Pop Classics

Coriolanus (dir. Ralph Fiennes, 2011)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 16:30:00 +0000

I mentioned this adaptation of Shakespeare's play way back last summer, after I went to a talk on it given by Ralph Fiennes at the Hay Literary Festival, and it's finally out. The film is brilliant - fantastic acting all round, pretty much as you'd expect from Ralph Fiennes and Vanessa Redgrave (and I think Gerard Butler has been underrated for too long) and Fiennes' direction is great too - visually interesting without distracting from the story. (The choice of a dragon tattoo as a motif was perhaps unfortunate given the timing of the film's release, but since it was made yonks ago, that's not his fault).

Spoilers follow - if you don't know the story and want to see the film, stay away until you've seen it!

OldHousemate(thecamelridingone) and I saw the play at Stratford years ago, following an impulse to get some use out of their under-25 offers before we outgrew them. (In fact, we saw one of the very last performances in the old theatre at Stratford before it was closed for renovation. The set was a simple but big and effective design involving columns going right from near the front of the stage to the back, and I was quite sad at the time knowing that the theatre was being redesigned in a way that would make sets like that impossible. I haven't been there since the new theatre opened, so I don't know how they're creating sets in the thrust-stage design).

The actor playing Coriolanus, William Houston, was excellent, and in a totally different way to Fiennes. From what I remember, the RSC actor went for a really manic energy, a man who could barely sit still with a quick temper. In the scene where Coriolanus meets the people, I seem to remember him acting basically as a huge snob, making fun of them (there were lots of lines about 'mocking' in the film, but I found it hard to see the mocking in the lines - I'm not sure whether the script had been over-edited, or I just drifted off for a moment and missed it). Fiennes' Coriolanus, though he can shout up a storm when he needs to, is much quieter and Fiennes-like at other times. He's intense in a slightly more slow-burning fashion (except in the middle of a fight, when he breaks out and screams the place down) and his problem with appeasing the people seems centred more in him being somewhat uncomfortable in his skin and too brash and honest to play games with them - whereas from what I remember from the other performance, it was more about him simply feeling utterly superior to the people and not caring what they thought. Either way works perfectly well, and both performances were equally effective.

William Houston as Coriolanus

At the time OldHousemate and I went to see Coriolanus, we each had a first class honours undergraduate degree in Ancient History (she may also have got her Master's by then, I can't remember), but neither of us had a clue what was going on. At the time, neither of us had done much work on the Roman republic in years, and what we had done was mostly about the Late Republic - Julius Caesar, Pompey et al. Coriolanus is a much earlier figure - so early, in fact, he's almost more legendary than historical. His story is full of intricate details concerning how one became consul at this early stage, and the function of the tribunes when they were a relatively new institution (which was to stand for the plebeians against the patrician consuls and senators. As more and more positions were opened up to plebeians as well, their role changed over the years). It is largely this incomprehensibility that Fiennes has hoped to overcome by giving the play a modern setting (in a random southern European landscape 'called Rome').

Fiennes has no interest in the story as an incident from Roman history - only as a Shakespeare play (I know this because I asked him last summer. This is probably the starriest this blog will ever get - a one-question interview with Ralph Fiennes!). The great advantage of this modernising approach, which has been used frequently on Shakespeare plays for years, is that he can draw out the emotional beats of the story, using pared-down dialogue and added visuals, making it comprehensible to everyone. Like Baz Luhrmann in his Romeo + Juliet, Fiennes uses newsreaders to great effect. In addition to Channel 4's ever-brilliant Jon Snow, just as good with Shakespearean dialogue as news, Fiennes has the advantage of being able to make use of the development of 24-hour news channels with rolling text across the screen that have taken off in the last ten years or so, where Luhrmann had to make do with the old spinning-newspaper trick. These punchy headlines allow him to make important developments crystal clear to the viewer, in a way the stage production couldn't.

I have to admit, though, a part of me wondered if this isn't too Roman a story for such complete avoidance of its context to work for me. The story of Coriolanus is known chiefly from Plutarch's Lives of the Greeks and Romans, in which Coriolanus is featured as a great Roman figure from Rome's past (paralleled with Alcibiades, a Greek general who changed sides several times - changing sides is clearly the theme Plutarch wanted to focus on). It's also featured in Livy's History of Rome. His story is tied up with ideas about Romanness and Coriolanus' tragedy is that he is first exiled from, then turns against, Rome. I'm not quite sure the story works so well when the state he fights for, and then against, is an anyplace 'called Rome' - the point of the story is that Rome is pretty special, and turning against it is pretty drastic.

The character of Volumnia, Coriolanus' mother (Verturia in Livy) embodies both the advantages and the problems with cutting the story off from its Roman roots. On the one hand, we have a hugely powerful story about a mother and son, culminating in the great scene where she persuades him to make peace. Their relationship is at the heart of the story (along with that between Coriolanus and Aufidius, half homoerotic tension, half spitting hatred) and stripping away the 'period' costumes and so on makes it more obviously relatable for the audience. On the other hand, Vanessa Redgrave mentioned in an interview (I can't quite remember where - BBC's Film 2012, possibly) that she found it difficult to get into the head of a mother who would rejoice in her son's wounds. I can't speak for modern mothers of soldiers and officers, but in the ancient world, this would not seem surprising. Perhaps the Romans didn't say 'Come back with your shield or on it' as the Spartans supposedly did, but they were a culture that glorified military service and warfare and this attitude does not seem so out of place in that context. The idea of Volumnia and Virgilia persuading Coriolanus where the men could not also goes right back to Roman foundation mythology, in which the Sabine women persuaded their husbands and fathers to make peace. The family unit was at the heart of Roman life and politics and this idea, that the importance of family (especially including Coriolanus' young son) was paramount was a popular one - and a very Roman one.

On a smaller level, there were a few lines left in that referred to Juno or the gods, which sounded a bit odd given the surroundings (wherever they were meant to be, I would guess the population would be mostly either Catholic or Muslim!). And I couldn't quite buy that in a modern country, people would be elected or exiled on the basis of a fairly small group of people shouting - but perhaps that's my naivety coming through.

All this sounds like criticism of the film, which it isn't really - it's just strange seeing something so very Roman presented as something completely un-Roman. But the film really is great, and I haven't even mentioned Brian Cox's fantastic performance as Menenius (who, in one of the film's more deliberate nods to the story's Roman origins, slashes his wrists next to water). OK, there was a dodgy moment where his dialogue referred to Ulysses and Penelope and for a moment I expected him to pick a fight with Achilles and jump into a giant horse. But that's really my problem. His Menenius really grounded the scenes in Rome and made us care, showing us exactly when Coriolanus was doing something stupid, and when he was getting it right. Catch the film if you can - it's out now, but you sometimes have to look a bit to find it. It's well worth seeking out.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding (dir. Joel Zwick, 2002)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 16:52:00 +0000

I saw My Big Fat Greek Wedding in the cinema back in 2002, and I will always be fond of it because it signalled the end of a truly terrible drought on the romantic comedy front. The year before, my housemate and I had been to see Shallow Hal because it was the closest thing to a romantic comedy we could find, and it was... eh. We'd been desperately seeking something sweet and fluffy ever since and finally, in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, we found it! It's a slight film in many ways, but it's nice and it's funny and it's a relaxing watch. It also highlight some really interesting aspects of the reception of (Classical) Greek culture both within Greek emigrant families and outside.

I put Classical in brackets up there because it's my area of interest but really, in this film, Greek culture is Classical culture. Not being Greek, I have no idea whether this accurately reflects Greek culture, but in the film all the aspects of Greek culture that Toula's father describes to show off are Classical, mostly based in etymology or the achievements of the Classical Greeks. Her family keep up plenty of traditions that I assume are largely post-Classical - and of course, they're Christian so the Greek Orthodox side of things is mainly post-Classical - but the later history of Greece is only mentioned by the women, and only as an example of what it was about Greece that prompted them to leave in the first place. It's fascinating to me that the sense of cultural identity put forward in this film is so completely bound up in a specific period (and quite a specific culture - we're basically talking about Classical Athens here) but as I say, I only know what I see in the film, so this may be totally unrepresentative of how actual Greeks feel about their heritage.

Of course Classical Greece is pretty impressive, and Toula's father has plenty of material to draw on. His insistence that every word in the English language comes from Greek actually reminds me of growing up with my Mum reminding me frequently that much of English comes from Latin or Greek, and there are so many Greek words in the English language that he's got a point. He takes it too far, though - I love the scene where he insists, having been challenged by young Toula's friends, that 'kimono' is also Greek, and has a whole argument to back up this assertion.

The scenes with young Toula and her friends are interesting in themselves. We see Toula's father wheeling out all the things that we as adults find impressive about ancient Greece, things like the Greek origin of democracy and the word arachnophobia. He wants Toula to be proud of her heritage and her friends to be impressed, but that will never happen, because kids don't care about etymology or the origins of democracy. To encourage a child to be proud of their heritage, or impressed by someone else's, you have to give them something they can understand and connect with.

As teachers of the ancient world, this is something we have to think about as well. In addition to fiction and films set in the ancient world (like The Roman Mysteries for Rome, or Hercules for Greece) we need to wheel out stories and facts that will excite kids. I took part in a production of Oedipus Rex as a child - which is pretty weird, to be honest, but it was certainly memorable! Less controversially, kids might be more interested in hearing about the theories ancient philosophers had about the solar system or the fact that they had guessed about the existence of atoms, or instead of a dry etymology of the word 'arachnophobia', a lively re-telling of the myth of Arachne might appeal to them more.

Toula's parents' house

I did feel the urge to nit-pick a couple of times during the film. Toula says her parents' house is modeled after the Parthenon, complete with Corinthian columns... except the Parthenon doesn't have any Corinthian columns. The Parthenon is a combination of the Doric and Ionic orders of temple design, with Doric and Ionic columns (Doric are plain at the top, Ionic have a scroll design at the top and Corinthian have acanthus leaves at the top). The house actually does have Corinthian columns (which are often the most commonly used outside of Greece) and it's not exactly a huge error, but still. Also, on a broader academic note (Toula's fiancee Ian is a university lecturer), why are people in films always interrupting classes for random personal conversations? Seriously, no one does that, and if they did, I'd be pretty mad. (There was an episode of Friends once where Ross actually pointed to Phoebe that he had a class full of people waiting for him, which was mildly satisfying).

The Parthenon

On the less nit-picky and more honestly-this-is-totally-wrong level, whoever did the DVD menu was seriously lazy. They've put Greek under the English headings, but they haven't actually translated it, they've just transliterated it into Greek letters. Worse, they haven't actually transliterated it. They've downloaded a Greek keyboard code from the internet and typed out the words in English, with Greek letters coming out the other end. Except, the Greek alphabet doesn't have the same number of letters as English, and they're not always where you expect them to be ('y', for example, gives you a theta, which is a 'th' sound in ancient Greek - not sure about modern - not upsilon, which is a 'u' sound and is the closest to y, the letter usually transliterated as y in words like 'gynecology'). They couldn't have asked a Greek speaker to transliterate - or, better, translate - the headings? Or just not bother putting them on the menu if they weren't going to do it properly?

Random thoughts: I kinda love the idea of a wedding reception in Aphrodite's Palace. It's certainly more... thematically appropriate than a church hall. I'm pretty sure the Greeks didn't invent pottery, but their ancient pots are so famous and so ubiquitous it sometimes feels like they did. I love the bit following the obligatory tell-him-something-rude-means-thank you joke, where Toula's mum just slaps her brother up the head because she knows exactly what happened. The equally inevitable 'it's all Greek to me' joke is terrible, but at least it proves that Ian's family do have something that passes for a sense of humour.

I will always be fond of this film for warm, comfy feel, even if I do find the final gift from Toula's parents to the couple overbearing and creepy rather than loving and sweet (I would be very grateful for my parents' help in buying a house, but I would not want them to choose it for me without even asking. I have reservations about handbags as gifts because only I know exactly what I need in a handbag, so you can imagine how I would feel about someone else choosing my house). When you just want a heart-warming and relaxing comedy with no gross stuff, this is exactly what you need. And, of course, it spends much of its runtime celebrating Classical culture. Only one drawback; I'm really craving moussaka now...

Top Five Classical Bromances

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

Thanks to Brother for the post idea!

As a researcher and teacher of gender studies, I'm not wild about the concept of 'bromance' - why should deep male friendship and stories about it have its own word, but there's no equivalent for women? Whether it's because it's assumed women form close relationships anyway and such a thing is less remarkable, or whether it's because people are less interested in stories about deep female friendship (particularly when it's two people and not a group), it's sexist however you look at it. However, I am a big fan of Scrubs, which may not have invented the term but is clearly built on bromance and I think may have helped to popularise it, so what the heck. Whatever I think about it, I suspect the term is here to stay. So here is my totally subjective list of the best bromances in Classical pop culture.

5. Mark Antony and Julius Caesar (Rome)
Real bromance? Yep. As far as we an tell, anyway. Except for the part where Caesar made Octavian his heir and really pissed Antony off, but that was posthumous.
Does my heart feel warmed? Sort of - it's more tragic than heartwarming when Antony discovers Caesar's body. And in the Rome version, which is the one I've chosen to highlight here since it's the one that gives the most screentime to the partnership (and it's the one where Mark Antony is played by James Purefoy, not that I'm shallow or anything), Antony looks more scared for his own skin that grief-stricken for his friend. But still, there's genuinely touching emotion there, especially in Marlon Brando's performance as Antony.

4. Claudius and Postumus (I, Claudius)
Real bromance? Goodness knows - probably not, since Claudius was quiet and stuttered and Postumus was exiled for general bad behaviour, but there's no evidence to prove otherwise.
Does my heart feel warmed? Again, this is more tragic than anything else. Like his uncle Tiberius before him, Claudius has few friends, and the ones he has get killed off, one by one. Fortunately, unlike Tiberius, Claudius does not respond with sexual violence, perversity and misanthropy.

3. Spartacus and Crixus (Spartacus: Blood and Sand)
Real bromance? Well, Crixus was one of Spartacus' generals, so yes, quite possibly.
Does my heart feel warmed? This one is still in development - they've been more like frenemies, or just enemies, for much of season 1 - but my heart feels warmed when Spartacus gets chucked in the medical centre with Crixus, who asks drily 'Have you been making friends again?' Perhaps my heart is weird.

