesn’t pause in their flight to pack the candlesticks, the objects that are precious to him, and Cosette doesn’t specifically ask about bringing her.  Put the pillow under the blankets to fake out Javert like a normal person and let your child keep the one toy she’s ever had, what the fuck is wrong with you, Valjean?

On the other hand, the doll is made of dead people and it may be possessed, so perhaps this was just responsible parenting.  I’m calling it a draw.

• It’s not that I have any great objections to giving Simplice more screen time or letting the Mother Superior of the Petit-Picpus convent decide to shelter a convict, but there was no particular reason not to use Fauchelevent for the Fauchelevent plotline.  It’s a small instance of a good deed being paid forward that underlines the main theme of the book, as does Simplice’s act of self-sacrifice in lying to Javert to protect Valjean.  All of that has been lost and nothing has been gained in its place.  (Also is Cosette just... “Cosette Valjean” in this adaptation?  “Cosette Thibault”?)

The Bad:

• If Javert perjures himself to trap Valjean that is an incredibly big deal and we should see it.  I accept that this Javert might do it: Oyelowovert cares about his career and about ruining the lives of criminals, not about the rules.  If he can trap Valjean, superb.  If Champmathieu ends up in the galleys because of it, well, he’s a filthy apple thief and he deserves it.  Javert is subverting the course of justice in the service of a greater social justice.  But this monumental deviation from his Brick characterization, this enormously consequential lie, should not occur off-camera, for fuck’s sake!

Also it’s not clear what reason a Javert who is happy to lie under oath would ever have to throw himself into the Seine.

• Why the hell was Valjean so hostile to the other convicts?  He assumes they’ve been paid off, but... by whom, and to what purpose?  By Javert, to entrap him?  We the viewers at least know that can’t be true – Javert only found out about Champmathieu from the Prefecture, after Champmathieu had already been identified as Valjean.  By the public prosecutor at Arras, who is desperate to close the case of a minor highway robbery that happened almost a decade ago on the other side of the country completely outside his jurisdiction?  By the many enemies of Champmathieu the random hobo, who really want to see him go down for a felony?  It makes absolutely no sense.

Possibilities that make more sense: a) the convicts are sincerely mistaken about the appearance of a guy they’ve not seen in eight years, b) they just wanted to get out of Toulon for a month and they’re willing to say anything to do it because Toulon is a hellhole, as the first episode made exceedingly clear, c) they know perfectly well Champmathieu is not Valjean and they’re lying to protect the liberty of their old comrade by condemning a stranger in his place.  The whole dynamic of this scene – Madeleine, the respected mayor and factory owner, who’s been clean and well-fed and safe for years, yelling at these filthy men in their convict uniforms, Chenildieu with some kind of open wound across his forehead, quite possibly a lash mark – is deeply unpleasant.  It makes Valjean look like a complete asshole and sets a sour tone for the whole episode.

• The entire trial is just off.  Valjean’s off-putting and inexplicable hostility to his fellow convicts, Javert’s mystifying facial expressions, the audience who keep laughing at unfunny lines – the scene just doesn’t work, it doesn’t come together.  It was at something of a disadvantage because I came into it having just watched the 1952 trial scene for the previous episode’s review post, which is the best ever adaptation of the Champmathieu trial, and any other version was likely to pale by comparison.  But this one was particularly poor.

• I said last week we’d have to see what the series made of Valjean’s externalization of his emotions.  Well, what it has made is an awful lot of shouting at everyone, starting with the poor convicts and continuing from there, and also an excess of violence.  Valjean charges into the soldiers in Montreuil-sur-Mer and bowls them over, he threatens to knock Thénardier down and then to blow his head off, he gets Thénardier into a headlock and grapples with him.  Even when Westjean is coming into the convent he has to practically break down the doors.  Everything is violent action with him.  It’s OOC to the point where it’s becoming a problem rather than merely a different interpretation of the character.

