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The miasma that is the Authorship Question is fraught with twists and turns, accusations and counter-accusations, tom-foolery and skulduggery, Elizabethan codes and battle Royals whose stakes may seem academic but to the participants very real indeed. In fact, it is hard to separate the modern from the historical, and a pattern of intrigue not too dissimilar from the "Shakespearean" Canon itself. "Last Will. And Testament" is an all-around brilliant film, not flashy, not terribly ground- breaking when it comes to cinematic technique, but tells a complicated story simply, eloquently, sticking to essential details without getting mired in overkill. It's obvious the film could be a 10-part miniseries but, to the uninitiated, for whom this film is really meant, is a perfect start to an incredible story. Liberal sprinklings of the scenes from "Anonymous" avidly help fill the pictorial void of too many talking heads, although it should be said that nothing what they say is wasted, all of it compelling, and each person vivid and real.
Told mainly from the Oxfordian point-of-view, it's a pretty convincing outline of the major issues from start to finish, offering a nice historical overview of Elizabethan England to start— not the nicest place to be, politically speaking; "off with their heads" was a phrase heard and performed often to non-believers—and moving through the known history of William Shaksper (not much), the authorship question itself, and the likely candidate—Edward de Vere —and the many pieces of puzzle that form the final picture.
Along the way, we are treated to observances from many experts on both sides—more from the Oxfordian view than the Stratfordian side.
The film makes many small, wonderful points throughout, not in a hard-hitting way, but subtly, intellectually, almost unfurling rather than documenting. Beautifully photographed, warmly edited, and nicely told, it's a great start for the uninformed, and bodes well for the future.
If there is a fault—and this is a very minor one—it's that the film is almost too polite. It postulates very plausible, fully realized coincidences and connections and allows both sides their say but never in the company of someone who disagrees with them. The interviewer is unseen and unheard and is never Socratically engaged, trying to draw the interviewee out of their comfort zones, trying to illicit the "big reveal." In an age of Michael Moore confrontation, this is a positive—almost antiquated respite—it manages this well, and allows the film to tell a story without being didactic about it. Even so, just a little back & forth questioning of the interviewees would have been nice and not particularly unwarranted, while still treating the subject with the reverence it requires and not allowing experts from either side blind exposure to their opinions.
That said, the two Stratfordians come across as fine scholars and gentlemen but who have still, essentially, missed the boat. They resolutely cling to their story like a boy caught with their hand in a cookie jar who deny the truth even while sent to the corner. Stanley Wells fares worst—his statement that Cecil is NOT Polonius in Hamlet is amongst his worst obfuscations, as is his claim than anything Shakespeare needed to know was taught to him in his grade school at Stratford-on-Avon, even though the level of knowledge contained within in the plays, as any expert can attest, is so specific to higher learning amongst the royals and the worlds best tutors, that no commoner could ever have had that kind of access. To them, Shakespeare just was, and then wasn't. Burning brightly for a short time, he lived, wrote, and died in a vacuum. Hardly the very soul of mankind whose plays were about courtly matters (he didn't have access to), travel to remote parts of the world (he'd never been to), or numerous and specific references to books (in languages he didn't understand), and on and on and on.
The film wraps up nicely with the de Vere heirs and their direct connection to the original publications of the First Folio, even mentioning the less-famous river Avon that runs close by and through a little town called Stratford-sub-Castle near Wilton House (the ancestral home of the de Veres)—a clear jab to those who believe that Jonson meant the more famous one at Stratford-on-Avon when he penned the words 'the sweet Bard of Avon' and not this modest river which, intellectually and geographically, makes all the sense in the world.
New evidence of de Vere's lengthy trip to the continent, and how this translated into the plays is presented. The film every-so-briefly touches upon the Prince Tudor theories I & II and how this has diluted —if not set back the cause a bit—the message of the Oxfordians. The Sonnets and their place in history as last gasp of a dying, forgotten man-who-would-be-king is an especially poignant, tear-jerking part of the documentary.
The Stratfordians, clearly, do not have much of an intellectual leg to stand on—the weakness of their arguments is in plain sight for all to see—as the preponderance of best evidence slowly moves from Stratford-on-Avon (and has for sometime in reality) and settles into the very heart of Elizabethan England, directly in the heart of courtiers and gentlemen, and points to a supremely flawed man possessed of singular, titanic knowledge, wit, and courage, whose writing has spanned the Ages and is directly responsible for much about the genius of man, but whose mortal coil is destined (hopefully for not too much longer) to remain metaphorically boxed in the ground, suffering his fame and genius not in silence but through the great words and scenes of his stage plays.
Told mainly from the Oxfordian point-of-view, it's a pretty convincing outline of the major issues from start to finish, offering a nice historical overview of Elizabethan England to start— not the nicest place to be, politically speaking; "off with their heads" was a phrase heard and performed often to non-believers—and moving through the known history of William Shaksper (not much), the authorship question itself, and the likely candidate—Edward de Vere —and the many pieces of puzzle that form the final picture.
Along the way, we are treated to observances from many experts on both sides—more from the Oxfordian view than the Stratfordian side.
