Who knows why
A&E—once a channel I tuned into regularly, now a repository for
fifth-rate reality shows—“burned off” Season 4 of
MI-5 (known as
Spooks in its native land). The network showed the first couple of episodes at 11 p.m. on Friday night—a time slot that reeks of “we’re legally obliged to run this on a weekday, but we don’t need to make it easy for would-be viewers to see it.” After the first two eps, it disappeared altogether, without any word of explanation. Then it returned in an eight-hour marathon this Saturday —between the hours of 11 a.m. and 7 p.m. ET—so, yes, I guess there is a worse time slot than 11 p.m. Fridays. Having spent a good part of this weekend catching up with Harry and Adam and Fiona and Zaf and Ruth and the gang, I don’t mind the marathon format one bit, I just wish I knew what A&E was playing at.
Of course, the show isn’t what it was before the original leads—
Tom,
Zoe, and
Danny—were disappeared or killed off; and U.S. viewers see an unsatisfactory filleted version after A&E trims 10 minutes or so for commercial breaks (and such fine ads on Saturday afternoon—lots and lots of Bowflex).
Nevertheless, it’s the last good spy show. I like
24, but it's almost ironic, and
MI-5 is far more willing to show the inevitable underside of an agency that spends billions on deception.
I wonder if A&E dumped the show because of its increasing anti-Americanism. There has always been tension between 5 and the CIA (sexual tension in the case of Tom and the CIA officer played by
Rachel Corrie’s
Megan Dodds), but in Episode 9 of Series 4 it reaches a new level—as the
official BBC synopsis puts it, “Harry finally gets fed-up of turning a blind-eye to the CIA acting as though they run the country.” He interrupts the Yanks while they’re in the process of rendering a British subject off to Guantanamo—and as it turns out, his actions prevent the CIA from enacting a dastardly plot to draw the West into a war with Iran.
Who knows if we’ll get to see Season 5, which is currently showing in Britain, over here. If not, I’ll miss seeing the
Gherkin (the cinematographers seemed to find a way to get it into every episode), hearing those dire American accents, and finding out if Ruth and Harry ever get together. And as much as I hated losing Tom, Zoe, and Danny, I did like—if not enjoy—the tension that came from knowing the show was willing to kill off any character, no matter how essential they seemed to be. Sure, characters dropped like flies in the last season of
24, but I never suspect that Jack Bauer is going to die a resurrection-free death. In
MI-5 anyone is fair game—and that adds a visceral thrill to the show.
Labels: a-and-e, british shows, mi-5, television
Who should I trust: trophy cabinets or my own lying eyes and ears? Since I moved to New York 18 months ago, I’ve seen two shows directed by Jerry Zaks—a man with a good reputation and
four Tonys—and both were dreadful.
The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial and
Losing Louie were inert, old-fashioned, and badly cast. So, it’s hard for me to have a terribly high opinion of Mr. Zaks.
Similarly,
Scott Elliott seems to be a downtown hero, the artistic director of the New Group and Mike Leigh’s anointed American interpreter (though their relationship was stealthily undermined in a
New York Observer profile). And yet, the two plays of his that I’ve seen—
Abigail’s Party and
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie—have been extremely disappointing.
John Doyle isn’t the only director who has a “
thing.” In his
negative review of
Brodie, the
Times’ Ben Brantley called Elliott “a director known for eliciting (or forcing) the perversity in chestnuts as conventional as
Present Laughter and
The Women.”
His productions of
Abigail and
Brodie have even more in common—both are period pieces with a well-regarded indie actress cast in a huge part around which the entire play constellates. And in both cases, there’s an easily available, much-loved video version of the work—the magnificent original 1977 TV version of
Abigail’s Party with Leigh’s ex-partner Alison Steadman as Beverly, and Maggie Smith’s Oscar-winning turn in the movie version of
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (though my own favorite version is the late-‘70s TV series with Geraldine McEwan as MJB). They’re also both full of lines that devotees love to quote—“Like Feliciano, Ange? Yeah, he’s good, isn’t he? Sexy!” or “My gerrils are the
crème de la crème,” etc.
