The Personal History of David Copperfield (Film Review)

[selenak]

This was the first movie I saw in the cinema since February, and I've been curious about it for a year now. It's, as advertised, a breathless, fast paced, wildly inventive version of David Copperfield, directed by Armado Ianucci, with a great cast multiethnic cast (colourblind in the British stage sense, hence, for example, Nikki Amuka-Bird as Mrs. Steerforth - who in this version is an amalgan of herself and Rosa Dartle - and Aneurin Barnard as her son).



In practically every interview I'd seen at the time this was released in Britain last year, our director emphasizes wanting to do justice to the hilarity of Dickens (something lost in some other adaptions), with the scene of drunk David (Dev Patel) at the theatre running into Agnes being a prime example.

This intention certainly was fulfilled, though in order to keep the lighthearted tone throughout, Iannucci had to ignore several of the novel's deaths and trust that the great speed of the film makes it impossible for the audience to linger on just how awful some of the events are. For example: in the novel, the destruction of David's carefree early childhood happens in several steps. First the psychoterror by stepdad Murdstone (and here what makes it extra awful is what Mr. Murdstone does to David's mother in addition to David, gaslighting her and terrorizing her and destroying every bit of self worth sense she has), then David gets send to his first school, then his mother dies, then he ends up at the bottle factory (and meets the Micawbers etc.), then he goes to Dover and ends up with his aunt. In the movie, the image of Mr. Murdstone's hand coming down on the paper house that the Peggottys' boat house is suddenly revealed at already sums up what will happen to David's home and life. We get the "teaching" scene, the beating, but then immediately fast foward to David being sent to the bottle factory (no first school interlude, which is why David won't meet Steerforth until he's already Dev Patel shaped) and meets the Micawbers. Mr. Micawber is played by Peter Capaldi in hilarious form, and the comedy of him avoiding his creditors dispenses with the lingering horror of home life a la Murdstone; even the child labor at the bottle factory is more picturesque than anything else. (Though Ianucci will get into the long term effect of this in a way that's not in the novel but very much in the life of Charles Dickens, more about this in a moment.) The two people who still die in the film are David's mother and Steerforth, but not Ham, nor Dora. Dora, breaking the fourth wall, asks David to write her out of the story since she "doesn't fit" instead. I guess if you haven't read the book, you take this to mean she and David break up gently, having figured out in time their marriage would be a mistake. As opposed David realising this after the marriage, and while Dora conveniently dies, giving Agnes and David to each other on her deathbed, she doesn't die until that realisation as well and truly hit home. So on the one hand, this is definitely David Copperfield: The Fluffy Edition.

On the other, Iannucci does something more than rearrange the material the novel gives him so it fits in two hours screen time. David Copperfield the novel is more overtly autobiographical than anything else Dickens wrote, but it still is a novel, not a roman à clef, with the differences between Dickens and David as strong as the similarities. Charles Dickens: very much not an orphan. By splitting his parents into the ghastly Murdstones and the lovable Micawbers, he ensures that David can loathe the former and love the later without any ambiguity in either case, to name just one key difference. However, Iannuci's film, which emphasizes David being a writer far more than any other version I've seen, including the novel itself, uses elements from Dickens' life not in the book to flesh David out as a character. Starting, of course, with the very beginning, which is David saying the famous first line of the novel as part of a public reading he does, the way Dickens did (and made a great success of it). The bottle factory episode in David's life is painful to him while he lives through it in the book, but when it's over, he doesn't feel any lingering shame. Charles Dickens, on the other hand, felt intense shame over having worked at a bottle factory as a child, he could not pass the shop as an adult man and took another road to avoid it, he couldn't bring himself to tell his wife about it (even when things were good), and when he did try to write an actual autobiography, he didn't get much further than this episode before breaking it off and writing David Copperfield instead.

This intense, very much class related shame that Dickens felt and David in the novel did not once he was no longer there is given to David in the movie. And that factors directly into his relationship with Uriah Heep, even before Heep tries to blackmail him with it. Incidentally, I'd never have thought of Ben Wishaw for this part, but he's terrific in it. Iannucci's take on David and Uriah feels like he's read George Orwell's Dickens essay, in addition to adding his own spin on it. It's very much a "Uriah embodies all I dislike in myself" alter ego thing since the movie's David never quite recovers that sense of identity lost when he was put in the factory and feels like a social climbing con man himself as opposed to a "true gentleman" when he's back among the wealthy. (Sidenote: in previous incarnations, I could never get into David/Uriah, not least because David is still a child when meeting Uriah and is nothing but creeped out and disgusted by him. Otoh, in the movie they're already Patel and Wishaw when meeting, which removes that factor.) The film is also more on Uriah Heep's side than any other version, stating with an eager to fit in again with the wealthy teenage schoolboys David employing his talent for impersonation (again, something Charles Dickens - an enthusiastic amateur actor who performed his novels more than he read them - had, but novel!David Coppperfield doesn't as far as I recall) to deliver a performance of Uriah, and while Steerforth and the other youths laugh we see Uriah in the background. Nor is his accent as over the top as in the other versions I've seen. He's still a ruthless social climber (and criminal), but he's not grotesque anymore. (And now I could see David/Uriah hatesex for these versions.)

Speaking of the talent to impersonate, another trait of Charles Dickens given to the movie's David is the constant noting down interesting phrases he hears, the being in love with language, and that, the movie connects with Mr. Dick (Hugh Laurie in a radiant performance), so often just a bit of (additional) comic relief at Betsey Trotwood's, whereas here his mental illness comes across as another version of David's obsessions without a creative outlet. The kite flying is such an emotional release, and it also showcases David being kind in the best way. When David near the end of the film starts to write the book we're in, which he narrates on stage, we hear fragments from Dickens' novel again, showcasing him/Dickens as a masterful wordsmith. The film thus is about David becoming not the hero but the writer of his own life, or a writer in general, in a way the novel is not.