The film makes many small, wonderful points throughout, not in a hard-hitting way, but subtly, intellectually, almost unfurling rather than documenting. Beautifully photographed, warmly edited, and nicely told, it's a great start for the uninformed, and bodes well for the future.
If there is a fault—and this is a very minor one—it's that the film is almost too polite. It postulates very plausible, fully realized coincidences and connections and allows both sides their say but never in the company of someone who disagrees with them. The interviewer is unseen and unheard and is never Socratically engaged, trying to draw the interviewee out of their comfort zones, trying to illicit the "big reveal." In an age of Michael Moore confrontation, this is a positive—almost antiquated respite—it manages this well, and allows the film to tell a story without being didactic about it. Even so, just a little back & forth questioning of the interviewees would have been nice and not particularly unwarranted, while still treating the subject with the reverence it requires and not allowing experts from either side blind exposure to their opinions.
That said, the two Stratfordians come across as fine scholars and gentlemen but who have still, essentially, missed the boat. They resolutely cling to their story like a boy caught with their hand in a cookie jar who deny the truth even while sent to the corner. Stanley Wells fares worst—his statement that Cecil is NOT Polonius in Hamlet is amongst his worst obfuscations, as is his claim than anything Shakespeare needed to know was taught to him in his grade school at Stratford-on-Avon, even though the level of knowledge contained within in the plays, as any expert can attest, is so specific to higher learning amongst the royals and the worlds best tutors, that no commoner could ever have had that kind of access. To them, Shakespeare just was, and then wasn't. Burning brightly for a short time, he lived, wrote, and died in a vacuum. Hardly the very soul of mankind whose plays were about courtly matters (he didn't have access to), travel to remote parts of the world (he'd never been to), or numerous and specific references to books (in languages he didn't understand), and on and on and on.
The film wraps up nicely with the de Vere heirs and their direct connection to the original publications of the First Folio, even mentioning the less-famous river Avon that runs close by and through a little town called Stratford-sub-Castle near Wilton House (the ancestral home of the de Veres)—a clear jab to those who believe that Jonson meant the more famous one at Stratford-on-Avon when he penned the words 'the sweet Bard of Avon' and not this modest river which, intellectually and geographically, makes all the sense in the world.
New evidence of de Vere's lengthy trip to the continent, and how this translated into the plays is presented. The film every-so-briefly touches upon the Prince Tudor theories I & II and how this has diluted —if not set back the cause a bit—the message of the Oxfordians. The Sonnets and their place in history as last gasp of a dying, forgotten man-who-would-be-king is an especially poignant, tear-jerking part of the documentary.
The Stratfordians, clearly, do not have much of an intellectual leg to stand on—the weakness of their arguments is in plain sight for all to see—as the preponderance of best evidence slowly moves from Stratford-on-Avon (and has for sometime in reality) and settles into the very heart of Elizabethan England, directly in the heart of courtiers and gentlemen, and points to a supremely flawed man possessed of singular, titanic knowledge, wit, and courage, whose writing has spanned the Ages and is directly responsible for much about the genius of man, but whose mortal coil is destined (hopefully for not too much longer) to remain metaphorically boxed in the ground, suffering his fame and genius not in silence but through the great words and scenes of his stage plays.
Too much dialog written in the most obvious fashion. Too little mystery. Too little tension. The essential drama and motivation of the story missing as much as No. 6's mind.
The issues with this series have less to do with its similarity or non-similarity to its source material than it has with the tenor of contemporary film-making and writing. Classicism and all its artistic forms have all but disappeared from education, so it is not surprising that what passes off as entertainment today is hardly groundbreaking or even interesting. There are exceptions to the rule, of course, but by and large episodic television is at a low point.
It isn't even so much that Prisoner 2.0 differs from the original (in itself not necessarily a bad thing if handled properly) but the fact there is little personality to the proceedings is its major weakness.
Film-making, collaborative or auteur, rely on the singular voice of its many artists ringing out in concert, guided by the deliberate hand of a producer or director who sees the forest for the trees. Film-making is about style as much as about content and the two have to cohere meaningfully. When it doesn't, as in this new reboot, the results are muddled.
The presence of Ian McKellen isn't enough to elevate it and Caviezel simply miscast.
Too bad.
The issues with this series have less to do with its similarity or non-similarity to its source material than it has with the tenor of contemporary film-making and writing. Classicism and all its artistic forms have all but disappeared from education, so it is not surprising that what passes off as entertainment today is hardly groundbreaking or even interesting. There are exceptions to the rule, of course, but by and large episodic television is at a low point.
It isn't even so much that Prisoner 2.0 differs from the original (in itself not necessarily a bad thing if handled properly) but the fact there is little personality to the proceedings is its major weakness.
Film-making, collaborative or auteur, rely on the singular voice of its many artists ringing out in concert, guided by the deliberate hand of a producer or director who sees the forest for the trees. Film-making is about style as much as about content and the two have to cohere meaningfully. When it doesn't, as in this new reboot, the results are muddled.
The presence of Ian McKellen isn't enough to elevate it and Caviezel simply miscast.
Too bad.