Elliott seems to be good at physical direction—Jennifer Jason Leigh, who played Beverly in his
Abigail’s Party, had the look and the movements down just right—the pantherian swagger, the lust for cigarettes and drinks, her utter exasperation with her stupid yet snobbish, uptight, estate-agent husband, Laurence. If Jennifer Jason Leigh had kept her trap shut and just smoked and danced and tortured the guests, the show would’ve been wonderful—but instead she opened her mouth and out came that unbearable braying. The braying gave no indication that Leigh understood Beverly. Why Beverly took such pleasure in taunting her husband and her neighbors. Why she wanted to humiliate Susan, the upper-middle-class remnant of the sort of people who used to live in the neighborhood before oiks like Laurence and Beverly moved in. Leigh gave no clue why Beverly was so desperate to act like Lady Bountiful in front of Angie and her inarticulate but sexy former-footballer husband. Why was she hee-hawing like a donkey? Alison Steadman brayed to express the pain and rage and shattering disappointment inside the character. Jennifer Jason Leigh brayed because Alison Steadman had brayed. And that’s Scott Elliott’s fault.
When it comes to
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, Cynthia Nixon looks right for the part—graceful and glamorous enough to shine like a spot of brilliant color in a gray Northern world. Her passion for the south, for beauty and adventure is alluring. But then she opens her mouth.
The play itself is a bit of a clunker—the flashback structure (essentially the action of the play is the recollection of an aging nun who was once part of the Brodie set) is heavy-handed and clumsy, and it has the most discomfiting nude scene I’ve ever seen. But Miss Jean Brodie, a woman in her prime, an educator, a leader of young women—and a crazy, romantic (in the worst sense), manipulative bitch—is a great character that even the most cack-handed director and the most uncomfortable actress can’t totally fuck up. They came pretty close, though.
Stephen Gabis is credited as the dialect coach (for both shows), and if I were Mr. Gabis, I’d leave the business, because the accents were absolutely, totally, and utterly preposterous. Bourgeois Edinburgh is probably the easiest Scottish accent to assume, and yet the female cast members (the one male actor who had to adopt a brogue did so quite convincingly) were all New Zealand vowels, pinched faces, and strangled sounds. At the intermission, the older couple behind me complained that they couldn’t hear the dialogue. I could barely restrain myself from turning around and yelling, “You lucky bastards!”
So, instead of embodying the characters, the actresses seemed to expend all their efforts on delivering their lines in “the accent.” Consequently, not a single one of them was remotely convincing. Consequently, Miss Brodie was neither charismatic nor demonic; the headmistress of Marcia Blane School for Girls was neither sincere nor scheming, and the girls were likable but very far from the
crème de la crème. And, for my money, that’s Scott Elliott’s fault.
Update, Oct. 22: I must quote a lovely line from
Maud Newton's take on this
Brodie: "Nixon is slight rather than imposing, flirtatious rather than steely, and, were it not for the cast of
Brigadoon, she might very well take the award for most ridiculous Scottish accent ever to be affected in the theater district."
Update, Jan. 1, 2007: Thanks to
Mark for pointing out an error (now removed) in the original version of this post. Scott Elliott didn't direct
Avenue Q, he was a co-producer of the show.
Labels: abigail's party, accents, cynthia nixon, new york, scott elliott, stephen gabis, the prime of miss jean brodie, theater
This time last year, I offered a podcast that was also a contest,
The Great 2005 Name That TV Theme Tune Contest. I'm happy to report that five of the 10 shows are still on the air (if you count
Rome, which isn't currently on the air but will be returning to HBO).
It's that happy time of year once again, so here's the 2006 version. An added bonus for those YST readers who take the long view: Guess how many of these 12 shows will still be on the air in 2007. Closest wins a prize. (My guess? Seven, though only a couple will be considered hits.)
The 12 shows are:
a)
Ugly Bettyb)
'Til Deathc)
The Classd)
Men in Treese)
Studio 60 on the Sunset Stripf)
Justiceg)
Vanishedh)
Heroesi)
Dexterj)
Happy Hourk)
Help Me Help Youl)
JerichoNow,
listen to the podcast and tell me which show goes with which theme tune. So, if you think No. 1 is
Ugly Betty, your answer would be 1-a). You can send your answers to yousaytomato[at]gmail.com OR if you're a trusting sort, just put them in the comments below.
Labels: contest, heroes, men in trees, podcast, studio 60, television, the class, til death, ugly betty