All this aggression isn’t even effective at making him seem dangerous!  The thing he does in 1978 where he gently removes Javert’s hand from his collar is vastly more intimidating because it showcases his superhuman strength.  He should have just plucked the gun out of Thénardier’s hand like he was taking it away from a child instead of all this undignified scuffling.

• Tumblr, a humble reviewer has failed in accuracy, and I have come to bring this matter to your attention, as is my duty.

I argued last week that Westjean is not a misogynist: he yells at everyone in his vicinity regardless of gender.  Well, you were right and I was wrong.  That menacing lunge he takes towards Victurnien while screaming at her, calling Mme. Thénardier “woman” and shouting at her to bring his supper, the way he bursts in on the nuns at the end – it all adds up to something pretty unpleasant.

• I have never in my life seen an adaptation that makes Fantine’s death so much about Jean Valjean’s manpain.

If you look a 1978, an adaptation that gives if possible negative fucks about Fantine, it still manages to make the confrontation over her deathbed a conversation between three people, in which she has agency and reacts to what people are saying and is present in some capacity other than that of an object to make Valjean sad.  Someone compared Collinstine to a substitute Coin of Shame, and I think that’s really apt: Valjean is distressed and guilty because he’s failed to rescue Cosette, so he goes to Fantine’s bedside to sear the image of her despairing face onto his retinas in the same way he seared the imprint of Petit Gervais’s forty sous onto his palm.  He’s punishing himself by deliberately upsetting her.  For both Valjean and the camera, this scene is all about Valjean’s feelings and not about Fantine’s.

The person in this room with the biggest problems is not Jean Valjean, for pity’s sake.  I like to see the man cry as much as the next fangirl, but this was vile.

• Valjean’s visit to Fantine on her deathbed is a stupid, irresponsible thing to do and a direct cause of her unhappy death in the Brick and in every adaptation where she survives long enough for Javert to turn up. Valjean knows he has no good news to give her, he knows that the criminal justice system will be after him sooner or later, he knows that having Fantine and Javert together in the same room is a phenomenally bad idea, and he has urgent business in Montfermeil, or if he’s resolved to stay in Montreuil-sur-Mer to await arrest then he urgently needs to designate some representative to go and pick up Cosette in his place.  Instead he loiters by a sick woman’s bedside until Javert shows up and predictably traumatizes her to death.  As a result, Fantine dies in misery and Cosette suffers under the Thénardiers for another year.

But in the Brick it was at least not an insane thing to do.  When he left Arras he was not being pursued, and he reached Montreuil well ahead of the news about the trial.  The magistrates in Arras were in two minds about how to handle the situation.  Given Madeleine’s status, the widespread affection and admiration for him in the region, and the fact that he turned himself in, it’s not inconceivable that had it not been for his little Bonapartist slip in the courtroom, they wouldn’t have issued a warrant for his arrest at all and would simply have sent him a summons to appear at the Var Assizes to stand trial, or directed him to surrender himself at the prison in Montreuil rather than sending Javert after him.  I’m not sure it’s likely, given that he’s a known flight risk and parole violator illegally occupying a public office and they seem keen to get their hands on his fortune, but it’s not inconceivable.

In this adaptation Valjean breaks away from the police in the street and leads them straight to Fantine’s deathbed.  There is no fucking excuse for this.  NONE.  Brick Valjean was a fool to come at all and a bigger fool to stage a massive confrontation with Javert while he was still in the infirmary, but his mistakes were those of a man under immense stress who never bothered to think about Javert long enough to construct a working psychological profile of him.  Westjean’s mistakes were the mistakes of a selfish asshole too caught up in his own feelings of guilt and shame to have any regard for the people he allegedly cares about and wants to help.  Valjean is an extreme deontologist and his actions are always self-absorbed to a certain degree, because they’re fundamentally more about whether he can feel he’s done the right thing than about the actual effects of his actions on other people.  (He and Brickvert have that in common.)  But it should never get to the point where he’s actively harming people to this extent.