2. Marcus Aquila and Esca, The Eagle
Real bromance? Definitely not. Fiction bordering on fantasy. Not that a Roman and a Briton couldn't be friends - I'm sure they could, and quite a few intermarried - but the film is pure fantasy.
Does my heart feel warmed? The film is kind of daft, and you feel like half of the scenes showing the development of their relationship have been cut, but still - I defy anyone to watch the two limp out together at the end and not feel a little glowy in the chest region.

1. Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo, Rome
Real bromance? The two are named in a short section of Caesar's Gallic Wars and described as great friends, so technically, yes. However, this section is tiny and the only thing we get from it is that they both fought in the Gallic Wars - and since our Vorenus and Pullo (see, I do actually know their real names!) only meet after these wars are over, they really have nothing in common except the name. It's neat thing to do, using these two names, but these characters themselves are entirely fictitious.
Does my heart feel warmed? It varies depending what they're doing, but they definitely have their moments - the best of which is, of course, the moment where Vorenus leaps into the middle of a gladiatorial combat yelling 'Thirteen!' to save Pullo from execution.

Honourable mention: Frodo and Sam, The Lord of the Rings. The Lord of the Rings is mostly based on Norse mythology, but it has it's Classical elements. These days, Frodo and Sam's relationship is often interpreted as homoerotic rather than bromantic, which is a fair enough interpretation (and there are certainly plenty of moments in both book and film to support that interpretation), but I've always seen this as a bromance myself (and since Tolkien was a Victorian devout Catholic, that's probably closer to what he meant).

All Top Five lists

Chelmsford 123: Something Beginning With E

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 21:53:00 +0000

This is the very last episode of Chelmsford 123, and my second favourite, because once again it features some Latin, and it sees the return of pseudo-Emperor Hadrian (I say 'pseudo' because the only thing this guy has in common with the real Emperor Hadrian is that they both have beards).

The episode opens with our heroes playing daft games and complaining about how they'd rather be at a orgy. The Emperor, as it turns out, is just as bored (though his fantasy orgy involves baboons) and he picks Britain at random as a place to visit to break the monotony. Although everyone has become so bored they've got Blagg doing the dance of the seven veils (insert joke about the baboons being a better bet here), this is still not good news.

Howard Lew Lewis, who played Blagg - this picture is actually from the classic childrens' comedy series Maid Marian and her Marry Men, written by and starring Tony Robinson, in which he played the delightfully-named Rabies

Since this is the last ever episode, the writers take advantage of the opportunity to throw in all the Classical jokes they haven't quite managed to find a place for in the series so far. At one point, Aulus wonders how he's offended the gods, since he's never done anything that awful - he's never killed his father or slept with his mother, for example (at this point Mungo chimes in with 'don't knock it till you've tried it'). I like the bit where Aulus and Grasientus discuss the possibilities of throwing Christians to the lions for the Emperor's entertainment, and consider how to solve the problem of the lack of lions in Britain - they decide to try using sheep instead. Aulus delivers a very funny prayer as well, assuring Jupiter that he's his favourite god with half a dozen flattering epithets, which reminds me of the Romans' tendency to call him things like Jupiter Optimus Maximus (Jupiter Best and Greatest), which seems rather redundant.

The Emperor's visit goes predictably badly, as Badvok tries to kidnap the Emperor and hold him hostage for money and freedom, and Aulus wants to leave him with Badvok and go and take over the Empire himself. Both are foiled by the fact the Emperor has swapped clothes with his right hand man in case of just such a plot and we last see our heroes rowing as galley slaves and blaming all their problems on the French. On the bright side, they've done a lot better than the lead characters in most series of Blackadder, but they do seem to have fallen prey to the British fondness for downer endings (this is why I like American sitcoms so much...)

So, that was Chelmsford 123. It's not ever going to get into the Sitcom Hall of Fame, but I enjoyed it when I caught it on UK Gold a few years ago, and I've enjoyed watching it again now. It may a bit obvious, but it's entertaining and I know I will think of it any time I find myself taking a bypass around Romford. The whole series can be viewed from free on 4oD in the UK, so check it out sometime if you're bored and need something to watch with lunch - at the very least, the first and last episodes are much more light-hearted Latin revision opportunities than The Passion of the Christ!

All Chelmsford 123 reviews

Weight (by Jeanette Winterson)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 19:54:00 +0000

Weight is part of Canongate publishing's series The Myths, a series of (fairly short) novels retelling myths in innovative ways, which includes Margaret Atwood's The Penelopiad. Weight is a particularly short novel, and reads more like an extended prose poem than a story, though there certainly is plot and action in there.

Although nominally focused on Atlas, Weight also includes substantial material on Heracles, and Heracles (with Greek spelling - because even when your only source is Robert Graves, it looks more authentic with the Greek spelling!) is the liveliest, most interesting and most memorable character. His dialogue sparkles - well, maybe 'sparkles' is the wrong word - and he feels like a truly complete character. Atlas suffers a bit by comparison, being much less lively, but is reasonably sympathetic, which is essential to making the story work.

Some parts of the book didn't entirely work for me. The narrative perspective jumps around all over the place, and although I liked some of the astrological and cosmological sections towards the beginning and end, the sections where the story suddenly slips into a first-person, pseudo-autobiographical account of the narrator's childhood globe and parental issues left me pretty cold. Myth works perfectly well as a metaphor in itself (the final letting-go is especially satisfying) - it doesn't need these over-thought, overly poetical bits of introspection and naval-gazing interrupting the flow of the story. I also could have lived without some of the sexual content, not because I'm particularly prudish (I am, after all, a fan of both Spartacus: Blood and Sand and True Blood) but because it often seemed both unnecessary and, at one point, implausible. I absolutely loved the section where Atlas rescues poor Laika the Russian space dog though.

I rather liked the intensely poetic feel to this story and somehow the strange mash-up of realistic astronomy and mythology actually works, for the most part. Although I love poetry, this sort of self-consciously literary fiction (I hate that way of branding fiction, as if everything written for pleasure and to entertain the reader is somehow worthless, but I can't think of another way to describe it) isn't really my thing, but still, I enjoyed this, and have resolved to read some more of Winterson's better-known work (probably starting with Oranges are not the Only Fruit).

Breaking Dawn (by Stephanie Meyer)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

Yes, I have read all the Twilight books. I know exactly what you think of me now. But they're escapist, silly fun, and Stephanie Meyer sure knows how to write a page-turner.

I particularly liked the first one, which was a nice, daft sparkly-vampire story, and the second, because when Bella's hanging out with Jacob they actually feel like they might be real people who enjoy each other's company. (I much prefer Jacob to Edward, but that's at least partly because my brother is a tall, relatively pale-skinned, dark-haired musician called Edward). The second novel is also where the Volturi first appear - ancient Italian vampires called Caius, Marcus and Aro - i.e., surely, Romans! I read the book a while ago so my memory of it is a bit dim. However, over December I finally got around to reading Breaking Dawn, in which they also feature, having seen Part 1 in the cinema, which wasn't bad at all. I'd been putting it off for ages because, while Books 1 and 2 have their fair share of weird and off-putting stuff (WATCHING YOU SLEEP IS STALKING, NOT LOVE) Books 3 and 4 really take the crazy factor up to eleven.

I don't even know where to start on the madness that is the world of Twilight, so I'm just going to direct you to Cleolinda Jones' Twilight reviews, recaps, discussion etc, particularly her Horrify the Twilight Noob game. Suffice it to say that the first half of Breaking Dawn works rather well as a metaphor for the horrors of pregnancy (which is much, much nastier than any pop culture interpretation would have the inexperienced believe - see, for example, this description of all the things no one tells you about pregnancy, not even pregnant women. I should add that I have no personal experience of this issue, but I have seen the statistics for the mortality rate among pregnant women, women in labour and infants in pre-industrial societies. It's not good). The second half, however, gets progressively madder and madder, the worst crimes against narrative and characterisation being Bella as the Best Vampire Eva! (worse than the worst Mary-Sue-style fan-fiction), the ridiculous anti-climax of the final showdown (in real life, I am all for diplomacy and ending things without violence wherever possible, but in vampire fiction, not so much) and worst of all, Jacob imprinting on the baby. See Cleolinda's summaries for more detail - I can't bear to think about it!

Anyway, the ultimately disappointing finale heavily features the Volturi again. We get a few details about their history, mentioned briefly while discussing their various strengths and weaknesses. Since Meyer is not known for her rigourous research any implications may be pure coincidence, but what the heck, let's look over it anyway. It is suggested that the Volturi have been around for about twenty-five hundred years, which would make them early Republican Romans. However, it was only fifteen hundred years ago that they came to power, following the fall of the Romanians (who appear to have essentially turned into Enkil and Akasha from the Anne Rice-verse). I found this quite interesting because this would mean they came to power just as the Roman Empire was crumbling. I rather like the idea that they had to hide and live fairly quietly while the human Empire was strong, but were able to come out and take over the vampire world once the human Empire had crumbled. That would actually be a rather interesting story. I have no idea, though, whether Meyer actually intended to suggest that interpretation, or whether she just picked dates at random.

The influx of new vampire characters in the final third of the book also includes the 'Amazons' - three female vampires (two of whom appear to be in the only non-hetero-normative relationship in the entire quartet) who come from South America. What Meyer has done here is basically a sophisticated pun, but it's a rather nice one. These three come from the area of the river Amazon, right? And they're tough female warriors (who appear to shun the sexual company of men) so they're also Amazons, geddit? Tee-hee. (Either that, or Meyer has made the same mistake I used to make as a child, and Terry Pratchett's Eric makes, and actually thinks the Amazons come from the Amazon). I rather liked them.

Of the three Roman vampires, my favourite by far is the perpetually-bored Marcus, who hardly does anything but imply that the world in general is uninteresting and beneath him. He's supposed to be about twenty-five hundred years old as well, but in my head, he's a bit younger than that - I like to think he's Mark Antony (preferably as played by James Purefoy) and in between falling on his sword and actual death, he got vamped, and has wandered the world, shagging, fighting and trying to conquer Parthia ever since. He's now had enough of the whole thing, hence the boredom. I'd read that novel. Anyway, Aro and Caius aren't nearly as interesting, but in the movies, Aro is played with camp glee by Micheal Sheen, so I'm rather looking forward to Breaking Dawn Part 2, as his presence should vastly improve the whole sequence. You never know, the filmmakers might even include an actual fight at some point.

Star Trek (dir. J. J. Abrams, 2009)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

As you know, I love all things Trek, so of course I love this movie. I could live without the random, Star Wars-esque giant ice planet monster. And I have an ongoing argument over whether the alternate timeline presented here replaces the original, or runs parallel to it. But otherwise, it's perfect.

The plot revolves around the destruction of the planet Romulus, and the bad guys are a group of Romulans. When Romulans were first introduced, way back in the original series, their military set-up bore some superficial resemblances to ancient Rome, and their Romanness was part of a wider use of the Roman Empire as a parallel for both Nazi Germany and Communist Russia (sometimes both at the same time). In later appearances, individual writers or directors could choose whether or not to play up the 'Roman' elements of their culture, depending on what they wanted to do with their story.

The Romulans seen in the new film have, like the originals, a relationship to Vulcans, with pointy ears and a similar language. However, whereas in their first appearance this similarity was part of the point, here the visual similarity is played down, as the particular group of Romulans we're dealing with are tattooed and clothed very differently from Vulcans (and they're quite emotional too!). Their 'Romanness', likewise, is not really emphasised in their culture, costumes, hierarchy or ship, except in one respect - the name of their leader, Nero.

The new film is not especially interested in drawing a parallel between the entire Romulan race and ancient Rome, but it is interested in likening its main villain to one specific Roman, the emperor Nero. This Nero is far from an emperor, being the captain of a mining ship, a tough guy and a survivor rather than a pampered young ruler. He does share some traits with the emperor, mainly in his cruelty and vicious punishment of anyone who crosses him.

The main point of the Nero parallel, though, is an inversion of Nero's most famous (supposed) act, fiddling while Rome burnt. In the emperor, this was (supposedly - the evidence is not that great) an act of utter callousness and self-absorption, caring nothing at all for the fire destroying the city (which some authors imply he may have started) and more interested in his own composition of a song on the subject. This is the vital difference between him and the Romulan Nero, for this Nero cares. He viciously destroys an entire planet, and tries to destroy another, to avenge the perceived wrong to his own, but you certainly couldn't accuse him of not caring. Like (according to the somewhat gossipy sources) the emperor Nero, he burns worlds for his own purposes, but not out of callousness - rather, because he cares so much about his own home, he is driven to complete disregard for others.

Rumours abound about who the villain will be in the next movie. I don't think I want Khan to show up - Montalban is such a perfect Khan, and The Wrath of Khan such a fantastic movie, I don't really feel the need to see a re-boot of that. I'd like to see some Klingons, if only to see which variety of make-up the film-makers decide to use, but of course, my no. 1 choice would be more Romulans, because then I could blog a review of it...

All Star Trek reviews

Saturnalia in popular culture

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 10:00:00 +0000

It's a Saturnalia miracle!

Happy New Year everyone! Fingers crossed for 2012!

OK, so Christmas Day has been and gone and December's over, but we're still well within the Twelve Days of Christmas, so we're still within the season and there's room for one more seasonal post. Saturnalia was the Roman mid-winter festival, and if you want to know more about it, Caroline Lawrence has written about some of the customs Saturnalia and Christmas have in common here. I've posted on depictions of the Roman Saturnalia before, from Steven Saylor, the Roman Mysteries and Chelmsford 123. However, what I want to talk about today is the way in which popular culture set in later periods describes Saturnalia.

How many of our Christmas customs come directly from the Saturnalia and how many are simply coincidentally similar is hard to say. The use of lights to decorate the house at the darkest time of year is, perhaps, obvious and doesn't need a specific explanation, and festivals of light are celebrated at the darkest time of year all over the world. The overall mood of celebration (often fueled by alcoholic beverages) and the inverting of social traditions or breaking down of social boundaries that, as seen in the holding of the Servants' Ball in the Downton Abbey Christmas special, continued well into the twentieth century, may or may not have survived from Roman times (during Saturnalia, masters would wait on their slaves). One thing we are fairly sure of, though, is that the Christian festival of Christmas was deliberately timed to be the Christian Saturnalia.