Even Mr. Micawber is used in connection to this general theme. Orwell in his essay critisizes that Dickens in the end makes Micawber turns over a new leaf and reform by emigrating to Australia with the Peggotys and becoming respectable. The movie's Micawber does not; in his last scene, he asks David for a loan again, thus, like Dickens' own father (who was in and out of debtor's prison constantly through Dickens' childhood and when Charles had become a famous writer, wasn't above forging his signature), remaing incorrigable. But the connection between con man and writer - which John Le Carré drew for himself and his own con man father in his memoirs published a few years ago - is there though the film, with adult David catching himself at starting to use the same excuses Micawber did to get out of tight spots (and most embarrasingly, Uriah Heep catches him at it, too). And by making Micawber (trying his hand at impersonation) the lower class teacher Steerforth humiliates at Strong's school by using information David has unwittingly given him earlier, this episode gets deeply personal for the Micawber-liking audience, which I thought was cleverly done. My one complaint re: Mr. Micawber is that his moment of supreme glory is no longer there, because he doesn't temporarily align with Heep. Thus, he can't the day by uncovering the proof that Heep has been responsible for Aunt Betsey's financial ruin and Mr. Wickfield's decline; instead, this is given to Agnes, presumably to give her more agency.

Lastly: having written David Copperfield fanfiction about her for Yuletide two years ago, I was curious how the film would deal (if at all) with Emily. First of all, during the childhood part, she's already a teenager when David is still a child, age wise between him and Ham. They play with each other, but there's no indication David crushes on her; instead, at the end of his first stay with the Pegottys, she already becomes engaged to Ham. (And then has apparently a ten years engagement, because she's still engaged when David brings Steerforth for a visit.) Otoh, within limited screen time, Emily's dream of being a lady is made clear while the movie roots her more physically than the novel does in her world of origin (we meet her when she's cleaning fish, and her hands are marked by hard work), and it's clear what happens when Steerforth shows up. Since I had reread the Emily passages for Yuletide in 2017, it had struck me then that even before Steerforth, the book makes it very clear Emily doesn't really want to marry Ham, she's doing it for her uncle and because everyone expects her to, but that Ham really is like a brother to her, and I wasn't sure whether that came across in the film, but never mind, it's a subplot. One thing I regretted was that Dev Patel and Aneurin Barnard - imo, as always - had no chemistry, because even teenage me when reading the novel thought there was a strong vibe between Steerforth and David and without homoerotic subtext, that relationship (and David being wilfully blind for a long time re: Steerforth's dark side, and even afterwards having strong feelings for him) doesn't really work. But: chemistry is in the eyes of the beholder.

Let's see, what else: I liked Rosalind Eleazar as Agnes, being so charming and radiant and confidant that it's a mystery why not everyone falls for her. Morfydd Clark does double duty as David's mother and Dora Spenlow - which makes even more sense in the novel because they are really a lot alike, which makes for an uncomfortable moment when David tries to teach Dora to be more practical and you suddenly remember Mr. Murdstone and his behaviour with David's mother - and the "write me out, Doady" moment has unexcpected subtle pathos if you are aware of Dickens' own private life and Dora's fate in the novel. Tilda Swinton makes for a great Betsey Trotwood, though I very much regret that her squaring off againsts the Murdstones does not happen in tihis film since this is my favourite Betsey Trotwood scene in the book. (It doesn't happen because David is no longer a child, he's a late teenager by the time he ends up with Aunt Betsey in the movie, and has just squared off against the Murdstones.)

In conclusion: great fun, very clever, and at times made me wish Iannucci would tackle Dickens himself in a biopic.

Comments

[nenya_kanadka]

This is great! I've never read the book but recently saw the movie and loved it. I'm glad it wasn't darker than it was, since the parts it sort of sails past by momentum were already disturbing enough for me, and I really liked the "write me out" scene and prefer it to the novel ending for Dora now that I know about it. Fascinating to hear about the similarities with Dickens's real life and how the movie draws on that. The class-shame definitely rang true to me (and leaving it out might have felt false), even though I understand why Dickens wouldn't want to put it in.

This was a tremendously fun and heartwarming movie for me, and I'll add that I did see slashy subtext between David and Steerforth. Different eyes beholding, apparently! I must agree that I would have loved to see Betsey Trotwood squaring off against the Murdstones, and a crowning moment of awesome for Mr Micawber, but I'll have fun imagining those now that I know about them. Thanks for this review!

Betsey Trotwood vs the Murdstones scene (1)

[selenak]

MY aunt was a little more imperious and stern than usual, but I
observed no other token of her preparing herself to receive the
visitor so much dreaded by me. She sat at work in the window, and
I sat by, with my thoughts running astray on all possible and
impossible results of Mr. Murdstone's visit, until pretty late in
the afternoon. Our dinner had been indefinitely postponed; but it
was growing so late, that my aunt had ordered it to be got ready,
when she gave a sudden alarm of donkeys, and to my consternation
and amazement, I beheld Miss Murdstone, on a side-saddle, ride
deliberately over the sacred piece of green, and stop in front of
the house, looking about her.

'Go along with you!' cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist
at the window. 'You have no business there. How dare you
trespass? Go along! Oh! you bold-faced thing!'

MY aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which Miss
Murdstone looked about her, that I really believe she was
motionless, and unable for the moment to dart out according to
custom. I seized the opportunity to inform her who it was; and
that the gentleman now coming near the offender (for the way up was
very steep, and he had dropped behind), was Mr. Murdstone himself.

'I don't care who it is!' cried my aunt, still shaking her head and
gesticulating anything but welcome from the bow-window. 'I won't
be trespassed upon. I won't allow it. Go away! Janet, turn him
round. Lead him off!' and I saw, from behind my aunt, a sort of
hurried battle-piece, in which the donkey stood resisting
everybody, with all his four legs planted different ways, while
Janet tried to pull him round by the bridle, Mr. Murdstone tried to
lead him on, Miss Murdstone struck at Janet with a parasol, and
several boys, who had come to see the engagement, shouted
vigorously. But my aunt, suddenly descrying among them the young
malefactor who was the donkey's guardian, and who was one of the
most inveterate offenders against her, though hardly in his teens,
rushed out to the scene of action, pounced upon him, captured him,
dragged him, with his jacket over his head, and his heels grinding
the ground, into the garden, and, calling upon Janet to fetch the
constables and justices, that he might be taken, tried, and
executed on the spot, held him at bay there. This part of the
business, however, did not last long; for the young rascal, being
expert at a variety of feints and dodges, of which my aunt had no
conception, soon went whooping away, leaving some deep impressions
of his nailed boots in the flower-beds, and taking his donkey in
triumph with him.

