Middlemarch

TeeVee miniseries exist because of strange economic wrinkles. The nature of the medium is so episodic, so finely grained that it is forced to satisfy the needs created by the sameness and thinness. Its why MacDonalds' sells chicken.

So just as the main fare is perverted in a cartoonish simple sense, so is the antidote extreme in the other.

To feed this beast, you need to have stories that only have scope in the larger context and you must (a rule) be able to get that context only by watching more than one chunk, what in TeeVee land is called an episode. Its a strange term that belies its odd requirements.

Into this niche have long come soap operas, shaped by emotional bumpings and worries of extreme characters. And for a few decades the rich uncle of soap operas have flourished as well. These have to be lush, set in a romantic era. And if they come from a respected novel, so very much the better.

Its better because viewers think they are doing something intelligent, and also because writers don't have to thrash out the essential mechanics. But in reality it doesn't matter what the source material, these all go through more or less the same refining process and come out the other end much the same. Its a matter of market need.

If you actually read the books behind these you'll find a bewildering variety that isn't apparent in their small screen translations. Where Austen (for example) was all about the appearance, Eliot was about the internal holding of bonds. Where Austen was all about attaining a position, Eliot, writing in the next generation, was about the challenges of holding those positions.

In a way, Eliot's innovation was get inside, under the appearance. It doesn't matter what the doctor's house or service look like, only that some nitwit thinks the appearance is important. Its a bit scandalous that as we consume this product, what attracts us, at root, is the appearance of the thing. We are the enemy she writes about.

If you just glanced at this, you'd find it indistinguishable from any of the other such pretty things it is classified with. Its a true insult to the book. An absolute scandal. The creative team should be driven out of the village. Cinematic heathens!

Ted's Evaluation -- 2 of 3: Has some interesting elements.

George Eliot's classic was brought to life by BBC's miniseries in the early '90s. Starring Juliet Aubrey, the heroine who knows what's expected of her but can't ignore her heart, this compelling story is a must-watch (or must-read) for anyone who loves the genre. Social constraints, class structures, gossip, and daring melodrama feels right at home in this time period.

My heart completely went out to Patrick Malahide, though, so as much as I enjoyed watching this six-parter, I wasn't able to root for the other fellows. Patrick was just so sorrowful! Juliet marries him and is quickly disappointed in their marital life. He's a boring and strict reverend, but she knew exactly what she was getting when she accepted his proposal. In fact, she was drawn to his intellect from the beginning and wanted to learn from him. It turns out he's rather private and doesn't want to have lengthy, intellectual discussions with her; but is that really the end of the world?

For Juliet, it is. She wants more from her marriage. She has a brain, and she wants her husband to appreciate it as much as she does. But while she enjoys friendships with both the new doctor in town, Douglas Hodge, and her husband's cousin with a bad reputation, Rufus Sewell, it's less harmless than she thinks it is. Poor Patrick is also disappointed by his wife's behavior, and he sits at home with a broken heart when she's out galivanting and embarrassing him.

There's a lot more to this miniseries, though, and you'll be entertained by all the delightful characters and plot twists. It's always interesting to see the change in a town due to a railroad station. Progress also brings undesirable elements to an otherwise happy and peaceful community, and some people resent the modernization. You'll see Robert Hardy, Jonathan Firth, Elizabeth Spriggs, Trevyn McDowell, and more familiar faces. And does the voice of George Eliot sound familiar? It's Judi Dench!

I finished reading Middlemarch (which I loved) and immediately began watching this miniseries, which had been recommended to me. I'm very particular about screen adaptations of my beloved books and I'm pleased to say that this one delivered on every level. Not an easy thing to do for a story that's over 800 pages, but the characters are well-rendered and the adaptation hits all the right notes. (Side note: why is there a non-existent seventh episode listed with a completely fabricated description of events that someone apparently thinks took place after both the book and the telecast ended? Very odd.)

To be honest, I don't think it's possible to translate the richness, depth and refinement of the book Middlemarch to the screen. A narrator gives the most beautiful comments, which is why this book is such high-class literature. The narrator was 'George Eliot', of course, and she was so wise, funny and compassionate that the story is reduced to half without her comments.

It's remarkable how George Eliot has set up Middlemarch. Usually, the narrator is on the outside of the story, and the events that take place with the characters make the story. But not in this case. The narrator is on the inside. He knows about life, psychology, philosophy, religion and spirituality, and he connects all this knowledge to the small lifes of the characters.

So, without the narrator, what's left is precisely this TV adaptation. It's the outside of the story. It shows the most beautiful clothes, gardens, coaches, china, townhouses, and music. The actors tell the story by saying the words their characters do and mimicking the feelings that go along with them. It's not bad at all. But it misses the heart, the inside.

How can we get to the inside of all the marriages without the narrator? How can we get to the personalities of all the characters without the narrator? It's simply not possible in this case. Maybe, with some class A actors we had a better chance, but that's not the case, unfortunately. So, like the characters without the narrator, we stumble through this adaption, which is remarkably fitting in a way.

If you like to see the outside of this story, watch this series. But if you want to see the whole package, please read the book.

Middlemarch is widely considered one of the greatest English-language novels, the equal of Moby Dick and Ulysses. It is not plot and characters that make masterpieces; those essentials ultimately matter less than use of language and the quality of the thought, two things that cannot be fully equalled on screen. But this Middlemarch is about as good as it ever gets.

Consider this sentence from Eliot, about a vain young girl in the presence of a man she wants: "Every nerve and muscle in Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness that she was being looked at." Reading that, you feel it. Or this, about blind love: "Strange, that some of us, with quick alternate vision, see beyond our infatuations, and even while we rave on the heights, behold the wide plain where our persistent self pauses and awaits us." I could open Middlemarch at random, to any of its 800+ pages, and find sublime observations like those.

Andrew Davis (writer) and Anthony Page (director) obviously cherish Eliot's book. The tone, the pace, the mise-en-scène in England and in Rome-- all of it is superb. The principal actors, Juliet Aubrey, Rufus Sewell, Douglas Hodge, and especially Patrick Malahide bring it all to life, aided by an ensemble of British actors, most of whom were known to me because of their distinguished careers. (There are weaknesses, of course, including two young actresses, Trevyn McDowell and Rachel Power, who are just good enough).

I've read Middlemarch three times, and watched this series twice, between readings. Perhaps the greatest compliment I can give it is that the praiseworthy incarnation of Eliot's characters actually served to enhance the 2nd and 3rd reading of her remarkable novel.