• Brickvert doesn’t seem to care for firearms much, and Oyelowovert looks like a jackass waving his two giant pistols around, but he’s a different character and if he’s decided they make him look cool then fine, I guess.  But in that case he should not be intimidated by Valjean’s strength in the infirmary.  You have guns, idiot!  If he threatens you just shoot him in the leg!

Guns completely change the dynamics of this scene, as the Dallas staging of the musical conveys very well.  The BBC handed Javert some pistols and then forgot he had them.

• In 1862 people would probably have found the implication that Catherine has Fantine’s hair to be sweet and charming, because the Victorians loved toting bits of their dead relatives around and hair mementos were so common that no one would have considered it weird.  In 2019 it is CREEPY AND GROSS.  I know there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism but we did not need to know that Cosette’s doll was made from the body parts of desperately impoverished and now dead women, really.

• Oh, so we’re flipping over beds when we fail to catch our favorite fugitive convict now, are we?  Great, now everyone��is yelling.  FFS, Javert, I thought you were supposed to be the emotionally continent one.

• Where was Marius this week???  If Davies was happy to cut that leg of the stool out of whole episodes then why the fuck not just let Georges die when he’s supposed to and let Marius have a coherent character arc?  It makes no sense whatsoever.

I’ve got to be honest, I was not a fan of this episode.  But it did get Valjean and Cosette’s relationship right, and that is the most important relationship in the story.

[abadpoetwithdreams]

Nirvana in Fire Episode 2 Reaction

(Hello, yes, it’s me again, the person who said she’d write a reaction post for every episode she watched and then went and watched SEVEN EPISODES IN THREE DAYS. I have regrets. I actually didn’t even want to stop watching long enough to write this, but I have to before I get too much deeper in. Everything below is written from my episode notes I made while watching episode 2 for the first time, so none of my later knowledge applies, here. I actually know names much better now, obviously. Also I continue to do really badly at not getting attached to anyone. Comically badly, really. I’m setting myself up for a lot of grief, I can tell.)

• So, episode two of Nirvana in Fire! We start this episode by immediately focusing on the princess (whose name is Ni Huang) which I was not expecting but which I welcomed wholly. After she had such a fun, powerful introduction, as well as that cheeky conversation with the Emperor, I am happy that her character gets even more fleshed out here. The fact that she is still unmarried is apparently a Big Deal, because until she is safely paired off with a suitable husband, she is a political wild card. Whoever marries her will essentially have her army of 10,000 men as a dowry, with all the clout that entails, making the Emperor anxious to arrange her marriage as quickly as possible. Unusually for this sort of story, though, he actually cares about her enough that he has let her put off marriage for a many years, so that’s rather sweet. He even seems proud that so many guys are interested in marrying her, which is cute. (He wavers between being proud that she’s so awesome and that so many people would want her, and being worried that so many people want her for the power she has.) In fact, even though this whole tournament for her suitors that he’s arranging seems like a final ultimatum, he seemingly is also going ahead and letting her have final combat with the top candidates, so I guess he’s potentially still letting it slide—for now.

• And why hasn’t she married, even though she is (as he friend so kindly tells her) no longer young? OH I CAN GUESS. *senses Doomed Romance looming closer*

• Side-note: I wish the Emperor’s eunuch buddy would stop smiling. He’s incredibly creepy. The performance reminds me of whoever played Osric in the Tennant production of Hamlet (arguably my favourite Hamlet: that perpetual smile that’s hilarious but also massively unsettling).

• Also Ni Huang has a younger brother? And he is going to take over the army now? Because the emperor is worried about the popularity and influence Ni Huang has among her own army? I’d say the Emperor is being needlessly paranoid, but I’ve watched various Asian period dramas before. He’s right to be skittish.