What mildly irritates me about popular culture references to the festival, though, is the insistence that early Christians somehow 'stole' Saturnalia from the pagans, and the underlying suggestion that this knowledge somehow devalues Christmas as a Christian celebration. The Horrible Histories special, Horrible Christmas, for example, claims that 'the Christians pinched [the sun's birthday]... to celebrate the birth of Jesus, even though that wasn't his birthday'. (I feel the need to point out here that we have no idea when Jesus' birthday was - if the shepherds were out all night with the sheep that suggests lambing season, but that's only in one gospel and really, it doesn't matter). Meanwhile, The Big Bang Theory's season 2 Christmas special, 'The Bath Gift Item Hypothesis' (the one where Penny gives Sheldon the napkin from Leonard Nimoy) includes the following dialogue:

Penny: Hey Sheldon, are you and Leonard putting up a Christmas tress?
Sheldon Cooper: No, because we don't celebrate the ancient pagan festival of Saturnalia.
Penny: Saturnalia?
Howard Wolowitz: Gather round, kids, it's time for Sheldon's beloved Christmas special.
Sheldon Cooper: In the pre-Christian era, as the winter solstice approached and the plants died, pagans brought evergreen boughs into their homes as an act of sympathetic magic, intended to guard the life essences of the plants until spring. This custom was later appropriated by Northern Europeans and eventually it becomes the so-called Christmas tree.
Howard Wolowitz: And that, Charlie Brown, is what boredom is all about. (Thanks to imdb)

It's more the traditions of bringing in mistletoe and Yule logs that come from Saturnalia greenery than the Christmas tree, but what Sheldon's saying is basically factually accurate. It's the interpretation that mildly irritates me. Granted, both these examples are intended to be humourous and are exaggerating to make it sound funnier, but this still reflects a common notion that Christians have 'stolen' Christmas from Saturnalia, or that Christmas is 'really' Saturnalia.

The Christians did 'steal' Saturnalia in one sense, in that if you are a Christian, you can't worship any other gods, so Christians would not just celebrate Jesus' birthday, they would refuse to celebrate Saturnalia (unlike members of the cult of Mithras, whose birthday was also supposed to be 25th December, but who could have continued to worship Saturn, Jupiter et al alongside Mithras). However, the deliberate decision to celebrate the birthday of Jesus on 25th December and adopt elements of the Saturnalia does not make it 'stolen'.

This is because the celebration of religious ritual does not necessarily have to be intimately connected with belief. In the ancient world, religion as a whole was much less concerned with belief and dogma than Christianity, as can be seen from the way stories about the gods were re-told and rewritten. Christianity, as a religion, is more concerned with dogma and faith, but the purpose of various rituals remains a linked but ultimately separate issue. Plenty of people get married in Christian churches without having a strong Christian faith, and some might have their children Christened (though perhaps less often in recent years) because those things are social rituals that mark a changing point in your life. Others get married in a registry office, but the wedding is no less a wedding because it's not religious, and many of the same traditions are performed.

Annual festivals are not dissimilar - that's why Christmas is still such a big deal in an increasingly secular society. We need a mid-winter festival to brighten things up at the darkest time of year and we need a social gathering to reconnect with family. The ritual exists, in a way, independently of belief in whatever god it's dedicated to.

Of course, belief is not totally disconnected from the ritual - I go to church on Christmas every year because I believe in Jesus and I choose to celebrate that. But whether or not Jesus was actually born on 25 December is totally irrelevant to the choice to celebrate on that date, and more importantly, the Christians did not 'steal' Saturnalia from poor, hard-done-by pagans. The Roman world simply reached a point where more people were Christian than not, so instead of celebrating Saturn, the festival switched to celebrating Jesus. The Christian leaders who made the decision to celebrate Jesus' birthday at that time were maintaining the festival because it was important to people, but it's not a theft so much as an evolution (or devolution I suppose, depending on your point of view).

Pop culture references to Saturnalia usually show some awareness of these issues, particularly the well-known anthropological need for a mid-winter festival. Some go further. Terry Pratchett's Hogfather goes some way to probing the issue of the winter festival, but gets caught up in the business of belief, which is a red herring. There is belief, philosophy, faith etc, and there is ritual. Sometimes they're connected, but sometimes they're only loosely connected or even not at all. Community's season 2 Christmas special, 'Abed's Uncontrollable Christmas' probably comes closest when it concludes that the meaning of Christmas is the idea that Christmas has meaning. However, the annoying notion persists that Christians 'stole' a pagan festival, or that Christians have somehow been tricked into celebrating a pagan festival, neither or which really reflects the subtle process of transformation that turned Saturnalia into Christmas.

Scene from the Saturnalia-esque Servants' Ball in Downton Abbey (of two 'upstairs' people dancing, but still). Which is totally relevant and not at all an excuse to post a picture of Dan Stevens. Obviously. Ahem.

Top Five Christmas Classics

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 20:30:00 +0000

Classics, geddit? See what I did there? Ahem.

So, obviously, these are my top five Classical-themed Christmas offerings.*

5. The Vicar of Dibley: 'Winter'
Which festival? Christmas
Fun for all the family? Definitely - though more bitter pregnant women or new mothers might feel the need to point out some of the, ah, toned-down elements
Why? I really like the idea of a Nativity play performed at an actual farm - I'm sure someone, somewhere, has done this. But the real joy of this episode is David Horton's desperate attempt to rehabilitate his character, Herod the Great, as a kindly old grandfather (further complicated by the arrival of his actual grand-daughter halfway through the performance).
Will we learn the true meaning of Christmas? Almost certainly not, though the actual mythology of Christmas, i.e. the story of the birth of Jesus, is in there somewhere.

4. The Roman Mysteries: The Twelve Tasks of Flavia Gemina
Which festival? Saturnalia
Fun for all the family? Yes - everyone except seven-year-old me. Seven-year-old me would have been inconsolable and no one would ever have heard the end of it. But the book is middle grade (aimed at around 8-12-year-olds) so that's fine.
Why? The atmosphere of this story, from Flavia's opening scenes with a hot drink, through Nubia trying to adjust to the cold and throughout the family-centric story, is warm and evocative. Saturnalia, with its traditions of turning everything upside down so that an eleven-year-old girl might actually find herself in charge (to a degree) is the perfect festival for a children's adventure and this is a lovely and touching story with some important character development for Flavia. And giraffes, which are just always cool. The only drawback to this as a Christmas story is that the ending is so sad, so it can be a bit of a downer if you're looking for holiday cheer.
Will we learn the true meaning of Christmas? Possibly - the making and breaking of families and growing up are generally Christmassy themes.

3. Jesus of Nazareth (Zeffirelli, 1977)
Which festival? Christmas, I guess. Or, um, whatever Jewish festival might be happening during the lambing season?
Fun for all the family? Yes, for a certain fairly specific definition of 'fun'. I liked it as a kid.
Why? We all used to watch Jesus of Nazareth on video every Christmas and every Easter, and I genuinely enjoyed it (my favourite part was the crucifixion - I worry about that sometimes). Since we had the whole unedited, however-many-hours long version, quite often we didn't get any further than the Nativity story, but we got to know that bit really well! Zeffirelli's realist approach comes up against the surreal Christmas narrative and Zeffirelli treads a fine line rather well - we see a star, shepherds and wise men but no angels (just a bright light) and Jesus is born in a cave, which must have been the predominant thinking on why people might have been lodging with the animals at the time (I believe more recent theories revolve around the animals living downstairs and the people upstairs, or maybe that's been discredited by now).
Will we learn the true meaning of Christmas? Well, that depends on your point of view. If you're a Christian, yes. If not... probably not.

2. Discworld: Hogfather
Which festival? Hogswatch
Fun for all the family? Probably not for younger children, but Discworld is relatively tame. I started reading them around age 12, which is probably about right.
Why? Hogfather is nowhere near my favourite Discworld novel, though it's somewhere in the top 50%, but I used to re-read it every year at Christmas because it is such a great seasonal special. I absolutely love all the Christmassy satire, from Colon and Nobby with the department store Hogfather, to the little match girl, to various characters reminiscing about family Hogswatches past. I'm also particularly fond of the Unseen University faculty as characters, and Death too. The actual Classical element, aside from the general themes concerning mythology and the development of myth and ritual, is Bilious the oh-god-of-hangovers, who's great fun and probably most appropriate for this time of year!
Will we learn the true meaning of Christmas? Yes, probably - there are definitely some interesting ideas about the origins of winter myths and rituals in here.

1. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Which festival? Christmas, briefly. And Easter, metaphorically.
Fun for all the family? Yes, definitely.

Why? I blogged the more recent film version last year, but it's the 1988 BBC TV version that really says 'Christmas' to me. The only actual Christmas element is the brief appearance of Father Christmas in episode 3, but between the snow, the parcels Mr Tumnus is carrying when we first meet him and the magic, the whole thing feels so incredibly Christmassy that Doctor Who is ripping it off for its Christmas special this year. The Classical elements are, of course, the fauns and satyrs, and the fact that Tumnus the Faun is the first Narnian creature we meet means that this feels as much like a Classical classic as it does a Christmas classic. The TV version has its detractors, but for me, this was the start of a life-long love affair with fantasy in general and with Narnia in particular and I think its completely magical. The hand-drawn creatures look imaginative rather than cheap to me and when you hear the first strains of that beautiful theme tune, you know it's Christmas-time.
Will we learn the true meaning of Christmas? Perhaps surprisingly, no. Father Christmas turns up briefly to give out some presents, half of which are weapons. So, satisfying the greed of small children, and violence. Not really in line with 'those who live by the sword, die by the sword'. You might learn the true meaning of Easter, though. If your Mum tells you what Aslan's name is in our world.

I'm going to take a short break for Christmas (well, I'm going to focus on some lesson planning and try to start the paper I'm giving in January). Have a fantastic Christmas/holiday and see you all in 2012!

*For the curious, my top five Christmas movies in general are:
5. The Snowman tied with Joyeux Noel
4. The Nightmare Before Christmas
3. Little Women (the Winona Ryder one)
2. Love Actually
1. The Muppet Christmas Carol

and because I can't restrict myself to just five, my top ten Christmas episodes/specials are:
10. The Big Bang Theory, 'The Bath Gift Item Hypothesis'
9. The West Wing, 'In Excelsis Deo'
8. The Brittas Empire, 'In the Beginning'
7. Blackadder's Christmas Carol
6. Men Behaving Badly, 'Last Orders'
5. Only Fools and Horses, 'Heroes and Villains'
4. Friends, 'The One With the Holiday Armadillo'
3. Community, 'Abed's Uncontrollable Christmas'
2. The West Wing, 'Noel'
1. Yes Minister, 'Party Games'

Happy Christmas Everybody!

Strictly Come Dancing 2011 Final

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 20:13:00 +0000

I moved house a couple of weeks ago and just got the internet (and the TV) sorted out in my new flat, so this evening I settled down to, rather belatedly, watch the Strictly Come Dancing Grand Final. After an introductory blurb from Tess comparing the dancers to gladiators lining up for a final confrontation (and set to the soundtrack from Gladiator), for the opening number... well, I think this is better seen than described.

Wow. One of my all-time favourite songs, a Roman theme, and Pasha and Harry with their shirts off. What more could a girl want? Only one question - why is Vincent so thoroughly covered up?!

My absolute favourite part of this number is the bit where the guys come in with retiarii nets! They use them like bull-fighting capes in a paso doble and it is weird and ridiculous and completely awesome. We are talking about actual use of Classical archaeology in a ballroom dance number. I love it.

I assume that the main reason the powers that be went for a Classical theme is that it offered a perfect excuse for men and women of whatever orientation to perv over their favourites in bikinis/no tops (myself very much included). It also plays up the show's depiction of its final as an epic battle of course - Strictly has always been keen on playing up this angle, partly to make ballroom dancing seem a bit tougher and more macho, mostly to play up the drama for the TV. I also wondered, as the three couples were pulled on in chariots, if the producers had been reading The Hunger Games, as it was very much like the presentation of the tributes in the first book.

I'm very fond of Strictly, partly because I used to do ballroom dancing as a hobby, partly because it's just good, fun Saturday night TV. Both my Mum and The Artist Formerly Known as CurrentHousemate's Mum were put off by some of the unfortunate exits in previous years (Colin Jackson was robbed. Robbed I tells ya!) but AFKACH and I have been watching all year and it's been a very good year. Apart from Rory Bremner's early exit (there's no way he should have gone before Nancy Dell'Olio) things have gone more or less the way I was hoping, with my perfect three finalists. My first ever album was Kylie and the first pop stars I loved were Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan, so I loved watching him get to the final, though it was right he went out first. And I could watch Harry Judd dance all day and all night and still not have enough - that man can move.

Anyway, I'm off to watch it again. Cheesy brilliance. Thank you, Strictly!

Xena Warrior Princess: The Execution

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 21:32:00 +0000

This episode follows the near-execution of Gabrielle’s friend Meleager on a false charge by a judge who really doesn’t like to change his mind.

Meleager is a figure from Classical mythology, though his myth doesn’t have anything to do with his story here. The mythical Meleager was to stay alive as long as a brand on the fire. Having killed the Calydonian boar, Meleager killed his uncles (whether accidentally or on purpose depends on which version you’re reading) so his mother burned the rest of the brand and Meleager died.

The way Meleager here thinks he’s guilty when in fact he’s innocent might bear some relation to some versions of his story but really, this is an independent tale. The depiction of Meleager as a hero who goes around saving villages all the time is rather nice and vaguely fits with the fact he rid the world of the pesky Calydonian boar. Similarly, the mythical Meleager fell in love with Atalanta, a virgin huntress who’d been raised by bears and who killed various unpleasant centaurs etc, so it makes sense that he’d get on well with Gabrielle, though here he sees her as a daughter rather than a lover.

This was an interesting episode, most particularly for the moment when Gabrielle defies Xena to defend her friend. This at the same time marks her out as becoming more independent of Xena, while simultaneously reinforcing her dependency, since she’s motivated to do it by hero worship for someone else. Xena forces her to confront her tendency towards putting people on pedestals, though the fact that Meleager turns out to be innocent after all may have wiped that particular lesson!

Being based around an execution, the episode has a fairly dark tone, brought out unexpectedly in the closing lines.

Gabrielle: When I’m that age, I hope I’m knitting socks.
Xena: Oh don’t worry about it. People in our line of work never reach that age.
Gabrielle: That’s a comforting thought.

Buffy had all sorts of angst about the short life expectancy of Slayers. Perhaps, since Xena and Gabrielle have chosen this lifestyle, they’re less woe-is-me about it, but it does seem that Gabrielle hasn’t quite thought it through, which doesn’t bode too well for the future…

Side note: love the knitting women waiting for the execution. Very French Revolution.

