Live from Lincoln Center: Sweeney Todd (2014)

 

Thank goodness for PBS.  In addition to giving me my regular Masterpiece fix and hooking me up with other great British imports like The Hollow Crown, it can always be counted on for televised Broadway events.  This concert production of Sondheim’s Sweeney Todd, performed by the New York Philharmonic and a fine cast, aired a couple weeks ago, and it’s just terrific.

 

First, this is one of the best-staged Broadway concerts I’ve seen.  The cast quickly discards their music stands, librettos, and glitzy finery during the opening number, in an amusing “this ain’t yo’ grandma’s Sweeney Todd” moment.  With effective minimalist staging that incorporates the orchestra into the action, the actors perform in disheveled formal wear smeared with bloody handprints.  It’s an upfront, grimy production with an in-the-trenches feel that does an atmospheric job telling the story of the demon barber of Fleet Street.

 

Sweeney Todd, of course, finds the wrongfully-transported convict Benjamin Barker returned to London.  Welcomed back by meat-pie peddler Mrs. Lovett, his devoted downstairs neighbor, he reopens his old barber shop and, armed with his razors and a new name, plots his revenge on the lascivious hypocrite of a judge who ruined his life.  The penny-dreadful narrative is peppered with shaving contests, homeless lunatics, and lucrative cannibalism, but it revolves around the dark pair at its center – the newly-christened Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett.  As his quest for vengeance pulls Sweeney further and further from his sanity, the pragmatic and opportunistic Mrs. Lovett looks to use his instability to her advantage and, deludedly, hopes to secure his heart for herself.

 

As such, the actors playing Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett are the lynchpin of any production.  I have to confess my unfamiliarity with Welsh operatic bass-baritone Bryn Terfel, who plays Sweeney, but he’s fantastic.  His superb vocals sound effortless, and he cuts an imposing figure in the role; I can really see why Mrs. Lovett, despite her love for him, would fear him in his more unhinged moments.  And speaking of Mrs. Lovett, Emma Thompson is just incredible.  No, she’s not the singer that Terfel is, but she carries her melodic weight among the cast of predominantly stage actors, and more than that, she’s such a large, vibrant presence onstage.  Her acting brims with all the noise, deviousness, dark comedy, and vulnerability that Mrs. Lovett ought to have.  Over the course of the concert, I’m pretty sure I went from admiring her as an actor to having a confirmed platonic crush on her.  She and Terfel play beautifully off of each other – their wickedly funny “A Little Priest” is the highlight of the show.

 

While these two are my clear favorites, the others in the cast are no slouches.  The incomparable Audra McDonald appears as the beggar woman, Philip Quast (Pearse in Ultraviolet) is the despicable Judge Turpin, and Christian Borle (lately of Smash, where he deserved far better material) is great fun as Signor Pirelli.  I’m not familiar with anyone else in the cast, but they all put in some nice performances, especially Kyle Brenn as Toby. 

 

I just wish this had aired as part of Great Performances rather than Live from Lincoln Center, because it probably means we’ll never get a DVD.  Guess what’s not getting deleted from my DVR anytime soon?

A few thoughts on Jane Eyre

 

A handful of years ago, I took a class on literature in film, in which we read a number of stories/novels and compared them with their film adaptations.  At the center of the class was Jane Eyre.  After reading the novel, we watched a 2006 miniseries of the novel and, in small groups, watched one of three other adaptations.  I had a number of quibbles about the miniseries, particularly the creative license described below – I got into more than one debate with fellow students on this issue.  (Note:  I’ll be going into some detail of a major plot twist from the book, so anyone wary of Victorian spoilers take heed.)

 

In both works, governess Jane Eyre falls in love with her employer, Edward Rochester, and despite the stringent class divisions of the day, he falls in love with her as well.  She is shocked when he declares his feelings, and as they begin to plan a wedding, she seems to be heading toward an impossible dream life.  Naturally, it isn’t until they reach the altar that she learns of his secret:  he’s already married, to a mad woman living in a locked chamber in his attic.