• Ok and then we get introduced to a general (??) who is immediately also on my list of faves in this show (I said I wouldn’t pick favourites. I SAID I WOULDN’T GET ATTACHED. GAH) because he is introduced with some great drumming music and while punching out two people at once, and also he has fantastic eyebrows and is maybe the only person on this entire show so far who has a Beard that isn’t an Evil Beard. Excellent. He seems very fierce and reminds me a lot of our hero’s surly teen bodyguard, and now I want them to fight.

• The prince who isn’t the Crown Prince (Yu, I have gathered his name is—see, I’ll get all the names gradually, I should have them all solidly by the end of ep3. Being able to keep track of a million names and complicated family trees is one of my Silmarillion powers) seems increasingly snakey every time I see him. This time it’s him praising the two guys the general beat up to his face, and then going off to scold them harshly and be really generally mean later. A harmless bit of two-faced-ness? Mayyyyyybe. But I’m guessing this is just the tip of the iceberg with this guy.

• He has really beautiful clothes, though. That red and gold. NICE.

• We finally come back to Chang Su—yeah, I know I was going to call him Lin Shu last episode because that was the first name I remembered, but everyone’s calling him Mei Chang Su so I’ve picked up on that now and will stick with that I guess… Or, actually, I’ll probably just start using all the names interchangeably and be both confusing and confused. It’s fine.

• Anyway, our mysterious man in white (side note: I adore the simplicity of his costume and how it makes him look even more washed out and ghostly when surrounded by the vibrant colors and detailed patterning of all the other men’s costumes) is hanging out at the Marquis’ house where he is reading and drinking tea in the garden, which just makes me like him more because that is how I, too, like to spend my time. His angry teen bodyguard is busy jumping from rooftop to rooftop and wire-flying through the air, as one does. The bodyguard’s name is Fei Liu and I adore him. More of this kid, please, show, and thanks.

• Chang Su sends Fei Liu out to play, and when Jing Rui wonders at that, Chang Su assures him it’s fine: Fei Liu has a good temper. Immediately I know something is up. Either that, or our entire premise that Chang Su is a brilliant strategist is a lie, because that teen murder machine is the angriest character in this entire show and you’d have to be an idiot to think otherwise.

• These boys, by the way—Jing Rui and … Something Jin? His happy sidekick— continue to be the nicest, most cheerful and pleasant duo. They’re in temperment like the Merry and Pippin of this show. Every time I see them in a scene with Chang Su I get intensely uncomfortable because I’m certain he doesn’t really see them as the friends they think they are to him.

• And then I get my wish and the general and Fei Liu have a mighty sky and roof battle, and it’s glorious. The cinematography is so good in this show, it really lets the wirework and choreography shine. Usually I prefer my combat more House of Flying Daggers over the top and less Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon over the top, but it’s working for me 100% here. The dancer in me digs it.

• “I will be sure to discipline him” -Yeah, sure you will, Chang Su. Suuuuure.

• The general seems suspicious, but that’s only to be expected when you are accosted by a strange, vicious, flying child in a garden.

• “There is nothing exceptional about me. Except for my stunning good looks.” -Chang Su, when questioned by the general. I might have added that last part.

• Fei Liu’s faceplant of shame against the wall made me laugh out loud. Gosh, I love this kid.

• And! It turns out Jing Rui’s brother with the sneaky face was eavesdropping for Prince Yu, and of course when he scuttles away to report his findings we cut to Chang Su looking immensely smug. Yup, he planned that whole fight out. This guy.

• Meanwhile, the Marquis is in the pocket of the Crown Prince, and reports to him the same news. But these guys go a step further and not only are they planning to win Chang Su over; they are planning that if they can’t win him, they will kill him! I’m just assuming Yu hasn’t thought that far ahead.

• “I took to the battlefield in my armor when I was seventeen years old. After witnessing bloody battles for seventeen years, all I have left is a heart of steel.” -Ni Huang, lying. But also continuing to be immensely quotable.