Quotes:

Gabrielle: Whatever he did, he didn’t do it!

Gabrielle: Consider this; when we doubt that heroes exist in this world, who do the optimists name?
Some random: Hercules!

Executioner (looking exactly like Death from an Ingmar Berman film): These are my comfortable clothes.

Note: By popular demand “The Executioner” will bring back his comfortable lightweight cotton-flax blend robe in a variety of spring colours.

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Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Help

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 19:40:00 +0000

Cassandra was the ancient Greek prophetess who was cursed to always prophesy the truth, but never be believed. Because, like Sybil (similar to the Roman oracle the Sibyl) ‘Cassandra’ is a fairly common name still, it’s a perfect option for writers wanting a suitably symbolic name for a prophetically-inclined character, so it’s used fairly often. Sometimes it’s used just because it’s associated with prophecy, but other times, Cassandra’s particular problem is more relevant. In The X-Files, for example, Cassandra is the name of a woman who claims to be an alien abductee and, of course, only Mulder believes her. This occurred in Season 5, though, and then she reappeared in Season 6 with a different story and… I have to confess I was already totally lost by the arc plot by the beginning of Season 3. I love the individual episodes of The X-Files, and great stand-alone episodes continued to appear right up to the end, but even the weird summing up in the series finale couldn’t clear up what on earth was going on with the arc plot.

Anyway, the most touching use of Cassandra’s problem has to be this seventh season episode of Buffy. Like so many other series, Buffy fell prey to the tendency to try to be ‘darker’ by, basically, being more depressing in the later series (I remember The West Wing doing a similar storyline to one of its greatest ever episodes, Season 2’s ‘Shibboleth’, in Season 5’s ‘Han’, but altering the outcome to make it really depressing). Season 7 had its lighter moments, and a lot of rather dull but not overtly depressing stuff about potential Slayers, but it also included a couple of really ‘dark’ – for which read ‘depressing’ – episodes. Oddly enough, though, they were also two of the season’s best.

In ‘Help’, Buffy encounters a schoolgirl who is completely convinced that she is going to die. Buffy is determined to prevent this and most of the episode centres around the gang’s attempts to stop her being sacrificed by a bunch of unpleasant guys much as Cordelia and Buffy nearly were in Season 2’s lighter ‘Reptile Boy’. They are successful, but at the end of the episode, the girl dies anyway, of congenital heart failure. It’s a rather more effective reminder of the point hammered home with the subtlety of an ice pick (I was going to say sledgehammer, but that’s such a cliché) in Season 5’s arc plot centred around Buffy’s mother’s cancer – there are some things, and some deaths, even the Slayer can’t prevent.

Buffy might have realised that her efforts were going to be in vain if she’d known her Greek mythology because the girl’s name is Cassie – clearly, short for Cassandra. Cassie insists throughout the episode that she is going to die and there is nothing anyone can do about it, but not a single person believes her, because they are all convinced they can save her. Unlike Greek mythology (in which, in some versions, Troy burns partly because no one will listen to Cassandra), their insistence on refusing to believe her does do some good, because they catch and stop the bad guys, who could have gone on to hurt someone else after Cassie, someone less doomed. However, the essential point that Cassie is tragically aware of her own doom, completely unable to prevent it and also completely unable to get anyone to take her seriously is terribly poignant and terribly sad, and comes right out of the mythical Cassandra’s curse. Knowing the future is bad enough, but not being taken seriously when you know the future is even worse.

Cassie’s form turns up again when the First Evil visits Willow (and possibly other members of the Scooby Gang) in ‘Conversations with Dead People', but since that isn’t really Cassie (and was supposed to be Tara originally) it’s not really relevant to her particular story. Her main episode remains a rather nice and effective stand-alone story in which the mythological trope is used to maximum tear-jerking effect and, despite being really depressing, the episode really works as a commentary on helplessness and frustration.

(By the way, the other ‘dark’ Season 7 episode that is really good, even better than ‘Help’, is the Anya-centric ‘Selfless’).

(And the picture at the top of the page doesn't really have anything to do with this episode, it's just awesome).

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William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet (dir. Baz Luhrmann, 1996)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 10:00:00 +0000

I cover Shakespeare from time to time on the grounds that what he was writing was popular culture, of its day. There's no need to justify the inclusion of this particular adaptation though - despite the Shakespearian dialogue, this film is definitely popular culture. I can still remember countless phone calls as a teenager being addressed as 'Hulieeeeeeeeeeeeeet!' and pausing the video as Leonardo DiCaprio looks at the screen and says 'Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight.' Swoon.

Shakespeare included lots of Classical references in his plays, but they are often edited out when the plays are cut down for film versions (except for Kenneth Branagh's four-hour Hamlet of course). The most substantial literary reference left in this version of Romeo and Juliet (given the + sign in the title to make it extra cool and attract the yoof) is to Queen Mab, who's not Greco-Roman.

There is one Classical reference added for the film, though. Here, the Capulets' party at which Romeo and Juliet meet is a fancy-dress party. Most of the costumes are symbolic of something, mostly something quite obvious - Juliet is an angel, Romeo a knight, Tybalt a devil, Paris (Paul Rudd, young and very cute!) is an astronaut, an all-American hero and perfect son-in-law material. Others are slightly more subtle, though not by much - flamboyant Mercutio is in disco drag, one of Romeo's particularly violent friends is a Viking, and so on. Juliet's parents are dressed as Cleopatra and either Antony or Caesar - of course, since either of those would be a simple Roman costume and there's no dialogue referring to it, it could be either!

Cleopatra for Juliet's mother is interesting. Mrs Capulet is a pretty tough character, later demanding the death penalty for Romeo and cutting Juliet off entirely when she refuses to marry Paris. In her first appearance, during which she puts the costume in all its constituent parts on while talking, she is telling Juliet about Paris and suggesting the idea of the marriage to her. The fact that she is putting on a Cleopatra costume as she does so emphasises the sexual aspect of the marriage, the fact that she is pushing Juliet to grow up and regard men sexually, since Cleopatra is so well known for her sex life and her power over men. The sexuality of Cleopatra also plays well during Romeo's bad trip shortly after, in which he sees her kissing Tybalt, an image the audience is supposed to wonder about - is it real or not? The Cleopatra costume encourages the audience to at least consider the possibility that the event is real, since Cleopatra is so well known for a voracious sex life. The fact that Cleopatra was a queen also plays into Juliet's mother power over Juliet and the importance of her social position, as a woman the Prince must listen to.

During his trip, Romeo also sees Mr Capulet waving his purple tunic around and showing off his underpants, behaviour perhaps associated more with Antony than Caesar (though most of all, I suspect with toga parties - an apparent staple of American college comedies that I don't understand because I've never seen any of those comedies). I also think that he is probably meant to be Antony, because these costumes are a reference to Antony and Cleopatra. There are subtle references to other Shakespeare plays scattered throughout the film, like the phrase 'We are such stuff as dreams are made on' from The Tempest, which is displayed on a billboard. It is quite likely then that these costumes are another nod to a play with a conclusion that bears some similarity to Romeo and Juliet - the costumes foreshadowing the tragic conclusion of the play and of these characters' daughter's life.

When I watch it, though, I find I see Capulet more as Caesar than Antony. Despite his apparent intoxication, during the party, Capulet makes his power and authority very clear to Tybalt when Tybalt threatens to defy him. He is absolute ruler of his small kingdom, and of course his absolute authority over Juliet is an important part of the plot. For a modern Western audience not brought up to understand a society where the power of the father is absolute, this is a helpful visual reminder that no subordinate character can cross Capulet.

Luhrmann transports Shakespeare's action from Italy to the US for this film, but he gives it a very strong Italian feel throughout, ensuring that the Italian setting is all but kept. The Catholicism of the central characters, so important for the plot, is overtly and opulently displayed and the Capulets in particular have a distinct mafia-like feel to their operation. Dressing their first couple in Roman costumes only adds to this Italian theme. The film is a fantastic adaptation, exciting, vibrant, romantic, violent and with a fabulous soundtrack. If you haven't seen it, make sure to get hold of a copy - it's not just for teenage girls, I promise!

Stargate SG-1: Seth

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 10:00:00 +0000

This third season episode of Stargate: SG-1 features Seth, a Goa'uld who makes a one-off appearance, rather than our regular bad guys Apophis or Osiris. These are always good fun - they're often able to tell a tighter story than episodes focusing on long-running characters and arc plots.

As usual, the basic details given about the Egyptian god Seth are pretty much accurate - a god associated with chaos and confusion (though they perhaps dwell a bit too much on the 'evil' aspect, since our cultural conception of evil is rather heavily Christianised). This includes the detail about the mythical/fictional animal that represents Seth - the Egyptian god is indeed represented by a mysterious animal in Egyptian art. He also really was identified with the Greek monster Typhon. I have no idea where the medieval bit comes from - I think that's an invention of the writers, but I might be wrong.

I like Daniel's (totally correct) theory that a Goa'uld hiding somewhere on today's Earth would most likely be a religious cult leader - as he points out, it fits their M.O. rather neatly. The incorporation of the Greek identification of Seth with Typhon into this story, as an indication of what Seth was doing on Earth in the Classical period, fits nicely too. The more personal storyline in this episode concerns Sam, her father and her brother, who has had a major falling out with their father in the past and didn't come to his apparent deathbed in the previous season. Our heroes also spend a fair bit of time with a man whose son is in the cult. Since much of Seth's mythology concerns his murder of his brother and battles with his nephew, this makes for a vague but nice thematic link.

The costumes worn by members of the cult are fairly typical twentieth-century Western cult styles (at least, as far as these things are represented on television - I haven't seen any real ones!) but most of them could equally easily belong to members of an Egyptian-based ancient religion. They look like simple linen robes, like those worn by members of the cult (different kind of cult! well, a little bit different) of the originally Egyptian but later Greek-ified goddess Isis in the Greek and Roman world. The more senior members' outfits, a combination of pyjamas and karate clothes, are less so, since ancient Egyptians (and Greeks and Romans) didn't wear trousers. I love Seth's outfit. You can't go wrong with a villain in black leather. And an evil little black goatee. And he has fabulous floppy Snape-hair.

For some reason I've been interested in stories about scary American religious cults for a while (I say American because all the stories on this topic I've seen have been written and set in America - though I'm sure similar organisations exist elsewhere). This probably comes of watching too much X-Files as a teenager. I also seem to remember a melodramatic Sweet Valley High book called Kidnapped by the Cult! that I was quite fond of. Anyway, I enjoyed this episode. It's nice to see Canada playing Seattle rather than an alien planet - it's rather more convincing as Seattle! Seth doesn't really do anything particularly interesting - his actions are all bog-standard evil cult-leader stuff, without even the added interest of including exciting money-making ventures - but he does have great hair and a fantastic black leather coat.

Seth, on the left

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Chelmsford 123: Mine's a Double

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 10:00:00 +0000

In this episode, Badvok and Aulus both somewhat unexpectedly turn out to have long lost identical twin brothers, who both turn up after a ten-year absence needing somewhere to stay. They turn up, cause trouble and reveal all the old family secrets - such as Badvok's real name ('Rosemary') and the fact that Aulus is actually a Spanish provincial rather than native Roman. Aulus runs into Badvok's twin and thinks it's Badvok, Badvok runs into Aulus' twin and think it's Aulus, and hilarity ensues.

The trope of the identical or nearly identical sibling/relative who turns up uninvited requires said relative to be some kind of polar opposite to our regular hero, like the brave-to-the-point-of-stupid MacAdder, cousin of the cowardly Blackadder, or the alcoholic loser brother of Captain Mainwaring. In this case, Aulus' brother is a dirty, rude career criminal with a terrible Spanish accent, while Badvok's is a walking stereotype of camp. Badvok's brother is actually slightly more likeable than Badvok, while the nice thing about Aulus' is that it makes him and Grasientus look slightly closer, since Grasientus is less of a pain than his brother.

At one point, Aulus' brother insults all the patrons in a British drinking den. The idea of British drinking dens that are off-limit to Romans is interesting. I don't know if that's true or not, I can't remember coming across it before - though I think it's safe to assume the opposite (exclusively Roman drinking dens) certainly existed. It would certainly be a good way to make the locals feel that they had a place that was still their own - but given the possibilities for plotting rebellion in such a place, especially only a few decades after Boudicca, I doubt they really existed.

The story revolves around Mungo's theft of one of Aulus' priceless statues of the divine twins Castor and Pollux. Naturally, Aulus wants it back, Badvok wants the other twin, there's all sorts of twin-swapping going on, and everyone gets very confused. The scene where Aulus interrogates his hapless guard (Chris Langham), who has not only barely guarded the villa, but was actually present when Mungo stole the statue and let him do it, is really pretty funny. A second scene, in which the guard reveals that Badvok has managed to convince him he was the emperor, is even funnier.

This episode wasn't half bad - better than the rather tired plot might imply. The attempt to lampshade how totally ludicrous it is that everyone has a long-lost identical twin who's suddenly decided to show up is a bit forced, but saved by Blag's sudden gift of prophecy regarding the invention of television and Panorama, and the final joke, in which we are introduced to Grasientus' identical twin, pushes the idea so far it becomes funny again - and it's an amusing joke too.

All Chelmsford 123 reviews

Top Five Roman Murder Mysteries

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 13:05:00 +0000

In terms of detective fiction, the only thing better than a good murder mystery is a good murder mystery with an interesting setting. I have a love of quirky, interesting detective stories with fun settings, from cozies like Riley Adams (Elizabeth Craig)'s Memphis BBQ books, set in a Southern restaurant, to quirky spoofs like Malcolm Pryce's Aberystwyth books, which are Raymond Chandler pastiches full of evil Druids and victimised fudge box girls set in Aberystwyth, to the City Watch Discworld books, in which our heroes may find themselves trying to produce a million-to-one chance so they can shoot a dragon. So obviously I have a great fondness for detective stories and murder mysteries set in my period of history, ancient Rome.

Spoilers follow; I've avoided actually naming the murderer but there are fairly substantial spoilers floating around. OK, very substantial spoilers. Best not read any of the details if you haven't read the book...