 

While Jane is obviously horrified and devastated in both versions, this is where things diverge.  In the book, Rochester admits that they can’t legally marry but is desperate for them to go somewhere they can carry on together, spouses in all but name.  In the miniseries, though he still begs her to go away with him, he promises they’ll be as brother and sister to each other.  Novel and adaptation alike show a brokenhearted Jane refusing him, and the next section of the story finds them separated.

 

In class, I spoke with several classmates who preferred the miniseries version.  They felt Rochester comes across as too pathetic in the book, so it’s no big surprise when Jane denies him.  In turn, they found his requests in the miniseries more reasonable, making him come across much better.  To me, though, this change misses the whole point of Jane’s dilemma.

 

Jane loves Rochester heart and soul; her greatest desire is to be with him.  However, she is deeply devoted to her religion and believes it would be against God to stay with him if they couldn’t get married.  So, the book offers her her greatest desire at the price of her integrity.  She has to choose between her happiness (his, too – it kills her to refuse him) and God’s law.  To deny herself of everything she wants in order to abide by her convictions is massive, and it displays tremendous fortitude on her part.  Essentially, she has to cut out her heart so she can remain the person she’s tried to be.

 

By contrast, the miniseries offers her something she doesn’t really want at no compromise to her ideals.  She wants to be with him, yes, but not platonically.  Earlier in the story, when she thinks he’s in love with another woman, she makes plans to find a different situation because she can’t bear to remain in his home and see him married to someone else.  As such, I can’t believe she’d be satisfied with the whole “as brother and sister” arrangement, so even though he’s not asking her to go against her religion in this version, there’s not much reason for her to accept.  The only incentive is her desire to make him happy, and compared to the intense, messy richness of the choice in the novel, that isn’t enough.  (Not to mention, it makes her conflict more about him, and I prefer it when it’s mainly about her desires and beliefs.)  So, although Rochester may seem less whiny/desperate/whatever in the miniseries, I know which version is more rewarding for me.

Favorite Characters: Ron Weasley (Harry Potter)

 

I’ve always had a tendency to gravitate toward supporting characters.  By narrative necessity, protagonists tend to get weighed down by extreme drama and hardship, and while that’s obviously a plus for storytelling, it can sometimes get a little heavy.  Supporting characters, then, are often allowed to be a bit more fun, since they don’t have as much plot to carry.  In good stories, they’re still given meaty material and opportunities to prove their mettle, but there’s more breathing space.  More variety, too – there isn’t as great a need to make them relatable to the Everyreader/viewer, so you get a wider assortment of traits and quirks.

 

There are oodles of interesting supporting characters in the Harry Potter series, many of whom I enjoy more than Harry, but Ron is a personal favorite.  With his average magical aptitude, academic performance, and athletic ability, he’s not the obvious Achiever that Harry and Hermione are.  In a way, he’s the Xander to Harry’s Buffy and Hermione’s Willow – to the untrained observer, he has nothing valuable to contribute and is perhaps, if anything, a liability in a serious fight (plus, he’s an eternal smart-aleck.)  Like Xander, though, he’s not one to be discounted.

 

Ron’s greatest quality is probably his loyalty.  From a young age, he falls in with Harry and remains at his side through all sorts of unspeakable danger.  In The Prisoner of Azkaban, he famously gives a more powerful, more notorious wizard the ole “if you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to go through us” routine despite his own serious injury.  Not that he’s Harry’s yes-man – they clash often enough, and both boys can be pretty stubborn when they think they’re right – and they do fall out on occasion.  Ron is especially susceptible to sulky overreactions once he becomes a teenager; Harry’s fame and seeming inherent specialness is the most common sticking point, since Ron is sensitive about his own perceived run-of-the-mill-ness.  When it really matters, though, Ron always has Harry’s back and puts his life on the line numerous times.

 

Aside from that, Ron has enough common sense to make up for his lack of book smarts (he’s been known to point out the important, obvious things that Harry and Hermione miss when they overcomplicate matters,) and as the only one of the trio to grow up in the wizarding world, his cultural knowledge often comes in handy.  When the situation is particularly grim, his wise-cracking brings some much-needed relief – there are probably entire months of Harry’s life in which he wouldn’t have smiled if not for Ron.  And for all that Ron can be oversensitive, obtuse (especially where romance is concerned,) and reckless, his default reaction is always to protect his friends.

