Matthew eats… This is Going to Hurt

I don’t normally like medical dramas. They are far too serious and po-faced whilst also somehow being so ludicrously melodramatic you have to significantly suspend your belief. It just doesn’t feel human, or warm. Plus too much blood and gore.

So why did I watch This is Going to Hurt? Well, for a start I had always been tempted to read the book, having found the excerpts I had come across funny and genuine. Plus it seemed to be a lot more ‘real’ so to speak. I instantly felt there was going to be a sincerity to it.

Essentially, the show is an adaptation of Adam Kay’s book of the same name. It is a memoir of a junior doctor on the maternity and gynecological ward (or ‘Brats and Twats’ as it is known) and tells the story of the pressures the NHS faces. Quite simply, a population that will not or cannot look after itself and an institution that has too few resources.

All of this could be quite grim, but the show is far from it. Adam himself is a rich, complex person. Yes there is a scathing dark humour about him and a touch of arrogance. But he is also capable of empathy, cares for his patients and has some charm. We also feel sympathetic as his personal life suffers in the face of professional pressures. Ben Wishaw plays him perfectly, and you immediately take his side against superiors, bureaucrats and idiots that surround him.

This is what makes this show worth watching, the fact it feels it has a very human face. We aren’t dealing with people who have ridiculous love triangles or are psychopaths. Adam is a normal person facing extraordinary situations.

It would have been easy to have made this a saccharine love letter to the NHS. But it isn’t. It’s honest about the failings not just of the institution itself, but of the general population who misuse it. We see people make mistakes and crack under the pressure, but we also see them sacrifice the rest of their life to make it work. It would be amazing if politicians watched this so they could think about how to protect it long term. But they won’t. Presumably not enough melodrama for them.

Matthew eats… The Pursuit of Love

There seems to be a fashion when it comes to adapting classic novels for not just making amendments, but almost completely reinventing the story. Bridgerton and its multi-cultural cast is the most-talked about, although it is also worthwhile noting the use of modern pop songs as well. The latter isn’t new, but it is certainly becoming more popular, as if to reach a younger audience (The Great Gatsby adaptation by Baz Luhrmann also did this to great effect).

Also deploying this trick is The Pursuit of Love, the BBC’s adaptation of the Nancy Mitford novel. Written and set in the 1920’s, the score is decidedly rock ‘n’ roll, a riot of noise and colour.

The story follows cousins Linda and Fanny. Fanny is all mousy and bookish, well educated but conventional (bar her feminist leanings). Linda meanwhile is loud and charismatic, determined to explore her sexuality but completely uninterested in sexual equality. Emily Beecham as Fanny is very good, but as expected with the character, it is Lily James as Linda who steals the show. She brings to life the tormented energy of our heroine, whilst also showing that for all her exuberance, there is still a fundamental naivety to Linda.

The genius casting doesn’t end there. Andrew Scott shimmers as Linda’s bohemian neighbour, in a role that has a camp edge but avoids tripping into cartoon. Dominic West revels in his role as misogynist Uncle Matthew, a neat satire that speaks of the jingoism of today as it did back then. Dolly Wells meanwhile is criminally underused as his wife, but maybe the fault there is with the source material.

The story certainly bounces along, almost too quickly at times. It is hard to know how much time passes in the first episode, leaving you slightly disorientated. I’m not normally one for spoon feeding information to the viewer, but a bit more of a timeline would have assisted.

But that is a minor concern. It is a story full of satirical comedy but with a sadness behind it all. The disappointments of life hit our leads hard, even if they choose not to show it. What matters though is we get swept up in the journey. And when that journey is as irrepressible as Linda, you realise the rock ‘n’ roll isn’t as out of place after all.

Matthew eats… The Luminaries

I sometimes wish I was more of an intellectual TV watcher. I could make blog posts enthusing over the latest documentary on BBC4 about the art of some ancient culture, or wax lyrical on the latest European drama import that is so very profound. I would probably write these posts in a designer chambray shirt, smart chinos and moccasins whilst researching art shows in Soho or the like.

Instead, I often present to you a sitcom, or fantasy series, the occasional mainstream drama etc. Yes, there is the odd documentary, but they have to be fronted by Ian Hislop to keep my attention. And I write in t-shirt and jeans, often quietly vexed that I can’t get passed a particular level on Candy Crush.

Sometimes though, I take it upon myself to watch something that is lauded as intellectual fare. And more often than not, I regret it. A feeling that life is too short overwhelms me, and I find myself wishing I had just watched a repeat of QI.

