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Showing posts with label BBC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BBC. Show all posts

Saturday, 29 December 2018

The ABC Murders (BBC, directed by Alex Gabassi)

This is my first blog post in a while, and I’m putting it on my main website and my review blog. Over
the last couple of months, I’ve started and not finished numerous blog posts and reviews (psychic vampires, a new book deal announcement with Routledge, reviews of Fiona Barton, Edmund Crispin, Henry Slesar, and more). But I’ve been having a frankly terrible go of it lately and prioritising accordingly. However, I couldn’t let the TV adaptation of the year, the BBC’s The ABC Murders, pass by without comment.

According to many self-proclaimed ‘purist’ Agatha Christie fans, I rarely have the correct opinion on screen adaptations. I enjoyed Kenneth Branagh’s Murder on the Orient Express. I thought that Agatha and the Truth of Murder was fine and more authentically structured than the majority of Christie adaptations. The ITV series Agatha Christie’s Poirot frequently annoyed me, and I certainly don’t picture David Suchet when I read the books. I also think that Sarah Phelps, whose name has succeeded Princess Diana’s as the curse-word of choice among Daily Mail readers, is the best dramatist of Agatha Christie’s work ever to put finger to key.

The ABC Murders is Sarah Phelps’s fourth Agatha Christie adaptation. And Then There Were None was universally praised. The Witness for the Prosecution and Ordeal by Innocence split viewers into two camps: those who loved them as great dramas, and those who insisted they were bastardisations of Agatha Christie’s work and essence. So, The ABC Murderswas always going to cause a bit of a tizz.

Director Alex Gabassi has done a masterful job. The adaptation uses light and dark, as the previous ones did. In The Witness for the Prosecution, the shadows became slightly overdone, but here they work brilliantly. The adaptation is set in 1933, a dark time for Britain and also for Europe. There are Brexit parallels throughout, as Hercule Poirot, the Belgian detective, frequently runs into fascists, openly flaunting their xenophobia, anti-Semitism, and racism. Others are questioning his relevance, or whether he should even be in the country, despite all that he has contributed to it since the First World War. On Caroline Crampton’s excellent podcast, Shedunnit, Phelps said, ‘I want it to feel like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched - that it’s the first of the stories to have ever been told.’ And she has achieved this with a vengeance. A remarkable reimagining of a well-known novel, The ABC Murders is also a powerful drama in its own right.

Christie’s 1935 novel is not her best. That’s another opinion of mine that many of my friends disagree with. I think that it’s a fabulous idea – the serial killer narrative, the apparently motiveless murder, and the detective who wants to read meaning into his own involvement in the case – but the execution feels rushed and the narrative too light. It feels almost bashed out. It’s brilliant – of course it is; it’s Agatha Christie – but not her best. I feel similarly about Five Little Pigs, another novel that’s widely praised by Christie fans but which I think represents a missed opportunity. Both those books have excellent premises and fabulous plots and concepts but I don’t think Christie wrote them as well as she could have. What the story does give us, though, is something that can be taken in any number of ways. Well, almost any number. The less said about the Carry On-style adaptation, The Alphabet Murders (1965), the better. But there was a perfectly reasonable frothy and earnest whodunit dramatization on ITV in the 1990s and a rather immersive video game a couple of years ago.

The world Sarah Phelps shows us is not a clean or pretty one. It’s not that smooth and simple, whitewashed past we revel in in the David Suchet version. It’s a grim, gritty, violent, and horrible one. And it’s all there in the book, if you read the book a certain way. In the final episode, Poirot decries ‘vapid nostalgia for the gentle past. Cruelty is not new,’ he adds, in a remark that Agatha Christie herself frequently made throughout her work.

The big shocker here is not the identity of the murderer (which was changed in Easter’s adaptation, Ordeal by Innocence) but the character of Hercule Poirot himself. The dust had just settled on manufactured outrage over the fact that Poirot as played by John Malkovich would not be sporting a pantomime accent or an obviously fake moustache when genteel viewers spilt their Earl Grey and soiled their finest doilies beyond repair. You see, in Episode Three, we find out that Poirot has a past.

A past? A past?! Twitter users were not happy. One Twitter user wrote:
I couldn’t resist responding:
But it got better – or worse, depending on your perspective. Poirot, the guilt-ridden Catholic who has killed a man in his murky history, who acts as confessor and calls himself ‘Papa Poirot’, who is constantly calling people around him ‘mes enfants’ (that’s all in the books, by the way), reveals himself in flashback to have been a priest.