 

Ron has a reputation for being something of a fraidy-cat – the movies really amplify this – but I don’t mind that he gets scared, because he still risks his life anyway.  I’ll leave you with the spider sequence from The Chamber of Secrets, to highlight how brave Ron is even when he’s afraid.  So, 12-year-old Ron enters the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night, where he is confronted and pursued by dozens of supersized versions of his absolute greatest fear (that, by the way, want to eat him,) and all he has to defend himself is a malfunctioning wand.  In that state, he has wits enough about him to drive a severely-damaged car through an off-road, wooded area swarming with giant killer spiders.  In short?  Ron Weasley is a badass.

The Cameraman (1928)

 

As I’ve said before, Buster Keaton’s first two films with MGM are far better than the unfortunate, sometimes painful movies that follow them.  The mere fact that they’re silent allows for more physical comedy and the large scale seen in so many of Buster’s independent films.  Also, both movies have at least a few places where they break free of MGM’s tight, preplanned structure and let Buster improvise.  You can tell that the wind is starting to shift, but on the whole, these two films – The Cameraman in particular – hold up well beside Buster’s earlier work.

 

In this movie, Buster plays a tintype photographer who, having fallen head over heels with Sally, a secretary in a newsreel department, sets out to win her heart.  He arms himself with a dilapidated secondhand camera and films anything and everything in the hopes of being hired in Sally’s department.  Naturally, there are setbacks and obstacles.  Just finding news to film is no small task – the lift he catches on a fire truck doesn’t work out like he plans, and he later shows up at a baseball stadium… when the Yankees are playing out of town.  And once he does find something to shoot, the steep learning curve between tintypes and film recording proves to be a challenge.

 

The Cameraman’s only real noticeable deviation from Buster’s usual formula is an undercurrent of sentimentality.  While in Go West, Friendless’s situation – trying to save his beloved cow – is tinged with sentiment, the camera doesn’t capture it as such.  Does that make sense?  The circumstance elicits sympathy, but the story isn’t told in such a way that you’re compelled to say, “Oh, poor Friendless!  Poor Brown Eyes!”  By contrast, this film lingers on shots of Sally’s pained face when the other cameramen guffaw over Buster’s screw-ups and generally seems framed to provoke an “Aww!  Poor little guy!”  This character feels downtrodden in a way that most of Buster’s protagonists don’t, even in the face of incredible and ridiculous odds.

 

Ultimately, though, he has Buster’s trademark pluckiness and persistence to keep him going.  His solution to the aforementioned empty-stadium problem may not be entirely effective, but it’s creative, impressive, and amazingly funny.  So many of Buster’s best scenes come from this place of inventive resolve, and it’s equally true here.  While he’s out with Sally and a huge crush of commuters puts them on different levels of a double-decker bus, he climbs down the side of the bus and takes a casual seat over the wheel on the fender.  Even in small things, like another man trying to take his changing room at the public pool, Buster doesn’t give an inch.  (Side note – watching Buster and another man irritably trying to change their clothes in the same cramped cubicle is a riot.  Oh my goodness gracious.)

 

So, not a bad little film.  Some fantastic gags, some impressive shots that are Buster through and through, and some old-timey bathing suits, which always make me smile.  Quite enjoyable.

 

Warnings

 

Slapstick violence, and a street fight.

Doctor Who: Series 8, Episode 8 – “Mummy on the Orient Express” (2014)

 

I’m not familiar with Jamie Mathieson, a new writer to Who this season, but I hear he wrote next week’s episode in addition to this one, and I couldn’t be more relieved.  Undisputed best episode of the season so far – it feels like real, proper Doctor Who, something that can’t be said about enough of the episodes this year.  It just works for me on every level, and my overriding thought while watching it was, “Finally!”