5. The Venus Throw, by Steven Saylor
Victim: Dio, an Egyptian philosopher
Detective: Gordianus the Finder
Context: The trial of Marcus Caelius Rufus, 56 BC
Is justice served? That depends on your definition of 'justice'.
Why read it? I read this book a long time ago so my memories of it are vague, but it is surely one of the most fascinating Gordianus stories. I read the books out of order; I was particularly keen to read this one, because it was based around Cicero's speech in defense of Caelius. This speech one of the reasons I have intensely disliked Cicero throughout my academic career. In it, he completely destroys the reputation of a woman called Clodia, using a combination of sexism and inferences. Clodia's social life never recovered and she pretty much disappeared from public life after this. Saylor's Clodia is a fascinating creation, largely built from the rather one-sided ancient evidence but managing to be sympathetic at the same time, while this story marks a turning point in Gordianus' increasing disillusionment with his former friend Cicero. The actual murder mystery is something of a separate, though linked, issue, but holds its own among the high politics with its intensely personal context for Gordianus and its genuinely shocking conclusion.

4. The Silver Pigs, by Lindsey Davis
Victim: Sosia Camillina, a relative of Helena Justina
Detective: Marcus Didius Falco
Context: The first years of the reign of the emperor Vespasian, AD 70
Is justice served? No.
Why read it? The first of the Falco novels is also the cruellest, the most cynical, the grittiest and the most bitter - though still written with the wry humour that makes him so beloved of readers. We meet Falco as a struggling bachelor and the murder that forms the heart of this book is by far the most tragic and the most affecting (though I confess I haven't read all the books yet). The case is intensely personal and the solution firmly rooted in its historical context. Although justice is not directly served for Sosia, there is enough resolution and enough characters are brought to justice for related reasons that the ending satisfies, and of course her tragedy is balanced out by Falco and Helena's happy ending. If you like Falco, you must make sure you read this first, character-defining story.

3. 'Some Justice', I, Claudius
Victim: Germanicus Caesar
Detective: All the main characters, really. Livia is the most successful.
Context: The death of emperor Tiberius' nephew and adopted son Germanicus, AD 19
Is justice served? Some of it. Obviously.
Why watch it? This is more a courtroom drama than a detective story, but it still counts as a murder mystery, as most of the main cast spend the episode not just pursuing the case, but trying to work out what actually happened as well. The story is also told in Robert Graves' novel, of course, but the format of this, as an hour-long courtroom drama taking place within one episode, is especially effective. Again, we have here a real and really mysterious death, which in real life may or may not have played out the way it does here. Like Saylor in both his novels listed here, Graves uses the classic historical novelist's technique of taking a real death and a real solution and presenting an alternative, secret explanation - or, in this case, a deeper and more complicated explanation. His solution plays into the way he wants to present his characters later in the novel and is perhaps less shocking than you might think, given the characters involved, but he certainly spins a good yarn. The slow revelation of this solution over the course of the episode, and in particular Livia's crucial dinner conversation, make for a satisfying hour of television and a refreshing change of pace in the middle of a long series.

2. The Man from Pomegranate Street, by Caroline Lawrence
Victim: Titus Caesar. Possibly.
Detective: Flavia Gemina, Nubia and Lupus. And Jonathan, sort of. And Aristo.
Context: The death of the emperor Titus, AD 81.
Is justice served? Your guess is as good as mine... probably not.
Why read it? Since The Roman Mysteries are children's books, they are fairly light on murders, at least in the events of the books - recoverable crimes, like theft or kidnapping are more common (the characters' back-stories are another matter all together). The later books in particular do go further into the murder mystery area, with poor long-suffering Nubia's discovery of a dying man in The Slave Girl from Jerusalem standing out as a sign of slowly increasing violence as the characters and readers get older and more mature. The Man from Pomegranate Street, the last novel, goes to slighter darker places again, while remaining suitable for middle grade readers. One of the things I like about this story is that it's not clear whether a murder has occurred - the mystery is, was it murder? It's a really interesting approach, especially since this is a real-life death, and a slightly mysterious one. I also love that Lawrence doesn't go for the obvious solution, but presents several possibilities, some quite shocking to a young reader - while at the same time ensuring that the resolution, as far as there is resolution, offers a level of reassurance (these are children's books after all!).

1. Roman Blood, by Steven Saylor
Victim: Sextus Roscius

Detective: Gordianus the Finder
Context: The dictatorship of Sulla and Cicero's defense of Roscius' son, 81 BC
Is justice served? Er, it's so long since I read it I actually can't remember!
Why read it? It's been well over ten years since I read this book and as you can see, I can barely remember most of the details! It's number one on my list though, because I love the simplicity of the concept so much. Saylor takes an extant defense speech by Cicero and a real murder case and builds a murder mystery from it, offering his own (fictional) solution to the case and using Gordianus to explore the various characters involved, especially Cicero himself and his secretary Tiro. Saylor also examines Sulla and his dictatorship but, reading this long before I ever studied any ancient history, it was the murder mystery and the characters, especially Tiro and Bethesda, that appealed to me. It's also beautifully and evocatively written. I could have lived with slightly less of Cicero's actual speech perhaps - which bored me even before the Pro Caelio sealed my dislike of him - but otherwise, this is a cracking story and essential reading for Saylor fans.

Rome: Philippi

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 22:20:00 +0000

Sometimes, Rome is really quite helpful with its episode titles (other times less so). We knew when we'd reached the final showdown between Caesar and Pompey because the episode was called simply 'Pharsalus' (as in 'Battle of'), and here we know we've reached Brutus and Cassius' final hour because the episode is called 'Philippi'.

Brutus tells Cassius that their men did not realise Greece was so large and are complaining, which handily tells us where we are. Following his rather odd John the Baptist moment, he is still being almost unbearably chirpy, while poor Cassius, though pleased that Brutus has got his act together, is trying to be slightly more practical about men, supplies, marching and so on.

Mark Antony is still wearing the Beard of Sorrow, possibly to emphasise his age and experience over Bingley!Octavian. The little psycho has compiled a list of supporters of Brutus and Cassius still in Rome for the two of them to kill, in order to ensure they're not stabbed in the back and, as Maecenas points out, to get their money. This scene is particularly interesting as it is here that Cicero is condemned to death. Since Cicero is an extremely popular figure, both now and in the ancient world, the question of where to lay the blame for his death is an important one. For the ancients, one solution presented itself. Since (spoiler alert!) Antony eventually lost the later war between himself and Octavian, the obvious option is to blame Antony for Cicero's death. This exonerates Octavian to an extent and ensures that his later incarnation, Augustus, is not associated with the death of Rome's greatest orator and statesman. It's also another way to drive nails into the coffin of Antony's reputation. Plutarch puts it especially dramatically when he declares that, on seeing Cicero's hands nailed up in the Forum, people 'thought they saw there, not the face of Cicero, but an image of the soul of Antony'.

Modern interpretations which want to present a positive view of Augustus usually take this approach as well. The TV mini-series Imperium: Augustus is particularly dramatic about it, suggesting that the murder of numerous political opponents was a terrible hardship that Octavian only did because he felt he had to. It is Antony who insists on adding Cicero to the list. However, Rome is not interested in presenting a hagiography of Augustus - indeed, the series has already given him extra vices he didn't really have, so its not going to sugarcoat things he actually did. On the other hand, the rivalry between Cicero and Antony is equally dramatic and that detail of Cicero's hands being nailed to the rostra does sound more like something the passionate and occasionally reckless Antony would do, more than the usually (except when he's stealing other men's pregnant wives) calm and collected Octavian.

So the way the scene plays out here is very interesting. Octavian hands Antony a list of men to proscribe, killing them and confiscating their land. The focus, though script, camerawork and performance, is on the absolute coldness with which he does this and we are clearly directed to feel mildly horrified at this action, especially when Maecenas mentions the financial gain. Antony looks at the list and declares that they should kill Cicero first. This clearly implies that Cicero was already on the list (and indeed there's no reason he wouldn't be, since he's clearly sympathised with Brutus and Cassius all along). Then, Antony says he wants to add another one or two names - so, as in the more pro-Octavian versions, he still adds names out of spite - but Cicero isn't one of them.

Before they finish, Atia wants to add a name. Octavian firmly tells her they won't kill Servilia because they won't kill women, but she persuades him to kill Jocasta's father for his money even though he has nothing to do with the politics. This is even more interesting - Octavian, while utterly ruthless, is only interested in killing for political gain. Antony is mostly about the politics but not above adding the odd person out of spite, while Atia is the nastiest person in the room by far, having a man murdered purely because she doesn't like his daughter very much.

I think my favourite bit in the whole scene is just after Octavian has told Antony they should kill the men on the list, and Antony looks mildly impressed and says 'You are a ferocious little (see you next Tuesday)... with a pen!' As we will see, Octavian can talk the talk, but he's not exactly at the front of the attack when it comes to physical fighting. Lepidus, by the way, hates the whole idea, but no one's listening to him.

Lepidus is left behind in Rome because he's a wet blanket who doesn't like killing people. Agrippa is also sent back to Rome just ahead of Octavian and Maecenas, to get The Godfather to organise the mass murder. The Godfather and Dodgy Soldier are to kill Cicero personally, to make sure it's done right (actually, Plutarch names Cicero's killers, men whom Cicero had helped in the past, but he may not have got it right and it doesn't really matter - though the pathos of those Cicero had defended murdering him is lost). At this point, Antony, with quite some venom, says to tell them to cut off Cicero's hands and nail them to the Senate door - so the ancient interpretation of this action as Antony's revenge for the very negative speeches Cicero made about him is maintained. He also makes this a threat to Octavian, looking right at him as he says he told Cicero he'd do that if Cicero ever crossed him again.

Antony and Atia have a quite sweet goodbye scene where he accidentally implies that he might marry her and immediately regrets it (historically, he's married to someone else at this point, but since that rarely bothered real Romans never mind TV ones, we probably shouldn't let it bother us).

The Godfather's totally evil barmaid sulks because the Godfather won't let her make-up his eldest daughter, while said eldest daughter sulks because... well, just in general really. The Godfather gives out the assassination assignments to the gangs, who are allowed to make off with the booty - I don't think this is how it worked in real life, since the triumvirate wanted the booty for themselves (and Plutarch implies Cicero's killers were well-off and high up enough to have hired Cicero in the past). The Godfather wants to feed the poor with some of the proceeds in the hope of improving their popularity (basically, he's running a smaller version of the whole Roman political system from a bar). Some evil rival gang members decide to seduce Sulky Eldest Daughter to get back at the Godfather, and because she clearly has terrible, terrible taste in men (the guy is unbelievably creepy) it looks like it's going to work.

Evil Barmaid is making eyes at Dodgy now, which does not impress Eirene, so he takes her, along with the Godfather's entire family, to a picnic and murder party. He leaves them all in a pretty, picturesque woodland glade while he takes two minions to Cicero's place. I have to say, I don't think the Godfather is following Antony's orders to see to Cicero personally here, but perhaps he and Dodgy are now like Troy and Abed from Community; they're so close they're practically one being.

Cicero gets warning that Death is quite literally coming down the road and writes to Brutus and Cassius warning them of the triumvirate's plans (the letter doesn't get through, as in real life it didn't exist). Tiro tells him armed men are at the door and he must run, but as you've gathered by now, it's no good.

I have a couple of problems with this scene. One is that Cicero actually was running away, or trying to, according to Plutarch (and he'd done so before, though in slightly less extreme circumstances), though he was brave enough when he realised he'd been caught. My bigger problem, though, is Tiro. Tiro was Cicero's right-hand man for most of his life, an extremely clever man who invented shorthand. He was freed several years before Cicero's death, and continued to work for Cicero as his freedman. He happens to be a favourite of mine - partly, I confess, because I liked him so much in Steven Saylor's Roman Blood! I don't see that Tiro in the character going by that name here, who is not only still a slave, but who gurns and panics and whimpers (though his attempt to take on Dodgy with a wavering sword is rather sweet). Rome's Tiro exists purely to make Cicero look good - Cicero is calm, still trying to achieve something with Dodgy at the door, reassuring Tiro that he will be freed in his will with some of his last words, so he appears generous and thoughtful to the last. That's all very well, but I would have preferred that Tiro's character didn't have to suffer and be sidelined to achieve that effect - though at least we do see some of the love between Cicero and Tiro, which must have been there in reality, given how Tiro continued to work for his master long after his death, and which is nice.

That aside, Cicero's death scene is suitably moving for such an important character, both in the show and in Roman history. Bamber is wonderful, full of sadness and resignation along with reluctance and fear. This is the first really major character death since Caesar, and the prelude to the deaths of Brutus and Cassius at the end of the episode, so the show takes its time, lingering on Dodgy eating he fruit and having a semi-philosophical discussion with Cicero about immortality while he goes about his job in a business-like fashion. It's very effective, a weirdly calm death to contrast with the more chaotic battle-deaths to come.

Back at the family picnic, Lyde is pestering the Godfather to try to find a husband for Sulky Eldest Daughter. The Godfather actually does mean well - he simply doesn't believe any decent man will marry an ex-prostitute and wants to protect his daughter from the non-decent ones - but no one else agrees with this point of view. Dodgy returns with poor Cicero's peaches and everyone tucks in with gusto.

Later, we see Dodgy nailing up Cicero's hands, as promised, and Posca brings Octavian some fresh names for the list, from Antony. It appears that Antony is sitting around deliberately thinking of people he could do without. Agrippa complains that they've killed enough people already, but Maecenas is all for getting more money to pay the troops. I love that Agrippa, the most successful military man among them, is the least comfortable with killing people for profit - it makes perfect sense. He kills people in battle, not in their gardens next to their peach trees. The development of this trio is really fascinating - Agrippa clearly has the most conscience, Maecenas clearly the least, while Octavian (the Kirk to their Spock and Bones - I'm all about the geek references today!) sits somewhere in the middle, ruthless but not vicious, though he's more concerned with how he appears that what he's actually doing (which fits perfectly with his later actions as emperor).

Agrippa storms off in a huff and, of course, runs into Octavia. She needles him about all the killing-people and then complains that he's avoiding her because of the awkwardness, which she thinks isn't a good enough reason (all very well for her to say, he's the one who had his heart stomped on!). She lets on that maybe the case isn't hopeless, but he points out he will never be allowed to marry her because his father was a nobody and his grandfather a slave, so he could never marry Octavian Caesar's sister (aside from the vague notion that I've accidentally wandered into Downton Abbey, in which Allan Leech plays almost the same storyline but his character has slightly more gumption, I love the irony in this, since Agrippa will eventually end up married to Caesar's daughter and will be the direct ancestor of two emperors. Albeit mad ones). Octavia insists she'll marry who she likes, which is ridiculous - she would never be that naive. They both angst all over the screen until eventually they snog, at which point they are interrupted by Maecenas, who gives Octavia a fantastically comical look that basically says 'Really?'

