Following advice, I marathoned the John Adams miniseries starring Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney, based on David McCullough's biography. It's really very well made, both performance and script wise, informative for someone like yours truly who had her information about American history from that era from post school secondary sources. Best of all, it avoids one of my pet peeves of historical fiction: letting your main character a) be right all the time, and have him/her only contemporary-to-you-attitudes without biases of the era. This John Adams is great when pushing independence and brave, earlier, to take up the extremely unpopular cause of the British soldiers accused of the so-called "Boston Massacre", but he's really not very good at diplomacy and hence completely at sea in France whereas Franklin is superb at the game(s) there (and also presented as right in his criticism of Adams' blunders). Also, the miniseries sells you on the John and Abigail marriage as the emotional core of a lifetime and on Abigail Adams managing that rarely achieved mixture in tv fiction, being presented as supportive and yet entirely holding her own opinions and constructively critisizing.

Nor are the opponents of Our Heroes cheaply vilified. Dickinson, played by an actor whom I've liked since he played Patty Hewes' tragic counterpart in season 1 of Damages, is presented as a man of principles arguing against independence following his conscience, not as a British-bribed and/or just stupid reactionary. As mentioned, Franklin in France is presented as in the right. (Btw, all the Franklin aphorisms - and at times I could imagine the scriptwriter sitting there with a collection next to him and picking one every time Franklin opens his mouth - come fluently in conversation.) And while the script sympathizes with Adams in his fallout with Jefferson, Jefferson never becomes the villain of the tale. Incidentally, I must admit I found this whole "friends becoming political enemies and then reconciling again" quite appealing for reasons outlined in my previous post. And of course you couldn't make something up like both of them dying on the same day, the anniversary of the declaration of Independence, no less, with Adams' last words being "Jefferson still survives" (he didn't).

Tactical omissions noted by laywoman me: while Abigail Adams asks Washington whether their temporary set back might be a punishment for the sin of slavery ("I cannot say", says the General), and Jefferson when being beta-read, err, advised on his declaration by Adams and Franklin says that he's against slavery in principle but in practice has not been able to think of an alternative solution, the series doesn't mention at all Washington owned slaves all his life, and very late (when showing Monticello in the last episode) mentions Jefferson does. Since Adams and Abigail are the main characters, not W & J, that's not a problem (especially since we do have Abigail commenting on the practice of slavery more than once, including an apalled remark when they see the future White House being built by slaves), but somehow I doubt it's a coincidence, either. Also googling tells me that the reconciliation between Adams and Jefferson started before, not after Abigail's death, but I can see why a condolence letter makes for better drama.

Something else: it's interesting that any American presentation of the American Revolution I've read and watched so far focuses on George III. as the embodiment of British politics (i.e. it's always "the King ignores" or "the King does" etc.), whereas British presentations of the same period treat "Farmer" George even before he goes mad as a mostly powerless figure, with the politics decided and conducted by his Prime Ministers. Now I can see that it makes for easier understanding (and more stirring propaganda at the time) to rail against a monarch than against a couple of elected PMs, but it still strikes me as a bit ironic.

Lastly: kudos to the producers for giving Paul Giamatti the leading role instead of picking a conventionally handsome actor, and making the beautifiul Laura Linney look (while still attractive) like a woman spending much of her time outdoors and leading her own household instead of much-tv-style perfect.

I also got my hands on We'll Take Manhattan, the David Bailey and Jean Shrimpton film starring Karen "Amy Pond" Gillan. Which turned out to be mildly entertaining, but visually somewhat ironic given that a great deal of the plot revolves around young Bailey being a daring and innovative photographer who refuses to do 50s style "postcard" shots, whereas the film indulges in postcard style idyllic British countryside and precisely the type of easily recognizable iconic Manhattan shots Bailey scorned. Karen Gillan is nice and pleasant as Jean Shrimpton but I couldn't help feeling that Helen McCrory (playing Lady Claire the fashion editor) as the embodiment of the old priviliged world about to be vanquished by the Sixties as embodied by Bailey has the better role, complete with a lot of scornful cutting lines and fiery arguments with Bailey who is the chip carrying working class hero to her upper class bitch. (Even, dare I say, a bit of UST. At any rate, were this a fictional story, I'd be far more interested in daring someone to write Claire/Bailey hate sex than Bailey/Jean.) David Bailey himself came across pretty much as he does in his interviews and various memoirs by other people; yes, he is that talented, but also, yes, he's that much of a bastard, too. (Which means the only scene that struck me as really fake and unbelievable was the one where at the obligatory all seems to be lost part of the plot, Bailey proves to Jean he loves her beyond the sex and the use of her as a photo model by destroying his negatives, not knowing there are copies. No, and also, way.) This means I entirely agree with naraht that the best scene of the film is the one at very end where the film decides to have some fun at the expense of Bailey-the-daring-innovator (who until this point has always been right in his aesthetic judgments and class issues). Triumphant Bailey, Jean and subdued Claire are back in the plane to London. On comes the Beatles' very first single, Love Me Do. (Let's leave aside the likelihood of BOAC playing a pop song that never made it beyond a respectable but by no means sensational No.17 in the charts.) "What's this?" growls Our Hero. "God, I hate pop. I'll never photograph another pop star again. This is going to be the best jazz decade ever!" At which point yours truly goes Muwahhahaahhaaaa in an explosion of Schadenfreude while John Lennon's and Paul McCartney's voices belt out someone to love, somebody new.... Oh, you had it coming, Bailey, you so had it coming.