This adaptation of Samuel Richardson's enormous novel (1400+ pages) held me riveted when it aired on PBSlike the film Dangerous Liaisons, its source is an epistolary novel, and we see the many faces of the characters depending on to whom they are writing. The charming villain (apparently Richardson was distressed that so many of his women readers were attracted to him) Lovelaceor Loveless, depending on the pronunciationand the unassailable heroine Clarissa make a pair of worthy adversaries. I'm surprised at how many reviewers found her annoying; she is a bit, admittedly, in the novel, but Saskia Wickham turned in a splendid performance as the good woman who is deceived again and again by the snaky allure of Sean Bean. And he has a wonderful opportunity in this role to show his acting rangehe's the courteous suitor, the ardent wooer, the pitiless rapist.
What makes these two characters such a deadly match is how alike they are; neither will bend from what they pride themselves on: for him, it's his reputation as rake par excellence, and for her, it's her purity and independence. They destroy any chance they might have had for a happy union (in his good moments, Lovelace has it in him to be a devoted husband), and in the end, they destroy each other. In the film, every time you think Lovelace is going to go straight, he blows it (much like the moment in Dangerous Liaisons when all Valmont can say for himself is 'It's beyond my control.'); even his friends have had enough of him by the end. An important and well-judged departure from the book is the excision of Clarissa's cousin, the man who must avenge her; here, Lovelace's best friend Belford has the honor. Which he does in a superbly choreographed rapier duelthe fights were but one of the excellences of this production.
A lot of the dialogue comes directly from the book, shaped from the letters; while much of the visual characterization work comes from the actors' watchful glances at one another, we also get snippets of dialogue overheard through closed doors (spying and eavesdropping being an important feature in both book and film). The amazing thing about these moments is that the prostitutes and Lovelace never drop character until they are positive that Clarissa can't hear them: she may suspect that her landlady is not the respectable widow she claims to be, but she has nothing on which to hang her doubts until she is well and truly trapped. Speaking of traps, another reviewer wondered why Clarissa didn't just run home to mom and dad. Don't forget what was waiting for her therea most unwelcome marriage to the loathsome Mr. Soames (played with gusto in a hideous wig and furry teeth by Julian Firth). Besides, her parents wouldn't even speak to her after she defied their will in continuing to correspond to Lovelace and refusing Soames, a detail that is sort of glossed over in the film. 'A woman must know when to bend,' her mother tells her, 'or she will surely break.' The tone in which she says this indicates that she's already broken, as does the stoic, brittle look on her face as her husband and Soames draw up Clarissa's marriage settlement.
There's not a weak performance or a clunky line of dialogue in the whole thing. Clarissa tells Lovelace that he is 'not a man who improves upon acquaintance;' a party guest puts Lovelace down with 'No one who knows Mr. Lovelace believes that he can commit little sins;' Mrs. Sinclair, the brothel madam, growls at Clarissa, 'I am amazed, madam, at the freedoms you take with my character.' Hermione Norris as Clarissa's best friend is outstanding; like Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, she has a low opinion of men and marriage, and she gets in some of the best digs. Sean Pertwee is equally outstanding as Lovelace's friend Belford, who begins as a wanna-be rake, and ends as Clarissa's staunchest defender, in awe of her goodness. The scene after Lovelace rapes Clarissa, when he apologizes and asks for her hand in marriage, is impeccably done; she looks so beaten down, and he looks sincerely sorryuntil she refuses him. Then the snake reappears, and it's clear that he will never let her go.
The production values were amazingabsolutely stunning mid-eighteenth-century costumes (especially the warp-printed taffeta gowns of Mrs. Sinclair and the fake Cousin Charlotte); a scene from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas as it might have looked in the 1740's; outdoor shots of formal gardens and London streets (watch out for that sedan chair!); lovely interiors of churches, country inns, mansions, and assembly rooms; and a score that used a harpsichord to highlight the unease between the characters. It is one of the best literary adaptations I've ever seen, and I wish it were available in the US, as my TV-taped copy is getting worn out.
What makes these two characters such a deadly match is how alike they are; neither will bend from what they pride themselves on: for him, it's his reputation as rake par excellence, and for her, it's her purity and independence. They destroy any chance they might have had for a happy union (in his good moments, Lovelace has it in him to be a devoted husband), and in the end, they destroy each other. In the film, every time you think Lovelace is going to go straight, he blows it (much like the moment in Dangerous Liaisons when all Valmont can say for himself is 'It's beyond my control.'); even his friends have had enough of him by the end. An important and well-judged departure from the book is the excision of Clarissa's cousin, the man who must avenge her; here, Lovelace's best friend Belford has the honor. Which he does in a superbly choreographed rapier duelthe fights were but one of the excellences of this production.
A lot of the dialogue comes directly from the book, shaped from the letters; while much of the visual characterization work comes from the actors' watchful glances at one another, we also get snippets of dialogue overheard through closed doors (spying and eavesdropping being an important feature in both book and film). The amazing thing about these moments is that the prostitutes and Lovelace never drop character until they are positive that Clarissa can't hear them: she may suspect that her landlady is not the respectable widow she claims to be, but she has nothing on which to hang her doubts until she is well and truly trapped. Speaking of traps, another reviewer wondered why Clarissa didn't just run home to mom and dad. Don't forget what was waiting for her therea most unwelcome marriage to the loathsome Mr. Soames (played with gusto in a hideous wig and furry teeth by Julian Firth). Besides, her parents wouldn't even speak to her after she defied their will in continuing to correspond to Lovelace and refusing Soames, a detail that is sort of glossed over in the film. 'A woman must know when to bend,' her mother tells her, 'or she will surely break.' The tone in which she says this indicates that she's already broken, as does the stoic, brittle look on her face as her husband and Soames draw up Clarissa's marriage settlement.
There's not a weak performance or a clunky line of dialogue in the whole thing. Clarissa tells Lovelace that he is 'not a man who improves upon acquaintance;' a party guest puts Lovelace down with 'No one who knows Mr. Lovelace believes that he can commit little sins;' Mrs. Sinclair, the brothel madam, growls at Clarissa, 'I am amazed, madam, at the freedoms you take with my character.' Hermione Norris as Clarissa's best friend is outstanding; like Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, she has a low opinion of men and marriage, and she gets in some of the best digs. Sean Pertwee is equally outstanding as Lovelace's friend Belford, who begins as a wanna-be rake, and ends as Clarissa's staunchest defender, in awe of her goodness. The scene after Lovelace rapes Clarissa, when he apologizes and asks for her hand in marriage, is impeccably done; she looks so beaten down, and he looks sincerely sorryuntil she refuses him. Then the snake reappears, and it's clear that he will never let her go.
The production values were amazingabsolutely stunning mid-eighteenth-century costumes (especially the warp-printed taffeta gowns of Mrs. Sinclair and the fake Cousin Charlotte); a scene from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas as it might have looked in the 1740's; outdoor shots of formal gardens and London streets (watch out for that sedan chair!); lovely interiors of churches, country inns, mansions, and assembly rooms; and a score that used a harpsichord to highlight the unease between the characters. It is one of the best literary adaptations I've ever seen, and I wish it were available in the US, as my TV-taped copy is getting worn out.