• Also her friend is a super-important intelligence agent? She has this fantastically dangerous attitude, so I can’t wait to see more of her. I love how competent these women are, and they aren’t presented as awesome warriors simply as window-dressing; they make their awesomeness seem earned and genuine and an core part of their characters, so well done show (or novel? I think this is an adaptation of a book? Either way, bravo, and bravo to the actresses for being so effortlessly cool).

• It’s another prince! Prince Jing, this time, and I love this guy immediately. He has a perpetually sad grumpy face but the more you see of his life the more it’s understandable. Guy has it rough. But he seems to be very close with Ni Huang, which is yet another point in his favor! His short, abrupt mannerisms are hilarious, when contrasted with his brothers’ constant waffling and wheedling and whining.

• Oh, and a thread I had questions about last episode gets pulled out a little more: Ni Huang’s friend in the intelligence force was one of those who investigated Lin Shu’s family all those years ago and who came to the conclusion that they were treasonous due to (what I am assuming was planted) evidence that Prince Jing thinks was bogus. He still hasn’t forgiven her, and she still hasn’t forgiven him for continuing to think well of the traitor who killed her husband. Supposedly. Furthermore, Ni Huang also still does not believe Lin Shu and his family were guilty, which hurts her friend’s feelings. Sheesh, I can’t wait for whenever the flashbacks start and we can ACTUALLY SEE what happened 12 years ago! Everyone’s lives seem to be divided into a before and after centered around that event, whether they realize it or not, but everyone also has different takes on what happened. The pay off had better be amazing, because the constant teasing is killing me.

• So now we come to what I thought was going to be the worst scene of the episode, where the Emperor makes poor Prince Jing just stand at attention, ignored, outside his palace and then legit forgets about him and we get all this backstory about how his father treats him harshly due to his sympathizing with Lin Shu’s family and inability to keep his mouth shut and I just felt so bad for this poor guy. But sidenote: the Emperor’s happy air-calligraphy as he admires the handwriting he was looking at when Prince Jing first arrived made me laugh. I really, really like whoever this actor is who’s playing the Emperor. I don’t think I’ve seen him before. But he gives what could easily be yet another trope-y Emperor role a lot of nuance.

• And then when Jing is finally allowed inside, the Crown Prince immediately starts haranguing him about how filthy he looks and why didn’t he go home to clean up first and I wanted to slap him. And then slimy Prince Yu cuts in to argue against the Crown Prince in an attempt to get Good Son Points from their Emperor Dad, and I wanted to slap him, too. My gosh, they’re a pair of five-year-olds.

• Also, Prince Jing continues to be very laconic, but I love that he is both quieter than his brothers AND plagued by the problem that he doesn’t know WHEN to shut up. Someone who speaks their mind like he does and who cares more about what is Right instead of what is Safe reeeeeally needs someone a bit more sneaky and pragmatic looking out for them. Someone like … CHANG SU? HMMMMMMM

• Jing Rui fiercely defending his buddy Chang Su from court politics, and then proudly saying his father is neutral in politics (oh poor boy) is so Good, it breaks my heart.

• And with that it’s finally the start of the tournament to find Ni Huang a husband! Fei Liu angrily fails at putting a ribbon in his hair in the background of a scene and I had to rewind to actually pay attention to what the boys were saying because it distracted me. Chang Su is still being the most polite little troll and is like ‘hey, how about we show up SUPER LATE’ all the while surely knowing that the two princes are desperate for a glimpse of him. He really wants to make a big entrance, ahahaha.

• Ni Huang’s baby brother is PRECIOUS. I ADORE HIM. “Princess Ni Huang probably doesn’t worry as much about this tournament as the young prince” PRECIOUS I SAY.