 

The Doctor and Clara arrive on the Orient Express (in space,) a luxury rail of the future with a 1920s flair.  Mostly; these future humans aren’t entirely up on their 20^th-century history (keep an eye out for the sultry singer vamping on Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.”)  Because this is Doctor Who, the fun romp turns deadly in a matter of seconds – 66 of them, to be precise – as passengers start dropping dead after screaming about an assailant only they can see.  Trapped on a moving train in space with a mythological murderer, the Doctor has to discover his unseen foe’s secrets before it takes every life onboard.

 

Where to start?  There’s the lavish set and costume design (Clara looks darling in a stylish ‘20s dress,) the genuine thrills and taut mystery, the humorous Who-ish touches (in addition to the anachronistic song choices mentioned above, there’s a fantastic gag with the psychic paper, and the Doctor makes unexpectedly whimsical use of a cigarette case,) and the fine well of supporting characters.  The episode touches on themes from elsewhere in the season, but whereas they’ve made me grit my teeth in earlier episodes, they’re explored far more thoughtfully here.

 

I don’t know where the show has been hiding this Doctor, but this is the one I want.  He’s brusque and arrogant, and he keeps people at a distance, but he’s also brilliant, funny, wonderfully competent, and not nearly as detached as he purports to be.  He’s the manin this episode, the Doctor I knew Peter Capaldi could be, and what’s more, we actually get a good chunk of story from his perspective.  This season has spent far too much time looking through Clara’s eyes – not that her viewpoint is a bad thing, but we need both, and it’s been frustrating to feel like the Doctor is the curmudgeonly alien sidekick on his own show.  This episodes lets us see him having fun, working hard, making tough decisions, being a hero, and hinting at the emotions he clearly still has, despite his pricklier new personality.

 

At first, I thought the episode was glossing over the interpersonal stuff from last week, but while it definitely seems we’ve moved from point A to C or D, the issues between Clara and the Doctor are addressed from both sides here.  The crack that’s grown through their friendship gets a lot of focus, there’s some good soul-searching, and the final scenes between them are just what I would’ve liked to see after my jumbled ranting at the end of last week’s review.

 

Really, my only gripe isn’t about the episode itself; it’s the fact that it’s episode 8, and there are only four left this season.  It’s fine to tell a story about the Doctor and his companion having trouble connecting after a regeneration, but it’s not a story you want to spend two-thirds of the season telling.  I should notfeel like I’m finally seeing the Doctor the show wants me to see.  Why wasn’t I getting this weeks ago?  Also, if we go right back to the Doctor insulting Clara’s appearance, being ridiculously, distastefully prejudiced against soldiers, and making hardly any tangible contributions to the adventure, I might have to throw something.

Sleepy Hollow (2013-Present)

 

I initially narrowed my eyes at this show.  From the promos, I got the impression that it was a supernatural procedural with an out-of-time hook and a bit of literary crossover – and really, now that I see it in print, I don’t know why I wasn’t all over that, but for whatever reason, it didn’t grab me.  It wasn’t until I found out the series featured the always-great John Cho and began hearing tremendous things about its female lead that I decided to give Sleepy Hollow a chance.

 

And boy, am I glad I did.  Its first season isn’t without its growing pains, and it sometimes mistakes “implausibly coincidental” for “mind-blowingly fated,” but overall, it’s a smart, engaging thriller/mystery with fantastic character work and some superb acting.  It has an unexpectedly fun sense of humor, it strikes a good balance between monster-of-the-week plots and more arc-based storytelling, and I like the way the show has one foot in the present while keeping the other firmly rooted in the past.

 

Quick rundown of the premise (be warned, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s actually awesome) – in the 1700s, Ichabod Crane defects from his British brethren and joins the Americans in the Revolution.  However, more than liberty is at stake in the war, and Crane discovers its fantastical undertones when he receives a fatal wound from the Hessian horseman whom he’s just decapitated.  This secret battle continues long after U.S. independence, and Crane’s part in it is far from over; thanks to his wife, a witch fighting for the good guys, he finds himself resurrected in the 21^st century.  His new lease on life goes hand-in-hand with the horseman riding once again in Sleepy Hollow, and Crane sets out to stop his headless foe’s deadly extracurricular activities.

