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... and then two come along at once.
Jan. 31st, 2020 08:08 pmA fortnight ago, I wrote about Greta Gerwig's Little Women, a film adaptation of a popular nineteenth century novel with a substantial autobiographical element, which is played up by emphasising the aspect of the story which depicts the making of a writer. It is given a twenty-first century flavour by its emphasis on the need of all four sisters to find their own creative voice, and by a major star having a whale of a time in a minor rôle (that's Meryl Streep as Aunt March, if you've just joined us). It also acknowleges that many readers feel the central character marries the wrong person.
On Wednesday we went to see Armando Iannucci's The Personal History of David Copperfield, a film adaptation of a popular nineteenth century novel with a substantial autobiographical element, which is played up by emphasising the aspect of the story which depicts the making of a writer. It is given a twenty-first century flavour by its colourblind casting, despite which it has room not only for a major star having even more of a whale of a time in a minor rôle (that'd be Peter Capaldi as Mr Micawber) but also for two lovely performances from familiar faces so inhabiting their parts that I forgot for minutes on end that they were Tilda Swinton and Hugh Laurie. It also acknowleges that many readers feel the central character marries the wrong person.
I may or may not have read David Copperfield: if I have, it was half a ccentury ago. I recognised much of the story, but that doesn't prove much; I also failed to recognise much of the narrative, which doesn't prove much either, and also doesn't matter. I was greatly entertained, and the film certainly didn't make me any less likely to read the book.
On Wednesday we went to see Armando Iannucci's The Personal History of David Copperfield, a film adaptation of a popular nineteenth century novel with a substantial autobiographical element, which is played up by emphasising the aspect of the story which depicts the making of a writer. It is given a twenty-first century flavour by its colourblind casting, despite which it has room not only for a major star having even more of a whale of a time in a minor rôle (that'd be Peter Capaldi as Mr Micawber) but also for two lovely performances from familiar faces so inhabiting their parts that I forgot for minutes on end that they were Tilda Swinton and Hugh Laurie. It also acknowleges that many readers feel the central character marries the wrong person.
I may or may not have read David Copperfield: if I have, it was half a ccentury ago. I recognised much of the story, but that doesn't prove much; I also failed to recognise much of the narrative, which doesn't prove much either, and also doesn't matter. I was greatly entertained, and the film certainly didn't make me any less likely to read the book.
