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selenak: (Livia by Pixelbee)
A few things which didn't do it for me:

James Wilson: The Dark Clue. A decades old novel which got translated into German only now, hence my coming across is accidentally. I did like the premise; it's the execution that sucks. The idea: Marian Halcombe and Walter Hartright from The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins start investigating the life of late legendary painter J.W.M. Turner (as he's referred to in the English speaking world, I was recently reminded, in Germany we refer to him as William Turner) when Walter (himself a painter, lest we forget that detail from TWIW) gets tasked with writing Turner's biography in competition to the guy who in real life did so. I was intrigued and charmed by the idea and suspected Wilson might have started out wanting to write a regular old biographical novel about Turner, then found it tricky because it's hard to get a traditional story arc out of his life, and decided on this charmingly 19th century framing device of two interlocking stories. Now I am a fan of (several of) Wilkie Collins' books and was both fascinated and disturbed by Mike Leigh's 2014 movie about Turner, so I was definitely in the market as the target audience for this book. Alas. The Turner parts of the book are sort of okay - our heroes get contradictory testimony about him reflecting various sides of his character, and there's even the sense of him as essentially a Georgian (time of his youth, when his character was formed) in the Victorian era. But the Wilkie Collins fanfic part of it is just plain terrible. Researching Turner works as an emotional catalyst of sorts for both Walter and Marian. Beware of bad fanfic spoilers. ) In conclusion, a depressing waste of what could have been a clever and intriguing premise.


Domina (TV Series, Season 1): The Julio-Claudian one where Livia is the heroine. I definitely was in the market for this one, and it did provide a lot of things I liked and/or had missed in earlier takes. So we do get very young Livia's life on the run in the post Caesar's death/ pre her (first) husband making his peace with Octavian part of her life, and indeed lots and lots of emphasis on her Claudian background and the fact her father was Team Conspirators. (Speaking of Octavian/Augustus, the show decides to deal with the various changes his name goes through in rl during those years by letting everyone refer to and address him by his first name of Gaius. Fair enough, and makes life easier for tv watchers.) This is also the first tv take that uses Scribonia (aka Octavian's wife before Livia and the mother of his sole surviving cihild, Julia). And while we don't get all of the children Octavia was the mother or in charge of, we do get far more than usual (one of the two Marcellas, both Antonias, Marcellus, and Julus, Antony's surviving (well, surviving into adulthood) son by Fulvia. Still missing in this version: Cleopatra's three kids with Antony.) And just when I was about to complain that Livia's bff/slave/freedwoman is depicted only in relationship to her, even when traumatic stuff happens, the character got her own scenes and responses. I was also amused by the take on Octavian/Augustus rise and consilidation of power as essentially a Mafia story, which, yes, can see that. Though it severely undersells quite how bloody and chaotic things had been with the Republic for the entire century before young O made his moves, which leads into my complaints re: Livia's motivations, more in a second, but what I want to say here is that the appeal of Augustus and the Principate to contemporaries and thereafter wasn't just that he emerged on top after a few bloody years and thus put an end to (civil) war, but that he managed to stabilize a state which simply had not been working anymore and had gone from bloody crisis/war to bloody crisis ever since the Senate decided murdering Tiberius Gracchus was a good way to deal with his call for direly needed reforms.

Why is this important as to why I'm not a fan of the show? Because Domina is yet another case of a sympathetic main character's secret key motivation being the wish to reintroduce the Republic. Because, see, the whole reason why Livia Drusilla (in this version) masterminds the invention of the Principate - makes her second husband from a gangster into a ruler/tyrant, as one character puts it in the show - is that her plan is that one of her sons inherits this complete power from him, and then restores the Republic for real.