• I’m perplexed by how expressive Hu Ge can make his expressionless face be. He emotes a lot without emoting at all and it’s uncanny. There was a whole story on his face when he commented on how close Ni Huang and her brother are, and I REALLY WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT IS.

• And then this show briefly turns into a brilliant comedy where Prince Yu and the Crown Prince basically both race out of their private box to where Chang Su is and immediately start trying to win him over with a forcefulness that grows in awkwardness and eagerness until it’s basically a farce. It’s glorious. And once again I have to commend the acting in this scene, because what they’re saying isn’t even inherently funny; it’s the way they say it and the pacing and their expressions that made me rewatch this scene twice just so I could cackle over it again. Jing Rui increasingly offput by their posturing, Chang Su increasingly dying inside, Yu Jin completely oblivious. Hysterical. Also there’s a shot that makes me realize the reason why I like Chang Su’s face and specifically his eyes so much is because he has this weird resemblance to Buster Keaton, so there’s that.

• AND NOW WE COME TO THE WONDERFUL GRAND EMPRESS DOWAGER SCENE.

• JUST A NICE SCENE WITH A NICE OLD LADY AND HER DOTING GRANDKIDS.

• JUST A NICE HAPPY FAMILY SCENE. • YUP.

• NOTHING ELSE TO SAY HERE.

• … .

• Ok no, that’s all a lie, but I had been lulled into a false sense of security by the hilarity of the fighting princes, so I thought this was just going to be cute. And at first, it was. Well, after Lin Shu’s brief, unusually intense moment with Fei Liu where he orders him on exactly how he is to behave with the old lady, that is. “She’s the kindest grandmother in the world,” he says, his eyes drifting to middle distance, and I got a little choked up. But it’s ok, the moment is brief, just enough to color the next scene with poignancy, and I thought that was it. He gives his instruction, he goes in, everything seems fine (except for the fact that he seems legit scared to look his grandmother in the face, THIS POOR MAN), Yu Jin is a cheerful doof as usual, the Empress Dowager is DELIGHTFUL and her obsession with everyone’s marital status is charming (as is Jing Rui’s discomfiture, I like his hair-down look btw), Fei Liu makes an epic eyeroll and continues to climb in my esteem, and then—

• Dangit.

• Ok, so story time: I don’t know Chinese. Not at all. I am ¼ Chinese, actually, as well as ¼ Japanese, but I know more Japanese because I have never been in contact with my Chinese side of the family as much. Anyway, so I have always relied entirely on subtitles when watching Chinese media, but dramafever’s subtitles have seemed a little inconsistent to me. And I THINK they were in this scene. Because when Jing Rui introduced himself to his aged great-grandmother, she asked if he was “Xiao Rui,” according to the subtitles, and he said yes. Now, I figured something was up here because I could have sworn his name was Jing Rui? So I paused the episode for a quick detour to google, and apparently Xiao means small??? Which makes sense contextually and is super cute????? So this meant I was like ‘Aww, how sweet’ and then went back to the episode full of warm fuzzy feelings and a vague sense of accomplishment, hit play, and was armed with just enough Chinese knowledge to feel the moment when that kindly old woman calls Lin Shu “Xiao Shu” LIKE A FREAKING FREIGHT TRAIN OF PAIN. HIS EXPRESSION WAS MY EXPRESSION IN THAT MOMENT. AUGHHHHHHHHH

• AND THEN • IT JUST

• KEEPS

• GOING

• She comments on how thin and sickly he looks and I was like bye

• And then that horrid woman who I THINK is the Crown Prince’s mother (out of everyone it’s all the women in the court that I have the most trouble differentiating, which is weird because I should be able to tell them apart easily by their headdresses but idk) makes a joke about haha she said he’s thin and she called him small Su what a rascal that grandmother and meanwhile both Chang Su and I are over here dying inside and I’m like bYe