 

As it happens, the horseman is noteworthy not just for his missing head, but for being one of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse.  So naturally, he’s keen to do what harbingers do best and usher in the end of days.  All manner of otherworldly beasties are on his side, but luckily for Crane, Lt. Abbie Mills is on his.  Abbie is a young police officer who’s forced to adapt quickly to the idea that demonic forces plague her town, and together, she and Crane constitute the two Witnesses from the book of Revelations.  In other words, it’s up to them to wage war against the horseman and his buddies going bump in the night.  Though neither of them have signed up for this responsibility, they take to it courageously and capably.

 

What can I say?  Crane and Abbie are both wonderfully-written characters played to perfection by Tom Mison and Nicole Beharie.  The relationship between these two strong, intelligent, layered people forms the excellent core of the series.  The show nicely juggles large, earth-shattering plots full of action with deft character interactions and more emotional stories, and the fish-out-of-water comedy arising from Crane’s time displacement is a constant delight that always knows when to defuse the tension.  Plus, there’s the show’s matter-of-fact inclusion:  in addition to Abbie being an amazing black female lead in a genre series(!), Sleepy Hollow features many actors of color, including Orlando Jones and the aforementioned John Cho, and one recurring character has a disability that plays a part in her storyline but doesn’t consume it.

 

Warnings

 

Supernatural violence (including some gore,) swearing, some drinking, and general scariness.

In the Mood for Love (2000, PG)

 

I love Wong Kar-wai’s films, and this is the one that did me in.  It wasn’t my first.  I’d actually already seen 2046 – since, unbeknownst to me at the time, it’s a sequel of sorts to this movie, I found it gorgeous and incomprehensible – which put its sumptuous predecessor on my radar.  It was quite some time before I got my hands on it, but when I did, I was absolutely bowled over.

 

In the Mood for Love, beautifully set in Hong Kong in the early 60s, is the quiet story of a profound connection between a man and a woman.  Neighbors Chow Mo-wan and Su Li-zhen go from acquaintances to confidantes when they realize that their spouses are having an affair with one another.  With the adulterers abroad together, Mo-wan and Li-zhen forge a gentle bond as they both muddle through the pain of being left behind.  In this time and place, neither can talk openly about what’s happened to them; it’s one of those things that Just Aren’t Spoken Of, and so they put on serene faces while they silently break in private.  Only with each other can they be sincere. 

 

It begins as a mutual means of coping.  They piece together details of the affair and contemplate its origins, they try to imagine what their spouses are like together, and they role-play confrontation scenarios.  As time goes by, however, their connection goes beyond shared pain as they discover shared interests, and suddenly, they start to feel secretive about their relationship.  Close friendships between married men and women in the absence of their spouses Just Aren’t Done either, and they can’t bear the thought of anyone thinking they’rethe ones being unfaithful.

 

There is where In the Mood for Lovedistinguishes itself from so many romances.  Mo-wan and Li-zhen are undeniably entwined – theirs is a deep, emotional connection, a kinship of the soul, and there’s palpable electricity between them, but it’s all crackling just beneath the surface.  This isn’t a film about groping and clinging and sweating.  Rather, it’s about slight, soft touches charged with meaning and unarticulated wants.  It’s about restraint, not giving over.  Mo-wan and Li-zhen have been so devastated by their spouses’ betrayal that, despite their growing feelings for one another, they hold back the floodgates.  Their guiding mantra is “We won’t be like them,” and this emotionally-charged self-denial makes it the most understatedly sensual movie I’ve ever seen.

 

A big part of that is the flawless acting by Tony Leung Chiu-wai and Maggie Cheung.  Of their many collaborations I’ve seen, this is far and away the best, and that’s saying something.  They portray these reserved, sensitive individuals with such grace, and the tender connection between them is developed with exquisite care.  Both can speak volumes with their expressions and wonderfully handle the deep-running still waters of their characters.  Additionally, Wong Kar-wai’s direction drips with romance, and the evocative score, sublime costumes (oh my gosh, the costumes,) and thoughtful camera work are all impeccable.  Even among Wong’s other fine films, it’s in a league of its own; I am in love with this movie.

 

Warnings

 

Thematic elements, a little drinking, some language, and references to infidelity.