Miss Murdstone, during the latter portion of the contest, had
dismounted, and was now waiting with her brother at the bottom of
the steps, until my aunt should be at leisure to receive them. My
aunt, a little ruffled by the combat, marched past them into the
house, with great dignity, and took no notice of their presence,
until they were announced by Janet.

'Shall I go away, aunt?' I asked, trembling.

'No, sir,' said my aunt. 'Certainly not!' With which she pushed
me into a corner near her, and fenced Me in with a chair, as if it
were a prison or a bar of justice. This position I continued to
occupy during the whole interview, and from it I now saw Mr. and
Miss Murdstone enter the room.

'Oh!' said my aunt, 'I was not aware at first to whom I had the
pleasure of objecting. But I don't allow anybody to ride over that
turf. I make no exceptions. I don't allow anybody to do it.'

'Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers,' said Miss
Murdstone.

'Is it!' said my aunt.

Mr. Murdstone seemed afraid of a renewal of hostilities, and
interposing began:

'Miss Trotwood!'

'I beg your pardon,' observed my aunt with a keen look. 'You are
the Mr. Murdstone who married the widow of my late nephew, David
Copperfield, of Blunderstone Rookery! - Though why Rookery, I don't
know!'

'I am,' said Mr. Murdstone.

'You'll excuse my saying, sir,' returned my aunt, 'that I think it
would have been a much better and happier thing if you had left
that poor child alone.'

'I so far agree with what Miss Trotwood has remarked,' observed
Miss Murdstone, bridling, 'that I consider our lamented Clara to
have been, in all essential respects, a mere child.'

'It is a comfort to you and me, ma'am,' said my aunt, 'who are
getting on in life, and are not likely to be made unhappy by our
personal attractions, that nobody can say the same of us.'

'No doubt!' returned Miss Murdstone, though, I thought, not with a
very ready or gracious assent. 'And it certainly might have been,
as you say, a better and happier thing for my brother if he had
never entered into such a marriage. I have always been of that
opinion.'

'I have no doubt you have,' said my aunt. 'Janet,' ringing the
bell, 'my compliments to Mr. Dick, and beg him to come down.'

Until he came, my aunt sat perfectly upright and stiff, frowning at
the wall. When he came, my aunt performed the ceremony of
introduction.

'Mr. Dick. An old and intimate friend. On whose judgement,' said
my aunt, with emphasis, as an admonition to Mr. Dick, who was
biting his forefinger and looking rather foolish, 'I rely.'

Mr. Dick took his finger out of his mouth, on this hint, and stood
among the group, with a grave and attentive expression of face.

My aunt inclined her head to Mr. Murdstone, who went on:

'Miss Trotwood: on the receipt of your letter, I considered it an
act of greater justice to myself, and perhaps of more respect to
you-'

'Thank you,' said my aunt, still eyeing him keenly. 'You needn't
mind me.'

'To answer it in person, however inconvenient the journey,' pursued
Mr. Murdstone, 'rather than by letter. This unhappy boy who has
run away from his friends and his occupation -'

'And whose appearance,' interposed his sister, directing general
attention to me in my indefinable costume, 'is perfectly scandalous
and disgraceful.'

'Jane Murdstone,' said her brother, 'have the goodness not to
interrupt me. This unhappy boy, Miss Trotwood, has been the
occasion of much domestic trouble and uneasiness; both during the
lifetime of my late dear wife, and since. He has a sullen,
rebellious spirit; a violent temper; and an untoward, intractable
disposition. Both my sister and myself have endeavoured to correct
his vices, but ineffectually. And I have felt - we both have felt,
I may say; my sister being fully in my confidence - that it is
right you should receive this grave and dispassionate assurance
from our lips.'

'It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm anything stated by my
brother,' said Miss Murdstone; 'but I beg to observe, that, of all
the boys in the world, I believe this is the worst boy.'

'Strong!' said my aunt, shortly.

'But not at all too strong for the facts,' returned Miss Murdstone.

'Ha!' said my aunt. 'Well, sir?'

'I have my own opinions,' resumed Mr. Murdstone, whose face
darkened more and more, the more he and my aunt observed each
other, which they did very narrowly, 'as to the best mode of
bringing him up; they are founded, in part, on my knowledge of him,
and in part on my knowledge of my own means and resources. I am
responsible for them to myself, I act upon them, and I say no more
about them. It is enough that I place this boy under the eye of a
friend of my own, in a respectable business; that it does not
please him; that he runs away from it; makes himself a common
vagabond about the country; and comes here, in rags, to appeal to
you, Miss Trotwood. I wish to set before you, honourably, the
exact consequences - so far as they are within my knowledge - of
your abetting him in this appeal.'

'But about the respectable business first,' said my aunt. 'If he
had been your own boy, you would have put him to it, just the same,
I suppose?'

'If he had been my brother's own boy,' returned Miss Murdstone,
striking in, 'his character, I trust, would have been altogether
different.'

'Or if the poor child, his mother, had been alive, he would still
have gone into the respectable business, would he?' said my aunt.

'I believe,' said Mr. Murdstone, with an inclination of his head,
'that Clara would have disputed nothing which myself and my sister
Jane Murdstone were agreed was for the best.'

Miss Murdstone confirmed this with an audible murmur.

'Humph!' said my aunt. 'Unfortunate baby!'

Mr. Dick, who had been rattling his money all this time, was
rattling it so loudly now, that my aunt felt it necessary to check
him with a look, before saying:

'The poor child's annuity died with her?'

'Died with her,' replied Mr. Murdstone.

'And there was no settlement of the little property - the house and
garden - the what's-its-name Rookery without any rooks in it - upon
her boy?'

'It had been left to her, unconditionally, by her first husband,'
Mr. Murdstone began, when my aunt caught him up with the greatest
irascibility and impatience.

'Good Lord, man, there's no occasion to say that. Left to her
unconditionally! I think I see David Copperfield looking forward
to any condition of any sort or kind, though it stared him
point-blank in the face! Of course it was left to her
unconditionally. But when she married again - when she took that
most disastrous step of marrying you, in short,' said my aunt, 'to
be plain - did no one put in a word for the boy at that time?'