• And then she gives him a stupid snack that was his favorite when he was a kid because she can’t remember anything recent but by golly she’s going to remember what her grandkids like and that reminded me of my own great-grandmother who had this same memory problem due to a stroke but anyway he takes it and looks absolutely terrified by both the emotional battering he’s getting and also the possibility his cover will be blown, probably, and he wraps that thing up in his hands like it’s the most precious thing in the world and I was like bYE

• And then good ol’ grandma is like “Hey, Ni Huang, get over here and hold hands with your boyfriend” and I was like BYE

• And then when the Empress Dowager is getting distressed because the women are all telling her ‘Oh, that isn’t Shu, they aren’t getting married, she broke her engagement years ago’ Ni Huang is obviously hurting and tries to quietly slip away but HE GRABS Her HAND LIKE HE JUST CANT HELP HIMSLEF ANDHER FACE I WAS JUST AAAAAGHHHHHHHHFSLSLWHDKls:KdJk:SK;;;;;

• And my girl Ni Huang, she knows. She doesn’t know what she knows, but she KNOWS.

• “Xiao Shu, you’re leaving?” *DEAD*

• Also that music came back

• Dangit

• I don’t even know what else happened in the episode after that. I had to go back and rewatch it for this post because I was so shook. Ni Huang, bright thing that she is, corners Chang Su and asks him to walk with her, and she starts probing at him to try to figure out why he behaved so oddly and why she felt so strange with him (ok the last is more me speculating based on the actress’ body language and expressions more than anything in the actual text, but it’s definitely what’s going on ok). And they are the perfect couple they’re both so sharp and even their colors compliment each other and I’m very distressed.

• And then the episode ends with a child getting beaten up. The end.

I’m exhausted. On to episode 3.

[bgb16999]

Repeated viewings and horror

     I was listening to a discussion recently about sequels to horror movies.  Several of the participants in the discussion asserted that a sequel featuring the same villain couldn’t be as scary as the original, because “once you’ve seen the villain, they stop being scary.”  The same people also claimed that any work of horror fiction would not be as good the second time you read/watch it, for the same reason.

     Upon hearing this assertion, I thought about my favorite works of horror, and I don’t believe that assertion is true.  In fact, I think the best horror gets better upon repeated viewings, not worse.  Of course, since I barely every watch movies, my favorites are all plays and musicals.    

     Let’s start with one of my favorites: Sondheim, Bond, and Wheeler’s Sweeney Todd.  We get to see the villainous title character in the very first song, and he remains on stage for much of the show.  Yet, the aura of terror he projects is not in any way “diminished by overexposure.”  Instead, we get to see the inner workings of Benjamin Barker’s mind.  We see as he progresses from a refugee just trying to find his family, to someone who will kill to silence blackmail, and then to being driven to kill by revenge.  Seeing everything unfold only adds to the dramatic power when we witness Todd’s ultimate change in heart, as he concludes “they all deserve to die.”

     Jumping to a slightly more recent example, from the first moment we see Thomas Parker in Laurence O’Keefe’s Bat Boy, there is no question as to what kind of a person Parker is.  The very first thing we see Thomas do is threaten to kill his wife’s son in front of her unless she has sex with him right away.  There really is no doubt in the audience’s mind that he is the villain of the story.  And when he concocts his Grand Plan, he doesn’t hide it from the audience; he sings his plan to us as he is thinking of it.  The people he does keep it a secret from are the rest of the cast.

     That means that when Parker kills his first victim, we know why he’s doing it, and we know how he intends to frame his step-son for the killing.  Had we just seen him start randomly killing people, or had we seen minor characters start dropping dead without knowing who the killer was, the show wouldn’t have had the same effect.  Ruthie Taylor, Parker’s first victim, is not a particularly important character.  We don’t really know much about her.  The reason we care about her death isn’t that we’ve lost a major character (since we haven’t), it’s because we care about the killer’s motivations and objective.  Knowing who the killer is from the beginning makes Parker a better horror villain.