Timon and his brother are feeling rebellious and looking for support in the synagogue, where they proceed to start a brawl, and come out looking very pleased with themselves. I think they're becoming Zionists. Trouble is - I very guilty about this, but whenever they mention Judea and fighting their enemies, all I can hear in my head is 'the Judean People's Front?!'

Dodgy is feeling dismayed about being second to the Godfather, following his chat with Cicero about immortality, and wants something more soldierly to do than hand out free fish. The Godfather nods and smiles in a vaguely smug fashion.

Nighttime. Agrippa and Octavia go to the Roman version of a cheap motel to have sex in a room with its own shower-thing, which is kind of cool. She does that thing couples on film sometimes do where one of them gets dressed and is leaving, and the other sits there, still stark naked. Isn't she leaving too? Isn't she cold? She appears to have fallen for Agrippa as badly as he's fallen for her. He's late to ride off to war, and Maecenas declares that he must be saying goodbye to some woman, and that he either has several whores or one lover - while the audience, of course, can see that he's clearly guessed and is trying to get Octavian thinking about it. Agrippa runs in late and Octavian teases him about coming in straight from the brothel, at which point his sister rushes in declaring that 'women's troubles' made her late. Octavian may be very clever in some ways - world domination and all that - but he's clearly a bit of a thicko when it comes to human relationships.

Atia, however, is not and pulls the old 'How long has this been going on?'; 'How did you know?'; 'I didn't until just now' trick. She warns Octavia they can't ever get married, when they are interrupted by poor Jocasta, whose family has been murdered and who has been raped, and who collapses in the hallway, weeping. Octavia promises to protect her and Atia agrees, without showing a hint of guilt or remorse. She is one cold, cold woman.

Eirene and Dodgy have a chat in which we learn that in all these years of marriage, he's never bothered to ask about her life before she was made a slave. He talks about how he'd like to go to war again, at which point she tells him she's pregnant. She seems rather upset about it (given the mortality rates for babies and mothers in pre-industrial societies, I don't blame her).

Brutus is waving around his father's signet ring when a messenger turns up with the rather distressing news that Antony and his legions are with Octavian. Cassius says they must retreat but Brutus insists on 'no more running', and says they should either win with extra glory, or get on with it and die. And they have the upper ground, so it's not completely suicidal.

There's a rather impressive shot of large armies marching across an open plain. It seems we will actually see a battle this time, which is rather good - though, on the other hand, perhaps this is why the show was abruptly cancelled. Not so good. Brutus suddenly remembers that it's Cassius' birthday and wishes him a happy birthday, apologising for the lack of cake. It's a wonderful, stiff-upper-lipped pre-battle conversation, in the best tradition of war movies in which soldiers face possible death with black humour and a certain calm. Antony (who has shaved for the occasion) is more about teasing Octavian, suggesting he should go for a pee now. The two armies advance in glorious CGI - they really did spend all the money on this episode - and, you know, fighting happens. As battle scenes go, it's no Gladiator, but there's some blood and some guts and some groinal stabbing. Meanwhile Antony and Octavian sit on their horses behind the lines, eating, like British generals in World War One. Antony decides he'd like to know what's happening and rides on in. Octavian sends Agrippa in after him but does not go himself. This actually presents him in a braver light than history - historically, he claimed he'd been warned in a dream he was going to be ill, and spend the whole thing hiding in his tent.

Cassius is mortally wounded, which makes Brutus very cross. His death scene follows, and it's completely unhistorical, but fabulously dramatic. He kisses Cassius' body, asks a soldier to tell his mother 'something suitable' (a sentiment no less fab for being nicked from Buffy the Vampire Slayer) then strips off all his armour and walks, sword in hand, into the oncoming forces to commit suicide by enemy army. The soldiers look a bit reluctant at first, what with one man armies not actually working in reality, but when he starts slashing at them with his sword, they lay into him like he and his buddies laid into Caesar. The camera pans away from directly above, and it's all over.

Antony declares that the smell of 'smoke, shit and rotting flesh' is 'beautiful' (I bet he'd have loved the smell of napalm in the morning, if he'd known what it was) while a scrounger nicks Brutus' signet ring and puts it on gleefully. The episode ends on that image, with suitably sombre music playing over the credits.

This is a very good episode, that gives emotional, weighty death scenes to three major characters while advancing the stories of the others as well. We get several fresh insights into Octavian's character, and Maecenas', while Antony and Atia continue to be their gloriously amoral selves. Season 2 continues to go from strength to strength - it's just a real shame that they blew so much of the budget on the battle scenes, ended up cancelled and had to rush the rest of the season, squashing the next 13 years into the remaining four episodes...

All Rome reviews

Star Trek: Plato's Stepchildren

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 17:53:00 +0000

As so we come, with dreadful inevitability, to 'Plato's Stepchildren.' This is the episode of Star Trek that features the first interracial kiss on US television. I'm glad Star Trek is remembered for that - it's a good thing to be remembered for and Trek genuinely wanted to break boundaries. Flawed though it is, Roddenberry wanted to say something about racism and sexism in an era when it was hard to do so. Flawed it definitely is, though - that famous interracial kiss, as we shall see, most of all.

Kirk & co. respond to distress calls from an apparently uninhabited planet ('cause that always goes so well). They are met by a dwarf who informs them that he is a very good loser. Good signs from the start, then. He explains that they live under a philosopher-king who admires Plato so much that he calls his subjects Plato's children - though, the dwarf says, they sometimes call themselves 'Plato's stepchildren'.

A scary woman appears. 'Welcome to our republic,' she says. Their republic which is run by a king. Someone needs to explain basic political terminology to these people. 'Who among you is the physician?' A guy with a bad leg, their leader, explains that his badly infected leg wasn't attended to ages ago because of 'sheer ignorance'. Then he floats a syringe into his own arm. He explains that this planet is a utopia built on Platonic ideals. Out of earshot, the dwarf pleads with the woman that Kirk and friends came to help and don't deserve to die, but to no avail. Dun dun duuuuuh! Credit sequence.

The dwarf, Alexander, plays with a giant chess set. We had one of those at the hotel I used to work at. Kirk's voiceover explains that these people greatly admire Classical Greek civilization. Presumably this is why the set decorators have covered the place in heads, busts and columns. It doesn't explain the psychokinesis though - that's something to do with the planet apparently, and brainwaves.

The leader's scary wife explains that the planet's inhabitants - all 38 of them - are the product of a really vicious eugenics programme, and they are a small group of perfect, 2,000 year old genetic specimens. They scarcely have to move, let alone work (what do they eat? and who makes it for them, helots?). The leader dude's delirium starts manifesting as poltergeist activity and the Enterprise, under Scotty's command, is hit by some really bad space turbulence. Spock thinks the whole thing is fascinating, of course.

Bones tries to knock out the leader but is defeated by psychokinesis. Kirk and Alexander are made to fight each other until Bones finally manages to overpower the guy. Kirk is all for getting the h**l out of there - sensible man, this is why they made him captain - but Bones insists on waiting until leader dude's fever breaks, so he agrees to stay.

Alexander is grateful to Kirk for saving his life and explains that the other 36 pseudo-Greeks are off meditating, and that he is the only one without telekinetic powers, which is why he is everyone's slave (though he also has a bit of a complex about his size). Kirk explains that where he comes from, 'size, shape or power makes no difference'. Good to know, I'm sure. Spock says that 'it will be very gratifying to leave here', which is pretty vicious, from a Vulcan. Meanwhile, the Enterprise is locked in orbit, and communication with Starfleet has been severed.

Alexander sings a song about Pan and his horn, with a lyre, naturally. Leader dude lounges around, enjoying himself. He looks much more like a Roman than a Greek, wearing a laurel wreath and purpley-red robe thing over a tunic. He calls himself a philsopher-king and refers to his kingdom as a principality - very Roman empire, not very Classical Greek. He mentions that he doesn't really like people wandering into his territory even if they do cure his gangrene, and starts telepathically controlling Kirk, making him slap himself, which is unintentionally hilarious.

Evil leader dude has now cut off the away team's contact with the Enterprise and seems to want to keep them all prisoner. He tries to sweeten the situation by giving them gifts of gratitude for the whole gangrene-healing thing. These are made up of the shield of Pericles for Kirk, a kithra for Spock and a collection of Hippocratic texts for Bones. No one is very impressed.

Leader dude apologises for his behaviour towards the captain and explains that he just can't help himself, and Kirk says cheerio. But leader dude has a final request. He has decided he needs a court doctor and asks McCoy to stay. When McCoy says no, it becomes clear that no-one's going anywhere. Kirk and Spock try to point out that Plato was in favour of truth, beauty and justice, but leader dude claims they have had to make a few alterations, but that they live in the most democratic society imaginable, as anyone can rule if his mind is strong enough (Kirk points out this doesn't work for Alexander). When our heroes try to leave, he keeps Bones held by telepathic power. The wife wants him to just kill them, but since leader dude thinks that might upset McCoy, who will then refuse to play doctor for them, he says he'll keep Kirk and Spock to help celebrate the anniversary of the republic instead.

He forces Kirk and Spock to put laurel wreaths on their heads and do a little dance. They sing Tweedledee and Tweedledum's song from Through the Looking Glass while doing a jig. Then they roll around on the floor for a bit. Kirk gurns and tries to fight the telepathic power and fails for a while. He ends up sprawled on the floor, spurting out 'is this your utopia?' in between screams and gurning. It all looks exactly as silly as it sounds.

'We have had enough of your moralising' says leader dude. To be fair, by this time, so has everybody, but he's not making a good case here. He makes Spock do another little jig around Kirk's now immobile head. Nimoy is a pretty good dancer and looks like he'd do a mean Paso Doble given the chance, but here he just stamps around a bit and then falls over. Then he laughs, which is pretty disturbing, I have to say. Alexander watches all of this, looking vaguely unhappy. Bones complains that they can't force emotion out of Spock as it will destroy him (contrary to several previous episodes). Kirk orders Spock not to let them break him while Spock sobs on Alexander's knee.

Then, when Alexander tries to stick up for them, he is forced to ride Kirk like a horse while Kirk whinnies. Seriously. Picture it, and yes, it's really that bad. But if you really want to see it for yourself, here it is. 'How can you let this go on?' leader dude asks Bones. How indeed.

Later. Spock is freaking out over the whole emotions business. He sympathises with Kirk over the humiliation factor. He observed that the healthy relase of emotion is frequently unhealthy for those in the vicinity, which is a nice point. They have a conversation about anger and hatred and how they lead to the dark side. Bones offers to sacrifice himself and stay so that the others can go, but Kirk points out that probably won't help and they'd just be killed anyway.

Alexander explains that he's now understood for the first time that they (the genetic pseudo-Greeks) are the problem, not him, and says he wants to kill them, but instead they sit down and work out that the psychokinetic power comes from eating the planet's native foods. Alexander doesn't have the power because the same condition that made him a dwarf stopped him from developing it. Bones starts injecting Kirk and Spock with stuff to make them develop the power. Alexander points out he doesn't want to become one of them and doesn't want the psychokinetic power, he just wants to get away.

Then suddenly out of nowhere - Uhura and Christine Chapel! The only two female regular crew members now that Rand has gone! 'I guess we weren't sufficiently entertaining' says Kirk, teeth gritted. This line was used a lot on trailers for Star Trek videos in the past, which is kind of amusing. Uhura and Chapel are put in fancy sparkly gowns and Kirk and Spock are kitted out in tiny, tiny tunics and fresh laurel wreaths. Kirk and Spock are slightly flushed (unsurprising, given the skimpiness of the outfits), but don't have full psychokinetic powers just yet.

'Fellow Academicians' says leader dude. The actual Academicians all roll over in their graves/urns. Kirk insists they have to convince McCoy to join them willingly if they want him to work for them. For some reason, the leader dude's method of convincing him is to force his crewmates to perform for him.

So Spock sings to the girls (clearly they haven't heard Uhura sing, since she actually, you know, can). Nimoy gives it his all and the girls look suitably horrified/embarassed but it's painful to watch. 'Now let the revels begin!' says the leader. No, please, don't let them begin. Make them stop. Now.

The four are plit off into pairs, Spock/Chapel and Kirk/Uhura. And here we have it - forced (and so, by definition, sexual abuse) interracial kissing! Spock and Chapel is terribly sad, given her feelings for him and the fact that they keep apologising to each other, and if they weren't semi-comically jerking around against the mind control, the moment would almost have the power it's aiming for. Then we get to Kirk/Uhura, which is made worse by Uhura repeatedly saying she's frightened. It's a seminal moment, but while it's not Kirk's fault, the fact that the first scene of a white man kissing a black woman on US television is an abusive sexual encounter in which the white man is forced (albeit against his own will) on the black woman is just disturbing. It's really not what they were going for. Her final insistence that she's not afraid with him is quite sweet though.

Then comes, apparently, the piece de resistence. It involves whips. And a hot poker. Seriously, at this point I don't think I can take any more! Kirk insists, contrary to appearances, that his enemies have been 'dead for centuries', because they are empty inside. We're back to one of Classics Trek's favourite themes, the powerful alien that plays with our crew for fun. But no one cares about any of that because Kirk and Spock are whipping each other!

We don't actually see this seminal event in Trek history, we just see everyone else's reactions and hear the sounds of the whipping. This makes no difference; it's just as horrific as it sounds. Alexander can't stand it any more and goes for the leader dude with a knife. Leader dude tries to make Alexander stab himself, but Kirk gets the hang of the psychokinesis thing just in time, breaks the guy's control, saves Alexander and stops whipping his first officer. They have a fight in which both try to control poor Alexander and his knife to stab the other one, which is really unfair on Alexander I think. Kirk starts to win and leader dude freaks out, and Alexander begs to be allowed to finish him off. However, Kirk points out that Alexander doesn't want to become like the pseudo-Greeks, and the knife finally gets dropped.

Alexander tells the leader dude what's what and Kirk takes the moral high ground, while leader dude babbles in a desperate attempt to defend himself. He tries to make it all about absolute power corrupting absolutely but Kirk just tells him to get his act together. Then our heroes leave with Alexander and the Enterpriese gets the heck out of Dodge.