'My late wife loved her second husband, ma'am,' said Mr. Murdstone,
'and trusted implicitly in him.'

'Your late wife, sir, was a most unworldly, most unhappy, most
unfortunate baby,' returned my aunt, shaking her head at him.
'That's what she was. And now, what have you got to say next?'

'Merely this, Miss Trotwood,' he returned. 'I am here to take
David back - to take him back unconditionally, to dispose of him as
I think proper, and to deal with him as I think right. I am not
here to make any promise, or give any pledge to anybody. You may
possibly have some idea, Miss Trotwood, of abetting him in his
running away, and in his complaints to you. Your manner, which I
must say does not seem intended to propitiate, induces me to think
it possible. Now I must caution you that if you abet him once, you
abet him for good and all; if you step in between him and me, now,
you must step in, Miss Trotwood, for ever. I cannot trifle, or be
trifled with. I am here, for the first and last time, to take him
away. Is he ready to go? If he is not - and you tell me he is
not; on any pretence; it is indifferent to me what - my doors are
shut against him henceforth, and yours, I take it for granted, are
open to him.'

To this address, my aunt had listened with the closest attention,
sitting perfectly upright, with her hands folded on one knee, and
looking grimly on the speaker. When he had finished, she turned
her eyes so as to command Miss Murdstone, without otherwise
disturbing her attitude, and said:

'Well, ma'am, have YOU got anything to remark?'

'Indeed, Miss Trotwood,' said Miss Murdstone, 'all that I could say
has been so well said by my brother, and all that I know to be the
fact has been so plainly stated by him, that I have nothing to add
except my thanks for your politeness. For your very great
politeness, I am sure,' said Miss Murdstone; with an irony which no
more affected my aunt, than it discomposed the cannon I had slept
by at Chatham.

'And what does the boy say?' said my aunt. 'Are you ready to go,
David?'

I answered no, and entreated her not to let me go. I said that
neither Mr. nor Miss Murdstone had ever liked me, or had ever been
kind to me. That they had made my mama, who always loved me
dearly, unhappy about me, and that I knew it well, and that
Peggotty knew it. I said that I had been more miserable than I
thought anybody could believe, who only knew how young I was. And
I begged and prayed my aunt - I forget in what terms now, but I
remember that they affected me very much then - to befriend and
protect me, for my father's sake.

'Mr. Dick,' said my aunt, 'what shall I do with this child?'

Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, 'Have him
measured for a suit of clothes directly.'

'Mr. Dick,' said my aunt triumphantly, 'give me your hand, for your
common sense is invaluable.' Having shaken it with great
cordiality, she pulled me towards her and said to Mr. Murdstone:

'You can go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy. If
he's all you say he is, at least I can do as much for him then, as
you have done. But I don't believe a word of it.'

'Miss Trotwood,' rejoined Mr. Murdstone, shrugging his shoulders,
as he rose, 'if you were a gentleman -'

'Bah! Stuff and nonsense!' said my aunt. 'Don't talk to me!'

Betsey Trotwood vs the Murdstones scene (2)

[selenak]

'How exquisitely polite!' exclaimed Miss Murdstone, rising.
'Overpowering, really!'

'Do you think I don't know,' said my aunt, turning a deaf ear to
the sister, and continuing to address the brother, and to shake her
head at him with infinite expression, 'what kind of life you must
have led that poor, unhappy, misdirected baby? Do you think I
don't know what a woeful day it was for the soft little creature
when you first came in her way - smirking and making great eyes at
her, I'll be bound, as if you couldn't say boh! to a goose!'

'I never heard anything so elegant!' said Miss Murdstone.

'Do you think I can't understand you as well as if I had seen you,'
pursued my aunt, 'now that I DO see and hear you - which, I tell
you candidly, is anything but a pleasure to me? Oh yes, bless us!
who so smooth and silky as Mr. Murdstone at first! The poor,
benighted innocent had never seen such a man. He was made of
sweetness. He worshipped her. He doted on her boy - tenderly
doted on him! He was to be another father to him, and they were
all to live together in a garden of roses, weren't they? Ugh! Get
along with you, do!' said my aunt.

'I never heard anything like this person in my life!' exclaimed
Miss Murdstone.

'And when you had made sure of the poor little fool,' said my aunt
- 'God forgive me that I should call her so, and she gone where YOU
won't go in a hurry - because you had not done wrong enough to her
and hers, you must begin to train her, must you? begin to break
her, like a poor caged bird, and wear her deluded life away, in
teaching her to sing YOUR notes?'

'This is either insanity or intoxication,' said Miss Murdstone, in
a perfect agony at not being able to turn the current of my aunt's
address towards herself; 'and my suspicion is that it's
intoxication.'

Miss Betsey, without taking the least notice of the interruption,
continued to address herself to Mr. Murdstone as if there had been
no such thing.

'Mr. Murdstone,' she said, shaking her finger at him, 'you were a
tyrant to the simple baby, and you broke her heart. She was a
loving baby - I know that; I knew it, years before you ever saw her
- and through the best part of her weakness you gave her the wounds
she died of. There is the truth for your comfort, however you like
it. And you and your instruments may make the most of it.'

'Allow me to inquire, Miss Trotwood,' interposed Miss Murdstone,
'whom you are pleased to call, in a choice of words in which I am
not experienced, my brother's instruments?'

'It was clear enough, as I have told you, years before YOU ever saw
her - and why, in the mysterious dispensations of Providence, you
ever did see her, is more than humanity can comprehend - it was
clear enough that the poor soft little thing would marry somebody,
at some time or other; but I did hope it wouldn't have been as bad
as it has turned out. That was the time, Mr. Murdstone, when she
gave birth to her boy here,' said my aunt; 'to the poor child you
sometimes tormented her through afterwards, which is a disagreeable
remembrance and makes the sight of him odious now. Aye, aye! you
needn't wince!' said my aunt. 'I know it's true without that.'

He had stood by the door, all this while, observant of her with a
smile upon his face, though his black eyebrows were heavily
contracted. I remarked now, that, though the smile was on his face
still, his colour had gone in a moment, and he seemed to breathe as
if he had been running.