Head. Desk. Now, Livia, being the daughter of an actual Republican, is actually at least a more plausible candidate for this than, say, the centuries later Emperor Marcus Aurelius in a way, and she's just a teenager when Caesar dies, so wasn't old enough to have memories of the actual Republic pre-first Triumvirate and could believe it would have been fine if not for Caesar's rise for power. But if this show wants to have its cake and eat it by providing Livia with this noble motivation justifying her increasingly ruthless strategems, while simultanously insisting on her intelligence and refusing to let her to anything to actually set up a transition of power back to the Senate. (Which "restoring the Republic" would have to mean.) On the contrary. Whenever Senators show up, they're scheming to kill Augustus and/or Livia and her kids and mean and temporary obstacles to be defeated, except for Livia's father's old bff who is noble, but doesn't anything mundane like trying to assemble a faction. So how does the show's Livia imagine things would go if all her plans succeed and one of her boys upon being handed complete power nobly hands it back to the Senate? Would the Senate, after decades of being either evil schemers or sycophantic yes-men to Augustus, then suddenly reveal they're really all virtuous statesmen inside? You'd think she'd cultivate at least a few Senators with the potential of being future administrators, especially since if there's no more Princeps inter Pares, that means Rome has to be governed by two different Consuls each other again, and where are they supposed to come from? But no. Meaning: you have a series which on the one hand aims for a "gritty Mafia drama in togas" vibe, a morally ambigous heroine who starts out well intentioned but has to be not just smarter but more ruthless to remain on top once she's there, but on the other you give her this illogical central motivation that only works in a fairy tale world.

There's another structual problem. For Livia to have impressive struggles to achieve, she needs opponents who challenge her. Now, until she marries Gaius, this works well enough, especially since the show presents her first husband (hitherto described as a conservative nice guy in what few fictions he made it into) as an opportunistic, incompetent and increasingly evil louse. But once she's Mrs. Princeps, she's in theory on top of her world. The show gains some tension from the fact that Gaius-as-Augustus has of course no intention of giving up power and that he's smart enough to figure out one day why Livia really married him, but most of the outward menace/scheming Livia has to contend with is brought by either the aforementioned evil senators.... or Scribonia. As in, Livia's predecessor, Julia's mother, carrying an immortal grudge against Livia for being the cause of Gaius divorcing her. (Supporting Scribonia, though not with evil schemes, is Octavia, who in the first two eps actually comes across as the smarter of the two, but after the show goes through a time jump and change of cast so the kids can be nearly grown up teenagers is suddenly naive and gullible as opposed to scheming Scribonia) Scribonia, character wise, is something of a blank slate - I think basically the only things we know about her from the sources is who she was married to (like many a Roman aristocrat, she was so repeatedly, and indeed remarried after being divorced by Octavian), the scandalous way Octavian divorced her, and that when her daughter Julia eventually gets exiled by her father, Scribonia chooses to go with her. (According to Seneca, she outlived her daughter, but it's also possible she died with her at the start of Tiberius' reign.) So sure, you can write her as benevolent or malvolent as you like. But either way - she has zero political power. She is NOT married to the first man of Rome. So the series by shoving her into the female villain position hitherto occupied by Livia in I, Claudius on the one hand wants us to believe in Scribonia as Livia's Enemy No.1, but otoh doesn't justify why Livia doesn't simply get rid of her one way or the other. And then there's the fact the show's Scribonia is none too bright in her scheming. And it's not like Gaius was in love with her and thus would have a reason to keep her around in Rome. (He divorces her as cold-bloodedly on the show as he did in rl, i.e. basically the moment Julia is born and isn't a boy.) So why the show' s Scribonia is in Rome in a position to make trouble instead of being exiled or dead in the last half of the first season makes no sense.