Such is the case with The Luminaries. I should have known from the fact it is from a Booker prize-winning novel. Few novels that win such prizes are written for the enjoyment of the reader, but rather to make us think something deep. So it is no wonder the adaptions of them often are likewise.

The plot is that Anna and Emery meet on a journey to New Zealand at the height of the gold rush. Anna is tricked by the covetous Lydia Wells into becoming her servant and then later a prostitute, hooked on laudanum and opium. Meanwhile, Emery goes on a journey of self-discovery with a Maori friend. Flash forward a year and Anna is being accused of killing a man whilst finding Emery’s spirit inhabiting her.

It is every bit as bleak, odd and worthy as it sounds. You feel every scene is screaming ‘Look how profound this is!’ at you, whilst you watch miserable people do miserable things in miserable towns. There are probably more professional critics everywhere writing meaningful essays on the use of landscape and magical realism. Me? I want to know if anyone ever bloody smiles.

To be fair, I can’t do down the acting. Everybody is ridiculously good, most notably Eva Green as the villainous Lydia. And people who gobbled up the book will be satisfied with the adaptation.

But a time when joy is limited, we could do without fictional worlds being as downcast as the real one. Let us escape our problems and resist watching someone else’s. There’s a reason I don’t watch anything too deep. It’s because I don’t want to drown.

Matthew eats… Dracula

It is one thing to adapt a book for the first time, where you can probably get away with playing it safe as no one wants anything more than a visual retelling of the text, quite another to do one that has already been done over and over again. You need to put a new spin on it to survive without upsetting the purists, or ignoring them all together.

So fair play to Steven Moffatt and Mark Gatiss for their adaption of Dracula. They have given the novel a makeover and upped the horror, intensified the sexuality and accentuated the dry wit. It is all very well done. So why do I dislike it?

Well, for me there are some changes you just can’t make, and this is where I have to warn there are spoilers ahead, at least for episode one, which is all I have seen so far. My main bugbear is the decision to kill off Jonathan Harker and make him one of the undead. I just fail to see the point of it other than to shock. It brings nothing else to the narrative.

In turn, this makes Mina come across as exceptionally wimpy, hopelessly and foolishly in love with Jonathan. In the novel she is strong and the heroine, braver than even many of the men. It seems odd to rewrite her as someone so meek and emotional.

On the flipside, there are some good points. Dolly Wells is magnificent as Sister Agatha, who it is later revealed as being a Van Helsing. She is witty and cynical, and is probably the most-arresting character for viewer bar the Count himself.

Speaking of which, Claes Bang is excellent as Dracula. The malevolence of the character is turned up to 11 and beyond. He is wittier than most incarnations, as well as more open with his sexuality.

This is an adaptation for the strong of stomach. The horror and the gore are not dialled back in the slightest. There are moments where it feels overdone (take for example the zombie baby), which again will anger us purists.

All the deviations from the original plot do have one advantage though. We are left guessing how it is going to end. The tone suggests there is no guarantee that good will triumph here, or even that there is a good at all. For that reason alone it is worth seeing the programme through. I just hope I can still get to sleep at night. Not out of horror, but because of my fury at how they have rewritten the book.

Matthew eats… His Dark Materials

The latest adaptation to hit the small screen is His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman, based on the trilogy of books of the same name. I loved this series as a teenager to the point where any criticism of it pained me and I credit it as being one of the driving factors of me becoming agnostic. Even Harry Potter played second fiddle to this world.

This led to me naturally being sceptical of any attempt to adapt it. I avoided the movie version, hearing few good things about it and was nervous about this attempt as well. Books are always about the detail whereas film and TV is the bigger picture, and detail is where fantasy thrives.

Thankfully, it seems I have little to worry about. The grand scale has been neatly reflected and is visually stunning. It has led to the term ‘deco-punk’ to describe the 1920’s world transferred to modern times, and the dark glamour of the era is beautifully reflected.

The cast is not to be sniffed at either. Ruth Wilson emanates that very same touch of beautiful noir as the setting does, an air of menace about her that you can see occasionally bubbling away under her charisma. James McAvoy is also excellent in his role, although the scenes are often stolen by his daemon voiced by Helen McCrory.

They have also made a good fist of relaying the plot whilst adding the extra touches that TV allows. The Gyptians role is expanded, as is Roger, who in the book disappears abruptly. This adaptation has cleverly sought to enhance rather than change the story to make up for any shortfalls in the fantastic that may occur.

It is hard to find any flaws, or at least ones that can’t be forgiven in an opening episode. It always takes a while to get the complexities of characters over to an audience, and enough hints are dropped to suggest that this will happen. Likewise, though the plots seem distinct from each other, they still feel weaved together and conducive, giving the viewer faith they will all pull together.