'Good day, sir,' said my aunt, 'and good-bye! Good day to you,
too, ma'am,' said my aunt, turning suddenly upon his sister. 'Let
me see you ride a donkey over my green again, and as sure as you
have a head upon your shoulders, I'll knock your bonnet off, and
tread upon it!'

It would require a painter, and no common painter too, to depict my
aunt's face as she delivered herself of this very unexpected
sentiment, and Miss Murdstone's face as she heard it. But the
manner of the speech, no less than the matter, was so fiery, that
Miss Murdstone, without a word in answer, discreetly put her arm
through her brother's, and walked haughtily out of the cottage; my
aunt remaining in the window looking after them; prepared, I have
no doubt, in case of the donkey's reappearance, to carry her threat
into instant execution.

No attempt at defiance being made, however, her face gradually
relaxed, and became so pleasant, that I was emboldened to kiss and
thank her; which I did with great heartiness, and with both my arms
clasped round her neck. I then shook hands with Mr. Dick, who
shook hands with me a great many times, and hailed this happy close
of the proceedings with repeated bursts of laughter.

Re: Betsey Trotwood vs the Murdstones scene (2)

[nenya_kanadka]

Oh my god I love Betsey Trotwood! ❤❤❤ I love how instantly she sees through them and how she has zero belief in all the crap they're saying about David, and knows aaallll about abusive assholes like Mr Murdstone. Amazing.

(Thank you for these!!)

Re: Betsey Trotwood vs the Murdstones scene (2)

[selenak]

You're very welcome. Like I said, I can understand why Iannucci cut it, given he'd aged David up from child to teenager (at least) at the point where David ends up with his aunt (whereas in the novel he's still a child), and had just given Dev Patel shaped David a confrontation of his own with Mr. Murdstone. (In the novel, adult David does see the Murdstones again, separately, but years later.) It would have felt repetitive to depict two confrotations in a row. But it is an awesome scene, and everyone should know it. Because if you take the famous opening sentence of the novel seriously, then the answer as to who the hero of David Copperfield's life is: undoubtedly Betsey Trotwood.

Mr. Micawber's Crowning Moment of Awesome (1)

[selenak]

I was prevented from disclaiming the compliment (if I should have
done so, in any case), by the entrance of Agnes, now ushered in by
Mr. Micawber. She was not quite so self-possessed as usual, I
thought; and had evidently undergone anxiety and fatigue. But her
earnest cordiality, and her quiet beauty, shone with the gentler
lustre for it.

I saw Uriah watch her while she greeted us; and he reminded me of
an ugly and rebellious genie watching a good spirit. In the
meanwhile, some slight sign passed between Mr. Micawber and
Traddles; and Traddles, unobserved except by me, went out.

'Don't wait, Micawber,' said Uriah.

Mr. Micawber, with his hand upon the ruler in his breast, stood
erect before the door, most unmistakably contemplating one of his
fellow-men, and that man his employer.

'What are you waiting for?' said Uriah. 'Micawber! did you hear me
tell you not to wait?'

'Yes!' replied the immovable Mr. Micawber.

'Then why DO you wait?' said Uriah.

'Because I - in short, choose,' replied Mr. Micawber, with a burst.

Uriah's cheeks lost colour, and an unwholesome paleness, still
faintly tinged by his pervading red, overspread them. He looked at
Mr. Micawber attentively, with his whole face breathing short and
quick in every feature.

'You are a dissipated fellow, as all the world knows,' he said,
with an effort at a smile, 'and I am afraid you'll oblige me to get
rid of you. Go along! I'll talk to you presently.'

'If there is a scoundrel on this earth,' said Mr. Micawber,
suddenly breaking out again with the utmost vehemence, 'with whom
I have already talked too much, that scoundrel's name is - HEEP!'

Uriah fell back, as if he had been struck or stung. Looking slowly
round upon us with the darkest and wickedest expression that his
face could wear, he said, in a lower voice:

'Oho! This is a conspiracy! You have met here by appointment! You
are playing Booty with my clerk, are you, Copperfield? Now, take
care. You'll make nothing of this. We understand each other, you
and me. There's no love between us. You were always a puppy with
a proud stomach, from your first coming here; and you envy me my
rise, do you? None of your plots against me; I'll counterplot you!
Micawber, you be off. I'll talk to you presently.'

'Mr. Micawber,' said I, 'there is a sudden change in this fellow.
in more respects than the extraordinary one of his speaking the
truth in one particular, which assures me that he is brought to
bay. Deal with him as he deserves!'

'You are a precious set of people, ain't you?' said Uriah, in the
same low voice, and breaking out into a clammy heat, which he wiped
from his forehead, with his long lean hand, 'to buy over my clerk,
who is the very scum of society, - as you yourself were,
Copperfield, you know it, before anyone had charity on you, - to
defame me with his lies? Miss Trotwood, you had better stop this;
or I'll stop your husband shorter than will be pleasant to you. I
won't know your story professionally, for nothing, old lady! Miss
Wickfield, if you have any love for your father, you had better not
join that gang. I'll ruin him, if you do. Now, come! I have got
some of you under the harrow. Think twice, before it goes over
you. Think twice, you, Micawber, if you don't want to be crushed.
I recommend you to take yourself off, and be talked to presently,
you fool! while there's time to retreat. Where's mother?' he said,
suddenly appearing to notice, with alarm, the absence of Traddles,
and pulling down the bell-rope. 'Fine doings in a person's own
house!'

'Mrs. Heep is here, sir,' said Traddles, returning with that worthy
mother of a worthy son. 'I have taken the liberty of making myself
known to her.'

'Who are you to make yourself known?' retorted Uriah. 'And what do
you want here?'

'I am the agent and friend of Mr. Wickfield, sir,' said Traddles,
in a composed and business-like way. 'And I have a power of
attorney from him in my pocket, to act for him in all matters.'

'The old ass has drunk himself into a state of dotage,' said Uriah,
turning uglier than before, 'and it has been got from him by
fraud!'

'Something has been got from him by fraud, I know,' returned
Traddles quietly; 'and so do you, Mr. Heep. We will refer that
question, if you please, to Mr. Micawber.'

'Ury -!' Mrs. Heep began, with an anxious gesture.

'YOU hold your tongue, mother,' he returned; 'least said, soonest
mended.'