Making this show yet another example of one that learned all the wrong lessons from I, Claudius. I.e. adopt the "but he/she really wants to restore the Republic and is just faking harmlessness" gimmick, but ignore the fact that I, Claudius lets its villains be formidable - Livia herself first and foremost, of course; in that show, she's ruthless and a non-stop schemer, but she's smart and brilliant about it. That's what makes her so chilling. I somehow suspect the original pitch for Domina must have been along the lines of " I, Claudius, but Livia is the heroine, and also, they curse as much as in Rome" and then too late they realized if Livia is the heroine, you need another villain or villains, and landed on Scribonia because someone has to be the evil woman, clearly. Without bothering to think things through.

And then there's the minor irritation of Livia except for the last three episodes wearing her hair open instead of bothering with a Roman hairstyle (though all the other female characters have one). Why? But that's really just one minor detail.

In conclusion: oh producers of historical drama set in the many centuries of Roman Imperial history: you can actually do dramas where the main character does NOT want to restore the Republic.
selenak: (VanGogh - Lefaym)
Visually, it's a gorgeous movie, and in a way that doesn't feel cheesy. Which isn't the case with all movies about painters by a long shot - on the contrary, sometimes the obvious effort to restage famous paintings can feel embarrassing. (Let's not talk about the other extreme, where you are an unfortunate film maker making a movie about an artist not dead long enough for his/her work to be out in the public domain and not given permission to use it.) Otoh when a director can pull it off, the result can be awesome - for example Julie Taymor's Frida.

Then there is, independent of any subject's profession, the fact that few people live their lives in three act structures, inconviently insist on having relationships with a lot of other people sharing similar names and functions in their lives, and even if you just pick a short excerpt of their life for your biopic, thus avoiding the problem of too much crammed in too little a space, they don't have necessarily the type of relationships easily identifiable. Some people manage to pull it off regardless. Scriptwriter Peter Morgan has made an art of out it, usually in movies and plays starring Michael Sheen. But Peter Morgan's speciality appears to be odd couple constellations (Blair and Brown, Blair and the Queen, Blair and Clinton, Frost and Nixon), i.e. very different characters sparking off each other in a mixture of antagonism and some shared goals, not necessarily in that order.

Mr. Turner by Mike Leigh, otoh, offers a good ensemble - both in the acting and in the writing sense - but while several other characters are important, no one has the same narrative weight as Turner, or is present throughout the movie, except for someone you could call the Greek Chorus, more in a minute. Speaking of Turner, Timothy Spall deserves all the applause he's been getting. It's an acting tour de force, making everyone of those many grunts multi expressive, never going for sympathy when Turner is horrid yet also also utterly believable in tender and gentle moments, and above all getting across that this is a man of curiosity about the changing times he lives in; you believe his Turner as someone able to see the beauty in a steam engine (and fascinated by it) just as he does in the sea, someone willing to let himself be tied to a mast so he can experience a snow storm on the open sea yet relying on being pampered by his father, his housekeeper and incapable of taking responsibility for his own children. Actors of Timothy Spall's age and looks usually get the character bit parts in movies (obvious example: he was Peter Pettigrew in the Harry Potter franchise), not the lead, so it's splendid that Leigh gave him that chance.

Given all of this, and agreeing with the praise in the media reviews, I still can't make up my mind how I feel about the film. It is very episodic: there are some overall story threads - Turner's relationship with his father in the first twenty, thirty minutes or so before Turner Snr. dies, which is highly unusual for a father/son relationship on screen because it's not conflicted at all but mutually tender (based on this movie, you can make a case that his father, who started out as a barber in Covent Garden and later become his son's studio assistant, mixer of colours and all around devoted caretaker, was one of only two people Turner loved), his relationship with his last mistress, Mrs. Booth, in the last third of the movie, the non-relationship (or relationship only in the sense of pure exploitation and complete disinterest in her as a person on his side) with his housekeeper Hannah - who'd be the Greek Chorus character - throughout) - but mostly Mr. Turner consists of small episodes, like the one of Mary Sommerville, a Scottish scientist and polymath, paying a visit to conduct a prism experiment with Turner - which is a delightful sequence, but we didn't see Sommerville before and we won't ever see her again, any more than we'll see the nobleman at whose countryhouse Turner dines (and makes a very bad yet for that oddly endearing attempt to sing Purcell) earlier in the film again. John Ruskin we do see three times in the later part of the movie (and Leigh makes relentless fun of him - this is a bad cinematic year for Ruskin, with his younger self ridiculed as a self absorbed twit in Mr. Turner and his older self portrayed as a creep in Effie) , but I don't think you get why he's there (other than for comic relief) if you don't already know who John Ruskin was to 19th century art going in. But that's a minor issue.