It’s a masterstroke. It ties the character together as neatly as any exposition in any example of detective fiction or drama. It explains so much not just about the character as envisaged by Phelps but also about the world in which Christie was writing and which this drama reflects. Poirot, with his out-dated arrogance, his uncertainties and crises in interwar Britain, has a background as a figure of religious authority. And, when faced with the greatest of all tragedies, he gave it up. Michel Foucault theorised that in the twentieth century, the authority of the priest gave way to the authority of the doctor. We see mental illness galore in The ABC Murders, and the detective finding his relevance coming under fire. Throughout the three episodes, Poirot is looking for purpose, and the serial killer is giving it to him. It’s perfect.
Even if this adaptation had been a big pile of poo (which it is not), it would hold a special relevance for me, because I make a very fleeting appearance in it! In the last few minutes of Episode 2, if you squint, you can see me getting off the underground at Paddington Station. It was filmed at Aldwych Station on the last day of shooting, in August 2018, and I thoroughly enjoyed my first – and probably only – experience of extra-ing.  We were all put up in the Waldorf Hotel (which is decidedly not normal, according to other extras).

Here are ten fun things that might interest you:

1.    In a scene that was evidently cut, a group of drunken fascists sings ‘Jerusalem’.
2.    I was very confused when the wardrobe mistress lined us all up and pointed to certain young men, saying ‘You’re BUF, you’re BUF, you’re BUF.’ Then she stuck British Union of Fascists pins to their clothes and all was clear.
3.    Every costume is meticulous. Even though I appear for half a second in poor light in the background, I wore a full three-piece suit including period socks and braces, underneath a thick overcoat, and my hair was styled under the hat I never took off.
4.    When Cust appears through the smoke on the platform, he is played by a body-double.
5.    Nearly all extras smoke roll-ups.
6.    Many extras don’t get haircuts, because if the studio has to cut your hair or shave you on-set, they pay you.
7.    John Malkovich is very down-to-earth and friendly, but few of us dared to talk to him.
8.    A two-second scene took four hours to film.
9.    Aldwych Station is used in several period dramas. There are remnants of posters from each decade of the last century on its walls.

10.  The reason there’s a lot of period advertising in the underground scene is that the ‘No Smoking’ signs had to be covered.

Wednesday, 3 October 2018

Mini Reviews #21

‘Too Clever by Half’ (1939) by G.D.H. and M. Cole. A short story featuring a locked-room puzzle, although we are told the murderer at the outset. In what would become a Columbo-style set-up, we follow the detective as he unravels the clues. The idea is that if the killer hadn’t been so attentive in trying to cover up the crime, he’d probably have gotten away with it; the extra touches were his undoing. If any real murderer made any one of this killer’s five mistakes (e.g. leaving a ‘suicide note’ but neglecting the pen), then ‘clever’ is not the word one would use.

Busman’s Honeymoon (1940) directed by Arthur B. Woods. Competent film adaptation of the novel by Dorothy L. Sayers and the play she co-wrote with Muriel St Clare Byrne, featuring Robert Montgomery as Lord Peter Wimsey and Constance Cummings as Harriet Vane. Yes, Americans! Take it as a period murder mystery, rather than as anything to do with Sayers’ ambitious (and, arguably, unsuccessful) novel, and it’s thoroughly enjoyable.

A Simple Favour (2018) directed by Paul Feig. This movie, based on Darcey Bell’s debut and starring Anna Kendrick and Blake Lively, is absolutely marvellous. I haven’t read the novel, and, candidly, I’m not keen to because it looks like a serious thriller, and the plot is an utterly ridiculous elevation ofGone Girl. However, the film is so splendidly camp – every scene contains one of those cringy stress-release gags that appear once an hour in normal thrillers – that it works brilliantly. Kendrick gives her best ever performance as a single mother-turned-YouTuber and Lively plays her mysterious rich new friend in a way that will make everyone recognise someone they know. The whole thing is very slick and very entertaining.

Bodyguard (BBC, 2018). Honestly, I don’t know why you’re all raving about this, or why you’re all complaining about the last episode. It starts as it means to go on: as a pretty standard BBC political thriller. That is, very gripping, quite preposterous, and mildly jingoistic, like London Spy. The final episode which disappointed so many viewers (seriously, I don’t know why?) is exactly what the first five episodes promised.

Nine Perfect Strangers (2018) by Liane Moriarty. Moriarty’s new novel is a satire that is sometimes witty and sometimes poignant. Set in an unorthodox health resort, it features an engaging and very believable villain, and a nice range of annoying rich protagonists. There is a delightful meta moment in chapter 58, in which a middle-aged romantic novelist trips out on LSD and realizes that she is a character in a poorly written detective story in which no one has yet died. The move towards satire in what used to be called ‘grip-lit’ is very reassuring, although I’ve not yet seen it perfected; Moriarty veers from dark humour to ‘I’m being serious’ moments – and she isn’t alone in that.