'But, my Ury -'

'Will you hold your tongue, mother, and leave it to me?'

Though I had long known that his servility was false, and all his
pretences knavish and hollow, I had had no adequate conception of
the extent of his hypocrisy, until I now saw him with his mask off.
The suddenness with which he dropped it, when he perceived that it
was useless to him; the malice, insolence, and hatred, he revealed;
the leer with which he exulted, even at this moment, in the evil he
had done - all this time being desperate too, and at his wits' end
for the means of getting the better of us - though perfectly
consistent with the experience I had of him, at first took even me
by surprise, who had known him so long, and disliked him so
heartily.

I say nothing of the look he conferred on me, as he stood eyeing
us, one after another; for I had always understood that he hated
me, and I remembered the marks of my hand upon his cheek. But when
his eyes passed on to Agnes, and I saw the rage with which he felt
his power over her slipping away, and the exhibition, in their
disappointment, of the odious passions that had led him to aspire
to one whose virtues he could never appreciate or care for, I was
shocked by the mere thought of her having lived, an hour, within
sight of such a man.

After some rubbing of the lower part of his face, and some looking
at us with those bad eyes, over his grisly fingers, he made one
more address to me, half whining, and half abusive.

'You think it justifiable, do you, Copperfield, you who pride
yourself so much on your honour and all the rest of it, to sneak
about my place, eaves-dropping with my clerk? If it had been ME,
I shouldn't have wondered; for I don't make myself out a gentleman
(though I never was in the streets either, as you were, according
to Micawber), but being you! - And you're not afraid of doing this,
either? You don't think at all of what I shall do, in return; or
of getting yourself into trouble for conspiracy and so forth? Very
well. We shall see! Mr. What's-your-name, you were going to refer
some question to Micawber. There's your referee. Why don't you
make him speak? He has learnt his lesson, I see.'

Seeing that what he said had no effect on me or any of us, he sat
on the edge of his table with his hands in his pockets, and one of
his splay feet twisted round the other leg, waiting doggedly for
what might follow.

Mr. Micawber, whose impetuosity I had restrained thus far with the
greatest difficulty, and who had repeatedly interposed with the
first syllable Of SCOUN-drel! without getting to the second, now
burst forward, drew the ruler from his breast (apparently as a
defensive weapon), and produced from his pocket a foolscap
document, folded in the form of a large letter. Opening this
packet, with his old flourish, and glancing at the contents, as if
he cherished an artistic admiration of their style of composition,
he began to read as follows:

'"Dear Miss Trotwood and gentlemen -"'

'Bless and save the man!' exclaimed my aunt in a low voice. 'He'd
write letters by the ream, if it was a capital offence!'

Mr. Micawber, without hearing her, went on.

'"In appearing before you to denounce probably the most consummate
Villain that has ever existed,"' Mr. Micawber, without looking off
the letter, pointed the ruler, like a ghostly truncheon, at Uriah
Heep, '"I ask no consideration for myself. The victim, from my
cradle, of pecuniary liabilities to which I have been unable to
respond, I have ever been the sport and toy of debasing
circumstances. Ignominy, Want, Despair, and Madness, have,
collectively or separately, been the attendants of my career."'

The relish with which Mr. Micawber described himself as a prey to
these dismal calamities, was only to be equalled by the emphasis
with which he read his letter; and the kind of homage he rendered
to it with a roll of his head, when he thought he had hit a
sentence very hard indeed.

'"In an accumulation of Ignominy, Want, Despair, and Madness, I
entered the office - or, as our lively neighbour the Gaul would
term it, the Bureau - of the Firm, nominally conducted under the
appellation of Wickfield and - HEEP, but in reality, wielded by -
HEEP alone. HEEP, and only HEEP, is the mainspring of that
machine. HEEP, and only HEEP, is the Forger and the Cheat."'

Uriah, more blue than white at these words, made a dart at the
letter, as if to tear it in pieces. Mr. Micawber, with a perfect
miracle of dexterity or luck, caught his advancing knuckles with
the ruler, and disabled his right hand. It dropped at the wrist,
as if it were broken. The blow sounded as if it had fallen on
wood.

'The Devil take you!' said Uriah, writhing in a new way with pain.
'I'll be even with you.'

'Approach me again, you - you - you HEEP of infamy,' gasped Mr.
Micawber, 'and if your head is human, I'll break it. Come on, come
on! '

I think I never saw anything more ridiculous - I was sensible of
it, even at the time - than Mr. Micawber making broad-sword guards
with the ruler, and crying, 'Come on!' while Traddles and I pushed
him back into a corner, from which, as often as we got him into it,
he persisted in emerging again.

His enemy, muttering to himself, after wringing his wounded hand
for sometime, slowly drew off his neck-kerchief and bound it up;
then held it in his other hand, and sat upon his table with his
sullen face looking down.

Mr. Micawber, when he was sufficiently cool, proceeded with his
letter.

'"The stipendiary emoluments in consideration of which I entered
into the service of - HEEP,"' always pausing before that word and
uttering it with astonishing vigour, '"were not defined, beyond the
pittance of twenty-two shillings and six per week. The rest was
left contingent on the value of my professional exertions; in other
and more expressive words, on the baseness of my nature, the
cupidity of my motives, the poverty of my family, the general moral
(or rather immoral) resemblance between myself and - HEEP. Need I
say, that it soon became necessary for me to solicit from - HEEP -
pecuniary advances towards the support of Mrs. Micawber, and our
blighted but rising family? Need I say that this necessity had
been foreseen by - HEEP? That those advances were secured by
I.O.U.'s and other similar acknowledgements, known to the legal
institutions of this country? And that I thus became immeshed in
the web he had spun for my reception?"'

Mr. Micawber's enjoyment of his epistolary powers, in describing
this unfortunate state of things, really seemed to outweigh any
pain or anxiety that the reality could have caused him. He read
on:

'"Then it was that - HEEP - began to favour me with just so much of
his confidence, as was necessary to the discharge of his infernal
business. Then it was that I began, if I may so Shakespearianly
express myself, to dwindle, peak, and pine. I found that my
services were constantly called into requisition for the
falsification of business, and the mystification of an individual
whom I will designate as Mr. W. That Mr. W. was imposed upon, kept
in ignorance, and deluded, in every possible way; yet, that all
this while, the ruffian - HEEP - was professing unbounded gratitude
to, and unbounded friendship for, that much-abused gentleman. This
was bad enough; but, as the philosophic Dane observes, with that
universal applicability which distinguishes the illustrious
ornament of the Elizabethan Era, worse remains behind!"'

