The Eighth Doctor, aka Paul McGann, tips up on Ripper Street this week. Here's Jamie-Lee's review...
This review contains spoilers.
1.4 The Good Of This City
Our bloody and brutal Ripper Street has made its way across the pond to BBC America, where it's been the subject of much hype and media attention. Matthew Macfadyen, who plays the lead role of Detective Inspector Reid, has been cited in the papers defending the gore and smut, while Jerome Flynn who plays his right-hand man, Detective Sergeant Drake, has come out with some prime material guaranteed to give the readers of middle-England a touch of the vapours: what was he up to for those lost eight years of his career between Badger and Tommy Cooper and before Game of Thrones and Ripper Street? Well, he was in a sort of religious cult, run by the son of the actor who plays Ken Barlow in Coronation Street. Obviously.
And yes, there's also been the predictable backlash to the BBC's new series. Is it too violent to be shown at 9pm? Is the gore unnecessary? Is it sexist? Quite frankly I bite my thumb at these articles. Ripper Street is offering something new and exciting to our Sunday night rituals of cosy period drama TV viewings. Is it disrupting it? Oh yes. Happily so. And each episode so far has been unique, pushing boundaries with very different storylines and enticing us with enriched understanding of the interesting lead characters and dazzling us with shiny cameos.
The Good of This City is no different. This week’s episode focuses on various scientific and social developments that were extremely experimental at the time; psychiatry and electricity on the underground. Of course, these are merely backdrops for some gothic and grisly murders and a young girl named Lucy perturbed by her ‘darkness’.
Episode four opens with Long Susan (MyAnna Buring) welcoming a new ‘tart’ to her remarkably salubrious whorehouse, making it sound as though she’s about to enter the Shangri-La. We’ve seen a tough side to Susan’s character through her brief appearances, but are waiting to scratch beneath the surface. Then in walks Lucy, once renowned for being the prettiest prostitute in Tenter Street, who goes to the pint-sized Madame seeking a job. For reasons unknown, she is refused and proclaims that she knows not what will become of her. It’s a fairly bleak and hypocritical moment, with Susan reminding them both (and the audience) that men have created a world in which women are designed for their pleasure from which they can profit. All the while, Susan is there running a brothel at a sixty percent cut. However, in this episode we see how far she really will go to protect her girls.
British director Joe Wright's (Atonement) latest movie, Anna Karenina, marks the thirteenth time that Russian writer Leo Tolstoy's classic novel of the same name has been adapted for the big screen, but before you think "been there, done that," check out the new featurette about the movie above. Not only does the featurette offer a behind-the-scenes look at the gorgeous period costumes and sets of the movie, but it includes commentary from lead actors Keira Knightley and Jude Law, who explain how Wright has "completely broken" the "rules of a period film" by setting the classic story predominantly in the "almost magical and fantastical" reality of the theater.
Twenty Twelve (BBC Two), the pitch-perfect Bafta-nominated mockumentary set in the fictional offices of the Olympic Deliverance Committee, serves as a sort of pressure release valve for that anxiety, a very British invitation to laugh off the underlying dread that the Games might flop, even as the big moment approaches. It imagines a scenario in which the organisers are a bunch of jargon-spouting, dunderheaded, squabbling, inefficient, unprofessional – yet sympathetic – nincompoops; less a nest of vipers than a squadron of sloths.
Last night’s episode, the first in a final run of three, began with the long-suffering Head of Deliverance, Ian Fletcher (Downton Abbey’s Hugh Bonneville), calling his ragtag team to a breakfast meeting. “There are still a lot of things to get through if July 27th is to happen, on time, as planned,” intoned David Tennant's unwaveringly deadpan voice-over. Fletcher, his Play-Doh features squashed into a mask of concern, looked like he was going to be sick.
Ordered by the boss to “get ahead of the Games”, his staff duly went charging off down various blind alleys. Kay Hope (Amelia Bullmore), Head of Sustainability, could be found trying to convince the owner of Dagenham and Redbridge Football Club to take on the post-games lease of the giant Olympic stadium as an attempt to secure “exactly the kind of sustainably inclusive shared future we all want to see going forward”. The football guy pulled a face, then cut through the officialese. “At some point,” he said, “you’ve got to ask yourself, have we got a bloody great turkey on our hands?”
Unrivalled incompetence … Hugh Bonneville and his team in Twenty Twelve. Photograph: Colin Hutton/BBC
Remember what you were doing when they shot Hugh Bonneville? That's right, you were watching Hugh Bonneville getting shot on TV. It was only last night. The questions will get harder.
In the right circumstances, busting a cap in Hugh's ass (or was it his calf?) with a starting pistol would get Team GB on the medals table. In the wrong circumstances, such as those on Twenty Twelve (BBC2), accidentally wounding the man who is both master of Downton and head of the Olympic Deliverance Commission is as near to treason as modern Britain gets. Even murdering the Queen by force-feeding her corgi chunks isn't so heinous.