Oh my. It's just awful. So, so awful. To be fair, the whole point of this episode is that Kirk and Spock are tortured and humiliated, and in that respect it certainly succeeds. Everything that is done to them is as horrific as it should be. But the trouble is, that very effectiveness makes the whole thing deeply, deeply unpleasant to watch - the forced kissing most of all. Or maybe the whipping. Or the horse thing... it's all bad.

Most frustratingly for me, there is nothing whatsoever related to or inspired by Greek philosophy in this episode. Phrases like 'philosopher-king' are bandied about without any understanding of what they mean (no kingdom can also be a republic, for a start!). The leader dude makes lots of references to the power of the mind, but the power of the mind here is a simple result of eating the right plants and then forcing your will on others - it's a science-fiction version of physical force, and has nothing to do with the mind at all.

Judging by the Roman-style costumes and the theme of forcing others to behave in ways they would not otherwise behave for your own entertainment, I suspect this is actually an episode about Romans, altered to take its names and slim science-fiction justification from Greeks instead simply because Trek had already done Romans at the end of season 2. Perhaps they wanted to use up leftover Roman costumes. After the success of 'Bread and Circuses', which had explored the idea of Roman culture with added technology so well, this is a crashing disappointment. Poor Plato. He's given his name to many things over the years, but none quite as far removed from any hint of his actual philosophy as this one.

All Star Trek reviews

Orphée (dir. Jean Cocteau, 1950)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 10:00:00 +0000

As you know, art films are not really my thing, and although I love France and French culture, I'm not always that wild about French films either (except war films). But I read Caroline Lawrence's post on Orphée a while back and it sounded interesting, and I love the myth (though Orpheus is an idiot) so I was intrigued. And I'm delighted to say, I loved it. This is a gorgeous film; fascinating, eerie, sad, beautiful.

Ironically, one of the reasons I love the film is that it patches up a lot of holes in the basic outline of the myth - exactly the opposite of my problem with the Fellini variety of art film, in which the total absence of coherent plot really bothers me. I've loved the spooky nature of the myth of Orpheus ever since I saw a televised dramatisation of it when I was very young, but the biggest problem with it is that Orpheus has to pick up the idiot ball in such a ridiculous way for the tragic double death to occur - he can't keep faith for the few extra minutes required to follow a fairly simple instruction. This is not the case here - among the numerous bits of logic that hold the surreal story together, Orpheus is told, not just that he can't look at Eurydice until they have both returned to Earth, but that he can't look at her ever again, which is obviously much harder. In the end, he catches sight of her in his rear-view mirror, entirely by accident. The film also provides motivation for other tricky elements of the story - for why Orpheus is able to go down to the underworld without having died (and without capturing Cerberus! Ancient heroes may treat the underworld like a must-see tourist destination, but visits there by the living are supposed to be exceptional), and for why Eurydice is allowed to return but only under strict conditions.

A voice-over tells the story of Orpheus over the opening credits, and immediately alerts viewers to the changes that have been made to the majority of ancient versions of the myth. Here, we are told that Orpheus lost his wife while he wasn't paying attention to her - not usually part of ancient versions, in which she's bitten by a snake, which no one can really do anything about. His death, torn apart by maenads, is directly linked to his failure to save Eurydice, which it isn't always in ancient literature, and of course there's the stipulation that he can't look at her ever, not just on the journey back to the upper world.

The reason for these fairly subtle alterations to the specifics of the plot is a massive alteration to the characterisation of Orpheus and his relationship with Eurydice. In ancient literature, the story of Orpheus and Eurydice is a tragic love story about a love so strong that the bereaved husband was able to persuade Hades and Persephone themselves to be merciful, but which is thwarted by Orpheus' weakness and lack of faith at the end. In some versions, like Ovid's Metamorphoses, reference is made to Orpheus and Eurydice being reunited in death after he is murdered by the maenads. Here, however, we only actually see Orpheus and Eurydice in love and happy together at the substantially altered ending. Orpheus is driven, not by his love for his wife, but by his overwhelming obsession with Death (or, more specifically, his own Death), in the form of a sophisticated woman who reminds me very much of Lilith from Cheers/Frasier (I love that image by the way). Between the use of coded messages on a radio that look and sound exactly like every image of the French Resistance you've ever seen, sinister motor-bikers as henchmen, and the filming of the underworld sequences in buildings damaged or destroyed during the war, it's not difficult to see why Cocteau wants to explore the idea of man in love with Death, who actively seeks Death out.

The most interesting thing of all, though, is the way Cocteau turns the main overall theme of the myth, of love that almost conquers death, inside out. This is a film about the power of deep romantic love. But in ancient literature, this story is about a selfish kind of love. Orpheus wants his wife back, a wife who, in most versions, has died on their wedding day - i.e. before they were able to enjoy their wedding night. Yes, he loves her, but his primary interest is in getting her back for himself, and it is because he is so desperate to possess her - to have her, not just to know she is alive and well - that he fails at the final hurdle and looks back. In this story, however, the love that conquers all is completely selfless. Death and her chauffeur Heurtebise (my favourite character, and by far the most sympathetic) pay an unspecified (and all the more horrible for it) price when they sacrifice their own happiness for the sake of the people they love. Neither can ever possess the object of their affection, and their actions drive Orphée and Eurydice back together at their own expense. This is why, unlike Orpheus, they are successful - because their love is a true, selfless love. It's selfless love that has the power to turn back death, not the desperate need to possess that drives Orpheus.

The scholarly commentary on this film insists that this is 'not a fantasy'. Ah, I love the smell of anti-fantasy snobbery in the morning. The commentator goes on at length about how the film is a metaphor for reality. So... like all really good fantasy then? I suspect this is the secret to the fact that I actually enjoy this film - however the director and fans may categorise it, this is essentially a very good, deeply layered metaphorical romantic fantasy, i.e., pretty much my favourite genre. I'm especially impressed at the way the film manages to give the story of Orpheus a happy ending, while maintaining the essential character of the myth, which makes it especially satisfying to watch.

King Arthur (dir. Antoine Fuqua, 2004)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 10:00:00 +0000

Some years ago, OldHousemate(theRomeone) and I went to the cinema to see Antoine Fuqua's King Arthur. Reasonably excited by the prospect of Clive Owen snarling in Roman uniform for a couple of hours, our hopes were high. They were dashed, however, by the opening titles that started with the words 'Historians agree...' Quite apart from the fact that, in actuality, the majority of historians of the period consider Arthur to be a purely fictional character who never existed in real life, contrary to the film's opening statement, and without even going into how dubious we are over the film's claim that 'recently discovered archaeological evidence' supports their interpretation, we were entirely taken aback by the claim that 'historians agree' on anything. We'd both recently completed history degrees, and were both fully aware that historians never agree on anything, or we'd all be out of work.

Historically speaking, the film just goes from bad to worse from then on. Between its complete confusion over who should be Christian and who pagan, a Catholic Church that looks later medieval and Saxons in Scotland (words cannot begin to describe how inaccurate that is), the whole thing is just a big mess. It's quite fun in its own way though, so OldHousemate(theRomeone) (hereafter ORO) and I decided to get together and watch it, and re-live the glorious experience of seeing it together that first time, but with extra added silliness, as this is the Director's Cut. And so, inspired by SFX Magazine's Couch Potato feature, we bring you our re-viewing of King Arthur. We were joined by ORO's husband, OldestMaleFriend (OMF) who may or may not have been with us the first time we saw it - none of us can quite remember...

(This has been put together from ORO's and my written notes. We also recorded our whole conversation on a dictophone, and I've listened to bits of it. For some reason my accent gets more Estuary - probably thanks to Ray Winstone - and my language fouler as the film goes on. In the interests of keeping this post shorter than the film script itself, our conversation has been heavily edited and I've mostly relied on the written notes, with the odd bit from the recording.)

(Before we've even started the film)
ORO: I'm loving the melodrama of the menu.

('Historians agree' appears onscreen. Much laughter).

(Film starts)
OMF: Didn't Romans have rectangular shields and Greeks round ones?
Me (trying to remember the answer, write and drink all at once): It's really hard to write fast drunk.
ORO: You know, I can't remember anything about this film except it really annoyed me. Why are they calling them knights?
Me: Dunno. Are they equestrians?... The music sounds like it's trying to be Lord of the Rings.
OMF: No, it's just trying to be rubbish.
ORO: The background's trying to be as green as New Zealand as well.

(Arthur and/or Lancelot appears, now grown-up)

ORO: He's got more good-looking, good. Ah, a bishop - it's the Church, therefore they are Bad.
Me: Is that Titus F****ing Pullo? (Note: I actually knew it was, as I went to an excellent paper by Tony Keen in which he mentioned this bit of trivia last summer, but I'd had a few drinks by this point and had forgotten).
ORO: What's with all the fog?
OMF: It's Scotland, it's always foggy.

(Stuff happens. I try to keep up with who's supposed to be who, beyond the central trio of Arthur, Lancelot and Bors).

Me: That's Tristan? Tristan's supposed to be handsome!

(Mads Mikkelson is actually fairly good-looking, but his hair and make-up here is not)

(The Table appears).

Me: Oh dear, is that supposed to be the Round Table?
ORO (who is not drinking, unlike the other two of us, and is gamely trying actually to follow the film): I wonder what time period this is meant to be? When did they have the first Pope?

(A debate about whether it's supposed to be set in a particular year follows, involving re-winding the tape to establish that it doesn't seem to be).

Me (bitterly): Christians are the bad guys, what a surprise.
Evil Bishop (onscreen): Rome and the Holy Father are leaving Britain.
ORO: So this must be AD 410...
OMF: And he's implying that north of Hadrian's Wall is Saxon...

(A very long description of Anglo-Saxon groups, where they were, where they came from etc follows from ORO, whose period is medieval history. OMF and I nod along and continue drinking).

ORO: Why do they keep on about the Pope? Since when was the Pope in charge of the Roman Empire?
(general groans)

(Continued explanation from ORO about why the Anglo-Saxons never went anywhere near Scotland. More nods from OMF and I).

Me: It is Titus F***ing Pullo!

(Film continues. ORO and I discuss the casting of Ioan Gruffydd as Lancelot, which we're broadly in favour of).

Arthur (onscreen): They're being harassed by Saxons
ORO: NO THEY'RE NOT!
(And she's off again).

(At this point, my attempts to make notes become completely unreadable and the notebook is passed to ORO. She continues to observe Saxon-based historical inaccuracies - the latest being the implication that they're basically Vikings. Which they weren't).

OMF: That was a carving knife. I know ancient weaponry, and that's a carving knife.
ORO: We're being declared free.
Me: Free from what?
OMF: Do you want to rewind it?
ORO (very firmly): No!
Me: Lancelot is very posh.
ORO: And he has some kind of modern mechanism for creating ringlets.

(Film continues. We mistake a temple for a torture chamber. Christians are doing Bad Things in it).

ORO: Why are the Christians in a temple of any sort?

(Keira Knightley turns up as Guinevere).

ORO: Why are they spending lots of time staring at each other and not talking?
Me: To cover up the fact they probably wouldn't speak the same language?

(A collective decision is made that this film badly needs to find the funny).

OMF: Now we're back to the Saxons
Me: And Swedes who are not as hot as their offspring.
ORO: And why have we got a Swede playing an Anglo-Saxon?
Me: Well, he's Scandinavian, that's close enough to German for Hollywood
ORO (sarcastically): And 'cause obviously Vikings and Anglo-Saxons are the same...
OMF: Who are the horse people out of Tolkien?
Me: The Rohirrim? They're actually supposed to be Anglo-Saxons.
OMF: Really? 'Cause there's a guy with a Rohirrim-like helmet with long horsey hair over there. It actually looks authentic.
(General surprise).

(Film continues. I repeat my insistence that Tristan is not good-looking enough. We discuss Guinevere's apparent immunity to cold, because she's so at one with the Earth, or something. There's a lot of plinky-plonky music and wailing on the soundtrack. I start thinking of better films I could be watching, like Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail, and wishing there was a Balrog in the mountains).

(Our heroes reach a big frozen lake).

Me and ORO (clearly having reached the only bit of the film we remembered): Oh, it's the bit with the ice!
ORO: Keira Knightley would be so cold by this point she wouldn't be able to draw a bow.
OMF: Why haven't they raised their shields?

(Film continues. We wonder where the snow suddenly went).

Me: Where's Titus F***ing Pullo?
ORO: I think he died hon.
Me: No! You can't kill Titus F***ing Pullo!

(Film continues. Our attention drifts and we chat about weddings and booze for a while).

Me: Oh, sex is happening.
ORO: She's found a curling device as well.
OMF: D**m, he didn't get to finish.
ORO: D**m, she didn't get to finish.

ORO: This film needs to decide who the enemy is - the natives, 'cause they kill everyone, or the Romans, 'cause they're mean, or the Saxons, 'cause they kill everyone.

(Dramatic slow motion and yelling).

ORO: Oh, this is the bit where Keira Knightley puts two belts around her boobs and thinks she's dressed.

(At this point I take the notebook back and write something completely illegible. Essentially, all three of us take apart the various nonsensical elements of the battle scene. We miss an important plot point and decide we don't really care).

OMF: Shall we just not bother watching the end of this and watch Gladiator instead?
ORO: Why is no-one talking, they're all just looking at each other! We're going into battle and no one has said a word except one character has talked to his bird.

(We discuss the latest episode of The Big Bang Theory for a few minutes. ORO reminds us all of the differences between Vikings and Saxons again. I agree).

ORO: I'm Saxon, stop making us the bad guys!

(We complain about the length of the battle scene and wish I hadn't bought the Director's Cut).

ORO: Everyone's standing around staring again. This must have been the shortest script ever!
Everybody: I'm confused.
ORO: There's a group of women killing a man like a group of vampires dragging down a man.
Me: When does this film end?
ORO: Never. It will never end.
Me: Is that non-sexy Tristan?
ORO: The only romantic story in this film is Tristan and his bird.

(At this point, my writing in the notebook becomes completely unreadable, and the discussion on the recording a tad unrepeatable. We wonder if viewers of the film realise that the Saxons will, eventually win. We are mildly surprised by the death of Lancelot. Finally, it ends).

ORO: I have one word for that film: Why?
OMF: Me too, only mine's 's***e'.
Me: I'm just completely confused.

I have now re-watched the film (sober) and assembled some more coherent thoughts. Oddly enough, it's actually better sober, as the story does make a bit more sense now, though it's still a complete travesty as far as history goes.