Mr. Micawber was so very much struck by this happy rounding off
with a quotation, that he indulged himself, and us, with a second
reading of the sentence, under pretence of having lost his place.

'"It is not my intention,"' he continued reading on, '"to enter on
a detailed list, within the compass of the present epistle (though
it is ready elsewhere), of the various malpractices of a minor
nature, affecting the individual whom I have denominated Mr. W., to
which I have been a tacitly consenting party. My object, when the
contest within myself between stipend and no stipend, baker and no
baker, existence and non-existence, ceased, was to take advantage
of my opportunities to discover and expose the major malpractices
committed, to that gentleman's grievous wrong and injury, by -
HEEP. Stimulated by the silent monitor within, and by a no less
touching and appealing monitor without - to whom I will briefly
refer as Miss W. - I entered on a not unlaborious task of
clandestine investigation, protracted - now, to the best of my
knowledge, information, and belief, over a period exceeding twelve
calendar months."'

He read this passage as if it were from an Act of Parliament; and
appeared majestically refreshed by the sound of the words.

'"My charges against - HEEP,"' he read on, glancing at him, and
drawing the ruler into a convenient position under his left arm, in
case of need, '"are as follows."'

We all held our breath, I think. I am sure Uriah held his.

Mr. Micawber's Crowning Moment of Awesome (2)

[selenak]

'"First,"' said Mr. Micawber, '"When Mr. W.'s faculties and memory
for business became, through causes into which it is not necessary
or expedient for me to enter, weakened and confused, - HEEP -
designedly perplexed and complicated the whole of the official
transactions. When Mr. W. was least fit to enter on business, -
HEEP was always at hand to force him to enter on it. He obtained
Mr. W.'s signature under such circumstances to documents of
importance, representing them to be other documents of no
importance. He induced Mr. W. to empower him to draw out, thus,
one particular sum of trust-money, amounting to twelve six
fourteen, two and nine, and employed it to meet pretended business
charges and deficiencies which were either already provided for, or
had never really existed. He gave this proceeding, throughout, the
appearance of having originated in Mr. W.'s own dishonest
intention, and of having been accomplished by Mr. W.'s own
dishonest act; and has used it, ever since, to torture and
constrain him."'

'You shall prove this, you Copperfield!' said Uriah, with a
threatening shake of the head. 'All in good time!'

'Ask - HEEP - Mr. Traddles, who lived in his house after him,' said
Mr. Micawber, breaking off from the letter; 'will you?'

'The fool himself- and lives there now,' said Uriah, disdainfully.

'Ask - HEEP - if he ever kept a pocket-book in that house,' said
Mr. Micawber; 'will you?'

I saw Uriah's lank hand stop, involuntarily, in the scraping of his
chin.

'Or ask him,' said Mr. Micawber,'if he ever burnt one there. If he
says yes, and asks you where the ashes are, refer him to Wilkins
Micawber, and he will hear of something not at all to his
advantage!'

The triumphant flourish with which Mr. Micawber delivered himself
of these words, had a powerful effect in alarming the mother; who
cried out, in much agitation:

'Ury, Ury! Be umble, and make terms, my dear!'

'Mother!' he retorted, 'will you keep quiet? You're in a fright,
and don't know what you say or mean. Umble!' he repeated, looking
at me, with a snarl; 'I've umbled some of 'em for a pretty long
time back, umble as I was!'

Mr. Micawber, genteelly adjusting his chin in his cravat, presently
proceeded with his composition.

'"Second. HEEP has, on several occasions, to the best of my
knowledge, information, and belief -"'

'But that won't do,' muttered Uriah, relieved. 'Mother, you keep
quiet.'

'We will endeavour to provide something that WILL do, and do for
you finally, sir, very shortly,' replied Mr. Micawber.

'"Second. HEEP has, on several occasions, to the best of my
knowledge, information, and belief, systematically forged, to
various entries, books, and documents, the signature of Mr. W.; and
has distinctly done so in one instance, capable of proof by me. To
wit, in manner following, that is to say:"'

Again, Mr. Micawber had a relish in this formal piling up of words,
which, however ludicrously displayed in his case, was, I must say,
not at all peculiar to him. I have observed it, in the course of
my life, in numbers of men. It seems to me to be a general rule.
In the taking of legal oaths, for instance, deponents seem to enjoy
themselves mightily when they come to several good words in
succession, for the expression of one idea; as, that they utterly
detest, abominate, and abjure, or so forth; and the old anathemas
were made relishing on the same principle. We talk about the
tyranny of words, but we like to tyrannize over them too; we are
fond of having a large superfluous establishment of words to wait
upon us on great occasions; we think it looks important, and sounds
well. As we are not particular about the meaning of our liveries
on state occasions, if they be but fine and numerous enough, so,
the meaning or necessity of our words is a secondary consideration,
if there be but a great parade of them. And as individuals get
into trouble by making too great a show of liveries, or as slaves
when they are too numerous rise against their masters, so I think
I could mention a nation that has got into many great difficulties,
and will get into many greater, from maintaining too large a
retinue of words.

Mr. Micawber read on, almost smacking his lips:

'"To wit, in manner following, that is to say. Mr. W. being
infirm, and it being within the bounds of probability that his
decease might lead to some discoveries, and to the downfall of -
HEEP'S - power over the W. family, - as I, Wilkins Micawber, the
undersigned, assume - unless the filial affection of his daughter
could be secretly influenced from allowing any investigation of the
partnership affairs to be ever made, the said - HEEP - deemed it
expedient to have a bond ready by him, as from Mr. W., for the
before-mentioned sum of twelve six fourteen, two and nine, with
interest, stated therein to have been advanced by - HEEP - to Mr.
W. to save Mr. W. from dishonour; though really the sum was never
advanced by him, and has long been replaced. The signatures to
this instrument purporting to be executed by Mr. W. and attested by
Wilkins Micawber, are forgeries by - HEEP. I have, in my
possession, in his hand and pocket-book, several similar imitations
of Mr. W.'s signature, here and there defaced by fire, but legible
to anyone. I never attested any such document. And I have the
document itself, in my possession."'
Uriah Heep, with a start, took out of his pocket a bunch of keys,
and opened a certain drawer; then, suddenly bethought himself of
what he was about, and turned again towards us, without looking in
it.