Overall, this is a delightful Sunday evening treat. I hope the investment is repaid and we get to see the full series of books adapted. It is triumphant, so good that any divergence from the books are forgotten and forgiven. This will be a delight to watch as winter descends.

 

Matthew eats… Sanditon

Adapting a novel for television is normally straightforward. Yes, you may want to update the language so as not to be un-PC and it is wise to cut any weak subplots (or add new ones to stretch out the series of more episodes than the material gives you), but overall the work is one for you.

So how then do you approach adapting an unfinished novel? It can be hard enough with a good author to guess how the final few chapters are going to go, but when you have less than half a book you are faced with countless questions.

This is the issue facing Sanditon, an incomplete Jane Austen novel that only had around 50-odd pages completed. It does help that Austen stories fit a clear pattern, but even so, it is quite a challenge. Yet perhaps it is also strangely liberating – the final destination of the characters are in the screenwriters hands and, so long as it feels like it fits the pattern, should not upset fans too much.

Sanditon focus on the story of Charlotte Heywood, a country girl invited by a wealthy family to the new seaside resort of Sanditon, which is being built around their ears. All the stereotypes of Austen are there – the dangerous young man (Edward Denham), the imposing matriarchal aristocrat (Lady Denham) and the brooding hunk (Sidney Parker).

The plot is therefore obvious – Charlotte is to initially dislike Sidney, with a mutual feeling in response, before some tragedy brings them together and makes them see each other in a new light, with other obstacles (not least the social order) getting in their way of being together.

To be fair, it is done well. Two episodes in and we are the still not liking each other stage, although Sidney has appeared naked in front of Charlotte, which is one of many things I’m not convinced Austen would have included. I doubt many viewers would have complained though, especially as Poldark has come to an end and Theo James clearly knows his way round a gym.

But it is the subplots that are more interesting. Firstly, the plotting of Edward and his sister Esther to sully the reputation of Lady Denham’s ward Clara in order to gain her inheritance. This also is very forward compared to traditional Austen, with its references, albeit coded, to hand jobs. It almost feels as if the book has been confused with some kind of Regency version of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

The other is the heirless Miss Lamb, the daughter of a sugar plantation owner and a former slave. Cynics might see it as deliberate casting of an ethnic minority. I personally think it adds to the battle of social orders Austen often included in her novels. Miss Lamb is hating England and her guardian Sidney. A friendship is forming with Charlotte though, which gives her another reason to throw her in the path of our hero.

Perhaps the best thing is to pretend this isn’t an adaption at all and is an entirely new creation. It allows us to hang those questions about its sincerity to the original text out to dry. Instead, let us wallow in everything and enjoy this slightly more edgy period drama. Not everything has to be authentic.

Matthew eats… Picnic at Hanging Rock

A while ago, I talked about adaptations and what purpose they served. Surely people who read the book would be too frustrated with any changes, and those who hadn’t wouldn’t have the motivation to watch? Hence my general rule not to watch them unless I really wanted to.

I broke my rule with Picnic at Hanging Rock. One of my excuses is that I didn’t know the book existed, or even the previous film adaptation for that matter. The other is that there was nothing else on. To be honest, that was the more powerful one.

The plot revolves around three girls and a teacher going missing on a school trip. The school in question is a ladies finishing school run by Ms Appleyard (played by Natalie Dormer), a figure with a mysterious past that is hidden beneath a tough exterior. There are therefore two mysteries, what happened to the people who disappeared and what is Ms Appleyard hiding exactly from her past?

We get hints of the latter throughout, with the general picture being one that she is some form of con artist who helped fleece men for money. This led the viewer to unfortunately seeing a very ugly penis in the second episode, which made relieved I had not chosen to partake in supper that night.

Having said that, it is beautifully shot. Everything has that dream-like edge that heightens the sense of mystery and ties in nicely to the theme of superstition that dominates. It can leave you feeling quite woozy in places, and you need your wits about you to follow the plot at times, but there is some excellent shot framing.

Dormer is also brilliant, playing Ms Appleyard with the right amount of austereness balanced with a creeping paranoia. Her scenes are by far the strongest and you find yourself gobbling up every icy bon mot that comes out of her mouth.

The scenes with the ‘coven’ of the teenage girls go missing are also strong, particularly in the second episode onwards where the politics of the group are clearer. The sexually questionable Mike Fitzhubert is also intriguing, especially is barely hidden crush for one of his servants. These characters all slip into the dream weaving quite nicely.

Sadly, the show falls when it steps out of this into the real world – the police doing routine questioning, the everyday admin of school running. You are shaken out of the state you are put in. You also feel that it could afford to go a little deeper, that if you were really to study what was going on it could be potentially just some well-made bobbins.