There is no 'historical' Arthur and writers wanting to present a less fantastical Arthur have several choices concerning how to approach it as an historical drama rather than a medieval fantasy. There's the Late Roman becoming British angle (The Last Legion), the offspring of Romans and Britons (Merlin in The Crystal Cave) or the British defender against the Saxons (Bernard Cornwell's Warlord Trilogy). Although Romans are quite frequently involved in some way, this film chooses a much more strongly Roman option than many, making not only Arthur himself Roman, but his knights, although British, veterans of the Roman army.

The reason for this, I think, is that the filmmakers wanted to depict Arthur and his knights as soldiers. Too often, Arthurian knights are such perfect examples of medieval chivalric ideals, they don't behave in a way remotely similar to any warrior who's ever lived. These knights, while they are as noble, brave and honourable as Arthurian knights should be, are also tough, hard to impress, they drink hard and they make very rude jokes. They behave as you imagine a group of fighting men would. Making them members of the Roman army reinforces this military vibe. They are part of a recognisable army, with uniforms and a command structure - which means they can embody all the military stereotypes you might find in a war movie. These stereotypes would look rather different on the itinerant wandering knights of medieval Arthurian legend. When it comes to fighting, the Romans seem rather more familiar than fantasy medieval knights.

The film is daft, and suffers from trying to be a cross between The Lord of the Rings and Gladiator, while being vastly inferior to both, but I do rather like this interpretation of the knights. It's quite fun to see Arthur and his knights actually behaving like soldiers and it offers a fresh take on some very old characters. It's just a shame the film has to be so pretentious. If it dropped any claim to historical accuracy and was happy to be a entertaining story based around Arthurian legend, I would have little trouble with it. It's that opening crawl, and the desperate insistence that we should take it seriously, that is its biggest problem.

Poseidon's Gold (by Lindsey Davis) (radio adaptation)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 12:00:00 +0000

As ever, spoilers follow, mostly regarding the personal side of the story rather than the case itself!

Poseidon's Gold is another of Falco's more personal cases, and another fairly early one. We get to meet Falco's father, who's an interesting character, and a fun one to read about. Falco's relationship with him is tense, strained, yet ultimately he still cares at least a little - all of which makes it feel very real and makes it very interesting to read!

We also see a little bit of tension in Falco and Helena's relationship, which is refreshing too. I've no desire to see them break up or anything, but the odd difference of opinion is what makes their relationship realistic. I can't remember anything about the book version of this story - though I think I read it - but as I listened I thought Falco's repetition of his defense that the incident with his brother's girlfriend happened before he met Helena was a bit weak. I think if I was Helena, I would be crosser about the fact my other half had a possible daughter he'd told me firmly was his niece, rather than about something he did before he met me. I think maybe the emphasis in their argument got a bit lop-sided in the radio adaptation - the issue is certainly brought up, but the argument is a bit short, so hops about a bit.

This play is, however, slightly longer than The Silver Pigs, which is good. We get a reasonable amount of time for both the personal side of things and the actual case here, which is important, because they're not as closely connected as at first they seem. Festus is, as we know from the beginning, the key to everything, but the problem that led to Falco being chief suspect turns out to be largely separate from the motive for the actual murder. What's nice about this is that it keeps things pleasantly unpredictable, though you miss that wonderfully satisfying feeling you get from a complicated story that turns out to be intricately connected at the end.

The most interesting thing about this story for an historian is that it touches on that most frustrating theme, lost works. Robert Graves played with this a lot in I, Claudius - teasing readers by having his characters refer to works like Pollio's history, which are now lost and which we're all desperate to get our hands on. Davis' use of that idea here is really interesting, because of course, her characters have lost a Phidias too (a sculpture by a famous Greek artist - his statue of Zeus at Olympia was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World). The difference between us and them is that they may still be able to get hold of other Phidias sculptures, and we only have Roman copies, but we share their frustration and disappointment at the loss of such a valuable piece of art. The story also highlights the dangers and difficulties of sea trade of course, which applies to most of history, not just the Classical world.

All in all, another fun story, and the radio adaptation is excellent as ever (Helena is played by a new actress, but equally good!). There's something about Falco that really does work well on the radio - perhaps it's the world weary sarcasm that Anton Lesser gets across so beautifully!

Treasury of Literature for Children

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 21:29:00 +0000

A while back, I posted about an illustrated collection of stories about King Arthur for children, and mentioned that it was one of two illustrated anthologies that were my particular favourites when I was little. This is the other, a collection of sections from children's classics, poems and short stories including things like 'The Smuggler's Song', Oscar Wilde's 'The Selfish Giant' and an extract from Swift's Gulliver's Travels.

The book includes Nathaniel Hawthorne's re-telling of the story of the Labours of Hercules. Hawthorne's version is fine. It's bowdlerised, of course; it skims over Hercules' murder of his wife and children, referring to it vaguely as 'some evil deed'. It uses the Roman names for gods and goddesses, which makes no difference, and it skims some of the Labours themselves, focusing on what Hawthorne presumably considered the more interesting ones - he skips over the Stymphalian birds and the bull in one sentence, but devotes a large section to the Apples of the Hesperides, for example. He also describes the Pillars of Hercules as the Straits of Gibralter, which would help children to understand where they were, but introduces a more modern tone. Overall though, the re-telling is a bit functional, but perfectly fine.

Like the King Arthur book, I'm afraid I had no interest in this particular story as a child. Unlike the King Arthur book, though, the problem wasn't the subject matter - it was the illustrations. Each story in the volume has its own illustrator, and its own style of illustrations, and as a small child I was attracted to the stories with nice or interesting illustrations. The illustrations on the Hercules story, however, were not attractive.

The problem wasn't caused by the illustrations showing unpleasant things, though some of them certainly do, especially the image of the man-eating mares of Diomedes doing what they do best. But one of my absolute favourite stories was Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, from The Jungle Book, which contains some quite frightening images - especially if you're my Mum and you're frightened of snakes. In Rikki-Tikki-Tavi's case, though, although the subject matter is frightening, the style of the illustrations themselves is not.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi illustration

The man-eating mares of Diomedes

In the case of the Hercules illustrations, however, the illustrations themselves, as well as the subject matter, were rather frightening to me. This picture of Atlas looks rather unnerving, and he has a very peculiar expression. Images of Amazons on wild horses and Hercules himself, wearing his traditional lion-skin and looking small, distant and tough, did not endear me to the story.

This is not to say that the subject matter is completely irrelevant. Another favourite of mine was What Katy Did, which benefited from cosy, safe illustrations, partly because it's a story about young women set in middle-class drawing rooms.

Illustration for What Katy Did

But I think it was the nature of the Hercules illustrations that put me off - they were too alien, too strange, too cruel and not warm or familiar enough. The cobras in the Rikki-Tikki-Tavi illustrations were alien and scary, but they were balanced by a cute mongoose and presented in a realistic and therefore familiar and comforting way. And this close insight into the workings of my eight-year-old mind is a useful reminder that often, the things we value or consider important are not those a child will - and the impression people get of Classics in popular culture may depend on the most random of elements.

Update

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 18:58:00 +0000

Apologies for the slight delay with the latest blog post. I've come down with some nasty winter bug, so haven't been able to get a fresh post written up just yet. Normal service will resume shortly, and upcoming attractions will include a Couch Potato-style viewing of the Clive Owen-starring King Arthur featuring OldHousemate(theRomeone) and OldestMaleFriend, a review of the radio play of Lindsey Davis' Poseidon's Gold and a look at one of Star Trek's least finest hours (taboo-breaking kissing aside), 'Plato's Stepchildren'.

In the meantime, I thought I'd offer a few posts from the archives; some classic British comedy:
Yes, Minister: The Bed of Nails
Yes, Prime Minister: The National Education Service
The Brittas Empire: Not a Good Day
The Black Adder
Blackadder the Third
Blackadder: Back and Forth

And, in honour of Remembrance Sunday, World War One drama Joyeux Noel.

The Silver Pigs (by Lindsey Davis) (radio adaptation)

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 14:18:00 +0000

Beware, there be spoilers ahead!

The Silver Pigs is the first Falco novel, and as well as introducing our intrepid hero, it is in the course of this novel that Falco first meets and falls in love with hte love of his life, Helena Justina. I read The Silver Pigs a long time ago, and my memory of it is pretty vague, but I had remembered most of the important stuff. Although the Falco novels have always contained plenty of humour and Falco himself has always been the sharp-tongued cynic we know and love, the earlier novels are, to use a cliched term, a bit darker than the later ones, and this one is particularly tragic.

The death of poor Sosia Camillina about a third of the way into the novel is a nasty shock, made worse by the fact it might not have happened if Falco hadn't been imprisoned and unconscious at the time. The tragedy is slightly offset by Falco and Helena's later successful escape, but it's still terribly sad. Several of Falco's cases are quite personal and involve members of his or Helena's family, but this one is perhaps the most personal of all, and this gives him that air of ground-down depression that fictional private eyes so often have. We also learn a lot about his character from the fact he holds back from allowing the naive young Sosia to get too close to him, but is more successfully seduced by the older and more experienced widow Helena.

The other thing that makes Sosia's death particularly painful, of course, is that the murderer can never be brought to justice, because he happens to be the son of the emperor. Davis introduces all three Flavians here. Her characterisation of Titus fits well with his reputation as emperor, though his supposed riotous side and occasional curelty, mentioned by Suetonius as qualities he overcame when he became emperor, are left out (and Berenice is nowhere to be seen so far). Domitian is an out-and-out villain, which certainly fits later historians' view of him to a T. The plot is nicely based in the specifics of Flavian Rome and Roman Britain, with the titular pigs a properly Roman concept - this is a story that could not be told in another time and place.

This radio adaptation has been squeezed into two hours, so the plot has been slightly compressed, though it's basically intact. I think it's the first half of the story that's been cut the most - Sosia's death seems to happen a bit too early and I seem to remember Falco's terrible experience in the silver mines being more prolonged and described in more detail in the book. The second half felt a bit less rushed, and seemed complete (though I have to say, the sound of people kissing on the radio is not pleasant!)

Anton Lesser sounds older than I imagined Falco, though he plays him perfectly. All the voice cast are excellent. The Flavians' accents are rather fun too - Domitian is all upper class villainy, Titus sounds reasonably posh but slips into a Northern accent when he gets angry, and Vespasian sounds like Dalziel from Dalziel and Pascoe. It's a great short-hand to their characters and although it perhaps overplays the humbleness of their less-aristocratic-than-the-Caesars background a little, it makes a nice point about their down-to-earth personalities.

The Silver Pigs has always been one of my favourite Falco novels. Just like the Gordianus books, I enjoy reading about the earlier, rougher Falco who lives in a cheap flat and gets hassled for bodily fluids by the local laundrette. I like the illicit side of his and Helena's early relationship, and his struggling, underdog qualities (oddly enough, I don't feel quite so strongly about this when it comes to the Discworld's Commander Vimes, though Night Watch, which plays off the changes in Vimes' life between his earlier and later appearances, is one of my favourites). I like the way just about every character is implicated in the mystery and, of course, any appearance of Roman Britain without either Boudicca or the Ninth Legion is something to be celebrated (if we ignore the fact that Falco's a veteran of the Boudiccan revolt, talked about less in the radio adaptation than in the book). This is a very enjoyable adaptation, and a great way to re-discover the novel.

Actual lead pigs - without silver in them, presumably

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Xena Warrior Princess: Death in Chains

noreply@blogger.com (Juliette) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 16:09:00 +0000

A cracking early episode of Xena about death, love and giant rats, you can see the show starting to settle in here and work out what it can do and how it can best work with the ancient material.

Unusually for Xena, this episode is more or less a straight re-telling of an ancient myth. It's also a version of the myth that we know mainly from fragments (Sisyphus and his punishment appear in the Odyssey and other underworld scenes, but the story of him chaining Death is less common), which means the writers had pretty free rein in terms of interpreting it.

There were some lovely nods to wider Greek mythology here. Sisyphus refers to having angered Zeus trying to get water for his people, which isn't part of the ancient story - ancient kings are rarely as generous as that - but in several versions, he had angered Zeus by telling a river god that Zeus had abducted his daughter, so the explanation sort of fits (this is why Sisyphus is still alive at the end, which is only briefly explained in the episode - his body wasn't actually dying in the first place, Zeus sent Death to him to punish him). Sisyphus' declaration 'Don't count me out yet!' in the face of apparent certain death is rather good too, as in several versions, even once he's in the underworld, Sisyphus tricks Hades into letting him return to the world above for a visit, and then refuses to come back. This is why his punishment when he finally does come down to the underworld for good is so cruel (he's the guy who's constantly pushing a rock up a hill).

A few of the alterations to the myth are there to increase the tension in the episode, and to give it more of a sense of urgency, especially the addition of the candle that, if it burns out, will kill Death. Or something. Most, however, are thematic or artistic. The Greek Thanatos (Death) is male, bearded, and has wings, but I really like the interpretation of Death here. A female figure in white, veiled and moving in that fabulously eerie glide, like Buffy's Gentlemen, she looks both more beautiful and creepier than more traditional masculine images of Death. Maybe it's because I used to read so many ghost stories about women in white dresses as a child or something.

The most important innovation is, of course, the inclusion of Talus, the latest of Gabrielle's doomed boyfriends. While the episode is full of characters whom Xena is trying to kill, or who are incapacitated and suffering, Talus provides the essential note of tragedy the episode needs to work emotionally - just sick enough that he has to die, just healthy enough that he looks pretty doing it. The actor does a great job at making him likable enough quickly enough that you feel it when he goes, and without that tragic note, the episode couldn't work, as our heroes would probably seem to be taking death a little too much in stride. The afterlife Death leads Talus off to looks a lot more Judaeo-Christian than Greek to me - all light and implied niceness, no empty souls and creepy river - but I'm OK with that. It would be hard to root for Xena & co. to rescue Death if the afterlife was presented in the Homeric style, which is thoroughly depressing (it's no wonder Sisyphus wanted out).

I'm a sucker for stories about ghosts, the afterlife or Death, so I really enjoyed this episode. And, although this was a fairly downbeat story, Xena always remembers to bring the funny - in this case, Gabrielle trying desperately not to scream as an enormous rat nuzzles her ear while she hides behind a curtain. This is a really nice re-telling of an ancient story - fingers crossed for more like it!

Quotes:

Talus: It's not how long you live that matters, it's how well you live.

Sisyphus: Don't count me out yet!

Disclaimer: No Jumbo Sized Cocktail Rats were harmed during the production of this motion picture.

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