     And since we know what Thomas Parker’s plan is all along, he is no less powerful the 10th time you’ve watched the show as the first time.  Between the first time I saw Bat Boy and the second, I listened to the music more times than I’d like to admit, and my appreciation for Parker as an antagonist only increased on subsequent viewings.

     Stepping back in time a few centuries, Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Macbeth both contain elements of what would later become the horror genre.  Both of these plays have been analyzed extensively by people who write much better than me, so no analysis I give of them would offer new insights.  Yet, these proto-horror plays have remained popular centuries after their original production.  That fact indicates that repeated readings/viewings of Hamlet and Macbeth do not diminish their appeal.  

     Jumping forwards in time again, let’s consider Tom Kitt and Brian Yorkey’s Pulitzer Prize winning Next to Normal.  Even though he is in some ways a symptom of a real mental illness, Gabe has many characteristics of the classic horror villain. He cannot be destroyed, and always comes back to haunt the protagonist. Even when Diana loses her memory of everything else, Gabe finds a way back to remind her of him. And, as he says himself, Gabe "feed[s] on the fear that's behind your eyes." Nevertheless, Gabe is present on stage for the entire show. The fact that Gabe is always visible is what gives him his power as a psychological horror villain. The reason he is scarey such a strong antagonist is because you can't get rid of him. Like Di herself, the audience sees that Gabe is always there, always present, always talking. He cannot be forgotten, and there is no escape. By making sure the audience sees Gabe all the time, the writers give the audience a sense of what life is like for Diana. By seeing, and not merely being told, what Di is experiencing, the audience can understand why having to see Gabe all the time is such a debilitating mental illness. Even when Di herself leaves, Dan still sees Gabe, "the one who's always been there." Had the writers decided to keep him off-stage for most of the show, we wouldn't get to see inside Diana's mind, and the impact of the story would be nullified. Being a constant visible presence doesn't weaken him from "overexposure," it makes him into a worthy antagonist. 

     I’d be remiss not to mention the two modern musicals which have “horror” in their titles, even though I am not sure that either are actually horror. The first is Howard Ashman and Alan Menken’s Little Shop of Horrors.  As in the previous examples, the villain in this play is on stage the entire time.

In Litte Shop, we get to see Seymour's progression from an ordinary person, to someone who is willing to kill if the person he is killing is really bad, to someone who is willing to kill his surrogate father to cover his own tracks. Then we get to seem his decision to continue killing at all costs, to keep his romantic relationship, before ultimately feeling remorse and trying in vain to redeem himself. Through everything that happens, the Audrey II is onstage, either in Seymour's hand or in the background. Even for scenes not set in the shop, many productions keepy the larger Audrey II puppets on set for the later parts of Act I and all of Act II. Seymour is onstage most of the time because the story is told from his perspective. Like Sweeney Todd before him, the fact that we get to see Seymour's motivations is what makes him a powerful character. And like with Gabriel Goodman, the Audrey II's precense continuous precense onstage allows the audience to feel the protagonist's inescapable horror. Even when Seymour is nowhere near the plant, he still has thoughts about the Audrey II in the back of his mind. In the show, by keeping the Audrey II onstage the entire time, we are getting a window into Seymour's mind, in which the evil alien plant is always present. Once again, prolonged exposure makes the antagonist a more powerful villain, not less.

The other famous musical with "horror" in the title is The Rocky Horror Show. There isn't really a "villain" in Rocky Horror. However, this show does present a nice counterexample to those who claim that horror loses its power upon repeated viewings. Whilst the original Rocky Horror Show has only moderate popularity, the film adaptions has a cult following, with people rewatching it year after year. The fact that rewatching the Picture Show continues to be popular speaks for itself.

     There may be some works of horror which rely on a shock value that is diminished if the audience has seen it before.  I contend, however, that that is a weakness of those particular works of fiction, not of horror as a whole.