Sunday, 27 August 2017

Strike: Episode 1 (BBC 1)

I have just caught up on tonight’s pilot episode of the new BBC 1 drama Strike, based on The Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith. Adapted by Ben Richards and directed by Michael Keillor, it offers entertainment in a workmanlike way; thrills without frills.

When I read The Cuckoo’s Calling, praised by reviewers and commentators as some glorious revolution in crime writing, I was disappointed. The book was perfectly enjoyable, and easy to read – whatever name she’s writing under, the author knows how to make you turn the pages – but it didn’t do anything new. Strike wasn’t a new detective at all but collection of clichés – divorced (or disengaged, I think), war-wounded, alcoholic, disillusioned, and grubby, but with an innate sense of justice. Never been done before, right? – and the narrative attitude to women struck me as shockingly old-school. Things do improve by the third and best book, Career of Evil. So I found it interesting that Strike’s beautiful title sequence is resolutely retro. With (to me, anyway) faint hints of Ashes to Ashes and Life on Mars (neither of which I’ve seen beyond the title sequences), it’s as anti-Sherlock as it can be.

This opening episode introduces us to Strike, whom I’ve outlined above. He’s played by Tom Burke, who is, of course, younger and sexier than the books’ heavy, washed-out character. He gives a performance that is at once enigmatic and hypnotic: you want to find out more about the character, even as you want to un-pop his collar and switch off the bloody irritating background music. Burke's characterisation helps create a sense of bleak timelessness that defines the BBC Strike’s London. Everything is still a bit too clean for my liking, and a dull colour-filter, old-school café scenes, and gloomy line-delivery with mostly hidden echoes of RADA doesn’t really equal social commentary or relevance. But I like the way that London in this programme is – like the traditional-but-contemporary story – both in and out of time.

We also meet Robin Ellacott, Strike’s new secretary, played by Holliday Grainger, whom I actually pictured when reading the books. Grainger brings an emotional range to the role which I’m sure will come in very useful in future episodes. In this episode, she’s underused – I’m referring both to the character and to the actor – which is a shame. But I think the idea is for her to balance things out as they get darker and more fraught. At the moment, we’re still meeting Strike and learning about his world.

Strike is asked to investigate the death of a supermodel who fell to her death from her luxury apartment. Adapting to the complexities of the case is easier for him than dealing with his own disintegrated romance, the shadows of a rock-star father, and a frosty working friendship with Robin. The case leads him to meet glamorous people in clean settings and grubby people in dark settings. Every room has a colour theme: usually blue.

There is no memorable dialogue and when it tries to be memorable it’s just unfortunate. For instance:
When you start a new case, it’s like looking into an aquarium […] You put your face up against the glass […] and watch the fish…
There’s nothing really wrong with this line; it just feels like some script consultant spent ages reaching around for the perfect metaphor and settled on it. We see Strike, having showered, without his prosthetic leg in a scene that, apparently, shocked many tweeters. The BBC has already started issuing rather tasteless statements about the exciting special effects employed in creating this scene, and the whole thing has left me with a rather bitter taste – it’s not simply there to give us a rounded view of the detective and his struggles. Given the way this scene was built up, both in the press and in the episode, with allusive shots and verbal references, there’s an undeniable element, if not of voyeurism, then of ‘look how clever and edgy we’re being.’ The pilot ends with the discovery of an inevitable second corpse.

Edit: As an able-bodied person I don't have the authority to comment on this extensively, and certainly not to have the last word. Please see these tweets from Tina, a Twitter friend who had a different opinion on Strike's injury and its presentation:


Not a huge deal happens in this opening episode beyond a decent set-up, which ensures that most viewers will tune in tomorrow. I found it entertaining and watchable, but nothing to rave about. I think the idea is to replicate what Raymond Chandler achieved with his Philip Marlowe novels: presenting a run-down, noble man who is too good for the decade he lives and works in. It executes itself in a way that I imagine Daily Mail readers will consider bang up-to-date and hard-hitting. At the same time, it challenges nothing. I don’t doubt that Strike will be a huge success, and I think it’s pretty good. I’ll be sure to keep watching, but I’m not about to rush out to pre-order DVDs and Cormoran Strike T-shirts.

Tl;dr it 'strikes' a balance between okay and very good (see what I did there?!). I guess that means it's good.