'"And I have the document,"' Mr. Micawber read again, looking about
as if it were the text of a sermon, '"in my possession, - that is
to say, I had, early this morning, when this was written, but have
since relinquished it to Mr. Traddles."'

'It is quite true,' assented Traddles.

Mr. Micawber's Crowning Moment of Awesome (3)

[selenak]

'Ury, Ury!' cried the mother, 'be umble and make terms. I know my
son will be umble, gentlemen, if you'll give him time to think.
Mr. Copperfield, I'm sure you know that he was always very umble,
sir!'

It was singular to see how the mother still held to the old trick,
when the son had abandoned it as useless.

'Mother,' he said, with an impatient bite at the handkerchief in
which his hand was wrapped, 'you had better take and fire a loaded
gun at me.'

'But I love you, Ury,' cried Mrs. Heep. And I have no doubt she
did; or that he loved her, however strange it may appear; though,
to be sure, they were a congenial couple. 'And I can't bear to
hear you provoking the gentlemen, and endangering of yourself more.
I told the gentleman at first, when he told me upstairs it was come
to light, that I would answer for your being umble, and making
amends. Oh, see how umble I am, gentlemen, and don't mind him!'

'Why, there's Copperfield, mother,' he angrily retorted, pointing
his lean finger at me, against whom all his animosity was levelled,
as the prime mover in the discovery; and I did not undeceive him;
'there's Copperfield, would have given you a hundred pound to say
less than you've blurted out!'

'I can't help it, Ury,' cried his mother. 'I can't see you running
into danger, through carrying your head so high. Better be umble,
as you always was.'

He remained for a little, biting the handkerchief, and then said to
me with a scowl:

'What more have you got to bring forward? If anything, go on with
it. What do you look at me for?'

Mr. Micawber promptly resumed his letter, glad to revert to a
performance with which he was so highly satisfied.

'"Third. And last. I am now in a condition to show, by - HEEP'S
- false books, and - HEEP'S - real memoranda, beginning with the
partially destroyed pocket-book (which I was unable to comprehend,
at the time of its accidental discovery by Mrs. Micawber, on our
taking possession of our present abode, in the locker or bin
devoted to the reception of the ashes calcined on our domestic
hearth), that the weaknesses, the faults, the very virtues, the
parental affections, and the sense of honour, of the unhappy Mr. W.
have been for years acted on by, and warped to the base purposes of
- HEEP. That Mr. W. has been for years deluded and plundered, in
every conceivable manner, to the pecuniary aggrandisement of the
avaricious, false, and grasping - HEEP. That the engrossing object
of- HEEP - was, next to gain, to subdue Mr. and Miss W. (of his
ulterior views in reference to the latter I say nothing) entirely
to himself. That his last act, completed but a few months since,
was to induce Mr. W. to execute a relinquishment of his share in
the partnership, and even a bill of sale on the very furniture of
his house, in consideration of a certain annuity, to be well and
truly paid by - HEEP - on the four common quarter-days in each and
every year. That these meshes; beginning with alarming and
falsified accounts of the estate of which Mr. W. is the receiver,
at a period when Mr. W. had launched into imprudent and ill-judged
speculations, and may not have had the money, for which he was
morally and legally responsible, in hand; going on with pretended
borrowings of money at enormous interest, really coming from - HEEP
- and by - HEEP - fraudulently obtained or withheld from Mr. W.
himself, on pretence of such speculations or otherwise; perpetuated
by a miscellaneous catalogue of unscrupulous chicaneries -
gradually thickened, until the unhappy Mr. W. could see no world
beyond. Bankrupt, as he believed, alike in circumstances, in all
other hope, and in honour, his sole reliance was upon the monster
in the garb of man,"' - Mr. Micawber made a good deal of this, as
a new turn of expression, - '"who, by making himself necessary to
him, had achieved his destruction. All this I undertake to show.
Probably much more!"'

I whispered a few words to Agnes, who was weeping, half joyfully,
half sorrowfully, at my side; and there was a movement among us, as
if Mr. Micawber had finished. He said, with exceeding gravity,
'Pardon me,' and proceeded, with a mixture of the lowest spirits
and the most intense enjoyment, to the peroration of his letter.

'"I have now concluded. It merely remains for me to substantiate
these accusations; and then, with my ill-starred family, to
disappear from the landscape on which we appear to be an
encumbrance. That is soon done. It may be reasonably inferred
that our baby will first expire of inanition, as being the frailest
member of our circle; and that our twins will follow next in order.
So be it! For myself, my Canterbury Pilgrimage has done much;
imprisonment on civil process, and want, will soon do more. I
trust that the labour and hazard of an investigation - of which the
smallest results have been slowly pieced together, in the pressure
of arduous avocations, under grinding penurious apprehensions, at
rise of morn, at dewy eve, in the shadows of night, under the
watchful eye of one whom it were superfluous to call Demon -
combined with the struggle of parental Poverty to turn it, when
completed, to the right account, may be as the sprinkling of a few
drops of sweet water on my funeral pyre. I ask no more. Let it
be, in justice, merely said of me, as of a gallant and eminent
naval Hero, with whom I have no pretensions to cope, that what I
have done, I did, in despite of mercenary and selfish objects,

For England, home, and Beauty.

'"Remaining always, &c. &c., WILKINS MICAWBER."'

Much affected, but still intensely enjoying himself, Mr. Micawber
folded up his letter, and handed it with a bow to my aunt, as
something she might like to keep.

Re: Mr. Micawber's Crowning Moment of Awesome (3)

[muccamukk]

That's fantastic. Capaldi would have had a lot of fun with that.

Re: Mr. Micawber's Crowning Moment of Awesome (3)

[nenya_kanadka]

God yes, I can imagine Capaldi reading every word of this. 😂

Wonderful. ❤😆