No, what makes me so emotionally unsure is this: reading reviews of the movie before watching it, I was concerned it would do the One Special Woman thing, i.e. would play out Mrs. Booth (who btw is as delightful and warm a character as the reviews had mentioned) against Hannah the Housekeeper and would excuse Turner's behaviour towards the later (and to his former mistress Sophia and two the two daughters by her he has zilch interest in) in the way biopics about many a male genius have done: all these other women weren't worthy/special/strong enough, but once the True Love is there, it's clear she's what X has needed all along. This I found not to be the case. The fact that Turner is able to have a mutually affectionate and respectful relationship with Mrs. Booth isn't presented as an excuse for his behavior towards his former mistress and their daughters, or towards Hannah. It's Hannah, not Mrs. Booth, who gets the movie's very last scene and shot. But Hannah's situation is so awful, and so unrelentingly presented as awful, that I found it impossible not be upset about it throughout the movie, whether she was on screen or not. Not because there was physical violence involved, I hasten to add. It's just the way Turner uses her, hanging up his coat treated no differently than sexual relief (as one reviewer mentioned, you can't even call her his mistress because that would imply he shows her the slightest bit of interest beyond a useful household equipment), her hopeless waiting for some kindness, some affection (and he can be kind; even to the hapless painter Haydon who owes him money) and the fact that you can't even root for her to get away because given that she's in increasing ill health, older and older, and hunchbacked, there's no way she'd get another job - it would be the workhouse for her. (Perhaps the only thing Turner ever does for Hannah is not to fire her once he doesn't need her anymore and has moved in with Mrs. Booth, but to keep up two households despite hardly ever being in the one with her. And there you can't be sure whether he doesn't just do that because he can't be bothered to make the necessary arrangements.)

Now, I feel a bit like a hypocrite because I do recall that back when I reviewed films like for example Lennon Remembered or The Invisible Woman (you can even throw in Einstein and Eddington for the Einstein part of it, I mentioned that while both of these movies show their respective brilliant males treating their first wives abominably, the movies still pull their punches as to the full extent of the ghastliness of their behaviour. Now I don't know much about William Turner whereas I did know a lot in advance about John Lennon and Charles Dickens. But the impression I came away with from watching was that this movie didn't pull its punches and did show the full ghastliness, and googling for reviews and short biographies hasn't given me a different expression; it seems the only complaints re: accuracy that were voiced were about good old or rather in this movie young Ruskin, not any of the women & Turner. But that very honestly makes for an emotional whipslash. We go from a comedy of manners scene like, say, Turner tweaking John Constable at the Royal Academy exhbition of the year, to a Jane Austenish (only for two late middle aged/old people) slow burning romance (Mrs. Booth) to a Dickensian-George Elliot horror story (Turner comes home, doesn't bother saying hello (or anything beyond the barest necessary orders) while accepting all the care from Hannah and at some point gets some gropes or penetration sex in before taking off again, at which point we're switching genre again, this time to the glories of nature and science as experienced by a 19th century eager mind and eye. And so on. Which paints a complete and full picture, and I tell myself: you love Breaking Bad, self, you know how to love a tale whose main character is horrid if the narrative doesn't make excuses for him. But it still doesn't work out that way and I feel whiplashed and keep going inwardly - "but Hannah?"

In conclusion: definitely a work of art. Probably not a movie I'll ever rewatch.

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