Hugh's problem was that he wasn't standing in the secure corridor. This summer, according to head of infrastructure Graham, all roads lead to Stratford but there is only one secure corridor, which is reserved for the first lady, the second lady, the third lady, the third lady's pet raccoon, David, and any other dignitary who happens to be in town. Oh yes, and athletes. The rest of London will be under curfew from midnight to 11.50pm. During those 10 minutes, Londoners will be allowed out for a quick spin on whatever Boris bikes haven't been totalled by weightlifters.
Film: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
Director: Tomas Alfredson
Starring: Gary Oldman, Colin Firth, Tom Hardy
Those in America will have the benefit of watching this without the shadow of a masterly 1970s adaptation by the BBC clouding their vision. For many in Europe, Alec Guinness (he of Obi-Wan fame) had turned in the definitive portrayal of John Le Carré’s fabled spy creation George Smiley, so much so that even a respected and versatile actor such as Gary Oldman had his work cut out. Oldman has, however, proved a reliable and deserving choice for the part, turning in an outstanding performance worthy of Academy recognition (and all and any other recognition going) in the New Year. It’s still quite flabbergasting to think that Oldman has never been honoured by the Academy. Not that the latter is a bastion of talent recognition (Chicago won a few Oscars after all), but Oldman’s an old-timer at this stage, an esteemed veteran, who deserves to be celebrated on the cinematic world stage for this defining performance.
His portrayal of the withered Smiley is the centre point of a shrewd and complex film that will demand much of your attention but deliver the utmost reward. Its labyrinthine plot may not suit everyone, as even after seeing the film twice and having read the book I must confess certain events don’t always add up for me. Case in point, there’s a scene in which Smiley twigs something pivotal, its significance illustrated by the literal shifting of rail tracks into place on film, but exactly how he comes to this sudden realisation has bypassed me completely three times now. Yet, this is not to imply that it’s impossible to follow. Little details may not always be overtly discernible onscreen, but just as Smiley delves headlong into a web of intrigue and suspicion so the viewer – if they stay on their toes – will follow him as he makes the various connections that flush out the leak.
For those unfamiliar with the book, the story involves retired agent George Smiley being recruited to discover a mole within the Circus (British Intelligence). It’s the 1970s, the Cold War is still an icily everyday presence, and the mole is working for the Soviets. Times are a-changing within the Circus, with more and more ground and prominence being lost to the U.S. intelligence network, and this is unaided by an opening monologue in which an undercover mission involving Jim Prideaux (Mark Strong) goes disastrously wrong. Head honcho Control (John Hurt) had initially sought out Prideaux to unearth the mole, but in the wake of the Budapest mission he is forced out and later dies. It is in the wake of his death that Smiley, who was forcibly retired at the same time, is tasked with weeding out the Soviet plant from Control’s list of suspects – the Tinker, Tailor, Soldier of the title and another dubbed Poorman. These codenames correspond to new head of the Circus Percy Alleline (Toby Jones), his deputy Bill Haydon (Colin Firth), and associates Roy Bland (Ciarán Hinds) and Toby Esterhase (David Dencik) respectively.
The film is directed by Swedish Let the Right One In helmer Tomas Alfredson and his attention to detail is striking. The film succeeds in recreating the drab, murky world of its 70s setting perfectly, the cinematography suitably washed out with everything seemingly filtered through a layer of dust. The tension and paranoia fostered by the Soviet rivalry is palpable, with the colourless palette acting as a dark reminder of the mood that pervaded Britain at the time. In the midst of this shady world, the mostly English cast (Hinds is Northern Irish; Dencik Swedish) are uniformly superb. Alongside the outstanding Oldman, Benedict Cumberbatch – a longstanding veteran of stage and small screen and known to many as TV’s Sherlock – is exquisite as Peter Guillam, head of the ‘Scalphunting’ Division, and Smiley’s aide and legman. He’s the one who gets to sneakily scour old files and smuggle documentation out of the Circus in the more traditional spy thriller vein, though it’s not without a price as one particularly affecting scene illustrates. Dencik and Jones are both gleefully repellent as the sour, smug Machiavellian types while Firth – so oft-noted for playing good guys in bad places – plays delightfully against type as a smirking adulterer. Hinds is underused, Strong is twitchy and haunted, and Tom Hardy makes a brief appearance as Ricky Tarr – a brutish legman whose revelations kick Smiley’s investigation into motion.
The film is not without fault, though these can be attributed to the difficulties of condensing such a complex book. Its pacing is sluggish and the dreariness depicted onscreen may infect the viewers if they do not engage with it. Anyone expecting espionage, chases, and executions should steer clear – glimpses of conflict are limited and even the revelation of the mole himself is something of an anti-climax. This is a thinking man’s piece, as much about Smiley’s resilient character and the private pain of his failed marriage as it is about a double agent. However, if you are open and alert to its charms, it will blow you away in the most understated and beautiful of ways. It’s a sumptuous and largely faithful rendering of a compelling novel, a rare treat for the mind, and a testament to its cast’s skills. It’s sometimes grim, but always gripping, and will get under your skin in a challenging and resolute way rarely seen in modern cinema. A contemporary classic.
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