It is still a good distraction though, albeit one that will no doubt be frustratingly open ended in its resolution. Try and ignore the fact it is often style over substance. Come for Dormer and the mystery, stay for the weirdness.

Matthew eats… The Woman In White

I avoid adaptations as a rule. If it is a book I have no interest in reading, why would I want to see a TV version? If I do want to read it, why would I spoil the pleasures of it? And if I have read it, why would I want someone else’s interpretation ruining mine? I can’t help but thinking if everybody followed this logic, then there would be a lot more space for some original programmes to me made.

Yet every so often one suckers me in. It helps if I’m nostalgic about the book, the reading of it conjuring up a time in my life. Plus there are surely some books that they can’t mess around with that much.

Such is the case with The Woman in White. I read this at university and loved it. Victorians knew how to do Gothic sensationalism. Menacing aristocrats, creepy buildings, women who would kill you as quick as kiss you, it’s all there. And there is nothing like sinking your teeth into a good mystery. It transfers to TV so easily that it seems silly to faff about with it.

Yet there has been faff. First, an artsy narrative structure has been imposed of characters giving statements to a solicitor dealing with a case, but not necessarily the case at the centre of the story. Then there’s the feminist speech my Marian Halcombe. I have no objection to feminist speeches, but a good adapter would have found a way of showing us that men are wicked towards women rather than telling us. It’s all there in the plot anyway, so why club us over the head at the start

Having said that, I don’t totally object to this adaptation. Jessie Buckley is very good as Marian, playing the less-than-typical Victorian lady as was intended, opening speech besides. In fact, the casting all round works so far. I have a shaky memory of the finer details of the book, which will help the adapters get away with some things, but Walter Hartright is largely an ineffectual hero until the end, and Ben Hardy, without being rude, has that look about him.

What will make this adaptation live or die is the performance of Count Fosco, who makes his first appearance in the second episode. He needs to be charming yet threatening, and if memory serves me correctly, attractive despite (or because of) him carrying a bit of extra weight. If that doesn’t work, the book’s most alluring character is dead in the water and the rest of the plot with it.

I still come back to that jarring note though I understand that if a story has been told before then it needs a new way. But credit the viewers with being modern enough to see the misogyny played before them. Don’t make characters utter statements that render the plot impotent. And don’t think you know better than the classics. They became so for a reason.

Matthew eats… Decline and Fall

Adapting a novel for the screen, big or small, must be one of the most challenging projects on TV. It’s all very well having the plot nicely written for you, but this becomes a hindrance. Do you stick to it rigidly, digressions and all? Do you focus on just the main strands but axe some minor characters, who could actually be the most interesting of them all? Do change the ending to suit your ‘vision’?

However you answer these, you are bound to ruffle feathers. Be too close to the book and you risk making something pointless – after all, people may as well just read the story and get the full flavour unless you do something original. Lose a minor character and you remove potentially some of the best moments or give them to someone entirely unsuited. Change the ending or a major plot point and people will howl at the moon if you even put the slightest foot wrong with the change.

When it’s a book you love, you feel very protective of what is created. You have your vision and woe betide anyone who doesn’t go along with it. So I was nervous about the recent adaptation of Decline and Fall, a book I read as a precocious teenager. Or, at least I was nervous, until I realised I couldn’t remember most of it. I definitely recollect enjoying it and finding it funny though.

I suppose then, that this adaptation’s one and only test was to be funny. It stood a good chance with Jack Whitehall in the lead role of Paul Pennyfeather. Yet I was surprised by how lifeless he seemed to make the character. Of course, that is partially due to the nature of the story – the pitfalls that occur are caused by others’ actions on to him rather than his own agency. Even so, book Paul always seemed more robust than TV Paul. This could be partially due to a reader having more access to an inner monologue and the narration, where the satire is probably sharper. It could also be a faulty memory of mine.

Nevertheless, quietly politely rarely carries a story well, so it falls onto the supporting cast to give the story its life. They do this admirably, in particular Vincent Franklin as agnostic minister Prendergast and Douglas Hodge as Grimes, a man who is nearly always ‘in the soup’.

There are hints at the satire that Waugh was aiming for in his novel. The Bollinger Club and the government officials who manipulate their way to the top and stay there, largely by passing blame on to those underneath. The ‘trendy’ approach to maintaining discipline in prison. An education system that focuses on please parents over teaching children. All as true now as then. I can’t help feeling it couldn’t have been more savage though. This was satire with gloves on. What it needed was for a brick to be hidden in it.