The life of Florence Nightingale--one of the great intellectual titans this world has ever known--is fascinating and dramatic, and one fraught with sacrifice, courage, and great sadness.
As someone who spent two years with the subject through research and by writing and completing a full-length spec script on Nightingale (written and registered before NBC's TV movie was available on DVD), I viewed this film more as series of missed opportunities and plodding digressions, distinguished more by what the left out or glossed over or ill- advisedly reinvented than by what they left in.
Overall, the teleplay was fine for what is was up until the point Florence arrives in the Crimea. Once in Turkey, however, the biopic simply falls flat on it face, finding little drama and even less resolution. While I completely understand that not every nuance of history can be examined and budgetary constraints determined structure and style, the teleplay failed to capture even the essence of any real tension vs. resolution. Everything just neatly fell into place while real life and real history is far messier.
For instance, watching the movie, one is left with the feeling that while FN's mother may have had some disagreement with her choice in career, she was generally okay with it. In fact, their arguments were frequent and very loud--a veritable boxing match that was constant and damaging. Florence rather despised her mother and the matronly traditions she stood for.
Florence herself did not make a connection between the sickness of her men and the "sickness" of Barracks Hospital. In fact, Florence, or the British Army, did not understand (or believe) that airborne or water-borne diseases existed, hence no alarm was made by the decaying carcasses contaminating the water supply.
While the teleplay did mention that God was her inspiration and that he "spoke" to her, the film leads you to believe He did this on this one time. In fact, her writings reveal a deep and unbridled relationship with God and many incidents of "conversation", the most dramatic one being on her 30th birthday after a particularly mystical trip to Egypt and Greece. Florence's struggle with the meaning and message of her belief in the Divine mandate is one of the key--some would say flaw, others would say divinely sacrificial--aspects of her character that is the hardest to digest and/or dramatize.
In the 20 years since the teleplay, there have been several major works published on her life and times, and these have aided immeasurably in our understanding of the complex nature of Florence Nightingale. And I don't want to mistakenly fault the teleplay for not having the benefit of future research. History changes as events reveal themselves over the blanket of time.
Yet, the drama failed to exploit the information it had on hand at the moment to any large degree, taking a middle of the road stance based more on mythology than real life. It did further injustice by embellishing the myth even more with Hollywood half-truths.
And it could be that the complexity of her life is too difficult for any one film to examine. Many are mystified by her, as she both mesmerized and infuriated people all at the same time--perhaps herself most of all. She is both scion and Saint, linguist and mathematician, prolific researcher and writer, a mystic, a healer, and beacon of hope to generations, a national heroine.
When you are all that, where is there room for the "real" you?
As someone who spent two years with the subject through research and by writing and completing a full-length spec script on Nightingale (written and registered before NBC's TV movie was available on DVD), I viewed this film more as series of missed opportunities and plodding digressions, distinguished more by what the left out or glossed over or ill- advisedly reinvented than by what they left in.
Overall, the teleplay was fine for what is was up until the point Florence arrives in the Crimea. Once in Turkey, however, the biopic simply falls flat on it face, finding little drama and even less resolution. While I completely understand that not every nuance of history can be examined and budgetary constraints determined structure and style, the teleplay failed to capture even the essence of any real tension vs. resolution. Everything just neatly fell into place while real life and real history is far messier.
For instance, watching the movie, one is left with the feeling that while FN's mother may have had some disagreement with her choice in career, she was generally okay with it. In fact, their arguments were frequent and very loud--a veritable boxing match that was constant and damaging. Florence rather despised her mother and the matronly traditions she stood for.
Florence herself did not make a connection between the sickness of her men and the "sickness" of Barracks Hospital. In fact, Florence, or the British Army, did not understand (or believe) that airborne or water-borne diseases existed, hence no alarm was made by the decaying carcasses contaminating the water supply.
While the teleplay did mention that God was her inspiration and that he "spoke" to her, the film leads you to believe He did this on this one time. In fact, her writings reveal a deep and unbridled relationship with God and many incidents of "conversation", the most dramatic one being on her 30th birthday after a particularly mystical trip to Egypt and Greece. Florence's struggle with the meaning and message of her belief in the Divine mandate is one of the key--some would say flaw, others would say divinely sacrificial--aspects of her character that is the hardest to digest and/or dramatize.
In the 20 years since the teleplay, there have been several major works published on her life and times, and these have aided immeasurably in our understanding of the complex nature of Florence Nightingale. And I don't want to mistakenly fault the teleplay for not having the benefit of future research. History changes as events reveal themselves over the blanket of time.
Yet, the drama failed to exploit the information it had on hand at the moment to any large degree, taking a middle of the road stance based more on mythology than real life. It did further injustice by embellishing the myth even more with Hollywood half-truths.
And it could be that the complexity of her life is too difficult for any one film to examine. Many are mystified by her, as she both mesmerized and infuriated people all at the same time--perhaps herself most of all. She is both scion and Saint, linguist and mathematician, prolific researcher and writer, a mystic, a healer, and beacon of hope to generations, a national heroine.
When you are all that, where is there room for the "real" you?