Downton Abbey

Taking a story from a television series to a movie can present hurdles for screenwriters and directors, especially if they do not fully appreciate the qualitative differences between a movie and a television series. To be sure, well-crafted series such as Downton Abbey, The Crown, Game of Thrones, and House of Cards had narrowed the difference in terms of quality. Even so, a narrative limited to around two hours of play time is different than a narrative meant to be on-going. The financial resources are also more concentrated in the making of a film than an ongoing series (even if it ends after five or six years). I submit, therefore, that Julian Fellowes, the producer and screenwriter of both the Downton series and movie, erred in hiring a director of the series, Michael Engler, to direct the movie. Just because he had directed (just) four episodes of the series does not mean that he knew how to direct a movie. A seasoned movie director would have been a better choice.

That Fellowes did not replace a television director with a movie director is especially glaring given the salience of replacing a less-experienced or "lower" person (or entire staff!) with a more seasoned or "higher" one in the film's narrative. Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham, replaces Thomas Barrow, who just a year or so earlier had been promoted butler, with Mr. Carson, the retired seasoned butler, during the royal visit. Moreover, the palace replaces Downton servants with royal servants for the visit. Both moves make sense. 

Firstly, a house’s own cook (or aristocrat) could poison the king. Because one assassination attempt is highlighted in the movie, I’m not sure why Fellowes did not write the rationale into the script. Given that he did not, I’m not sure why he (and the director) did not give Mrs. Patmore, the Downton cook, more of a fit as she confronts a royal cook taking over the Downton kitchen.

Secondly, as the Downton staff is star-struck by the presence of the king and queen, and mistakes or gaffes are more likely if nerves are fraught. Mr. Molesley, for instance, is so nervous that he loses control of himself while serving the dinner table. The close proximity of the king and queen makes that situation so different from the usual that Molesley blurts out a secret and, when he realizes this, he curtsies to the royal couple.

Replacements, therefore, are salient in the film. Why, then, didn’t Julian Fellowes replace a television-series director (of Sex in the City, Six Feet Under, and 30 Rock) with a director having experience directing movies? Fellowes may have been impressed with Engler’s direction of four episodes of Downton Abbey, but being a good television director does not translate into being a seasoned movie director. To the extent that television is common and the movie genre as aristocratic (e.g., The Academy of Motion Pictures and its gold Oscar awards), Fellowes failed to grasp the upside in his replacement-motif in his screenplay. 

Julian Fellowes had written and acted in several films and television series. In fact, he received an Oscar for screenwriting on Gosford Park (2005). As he was no doubt knowledgeable in how writing for a series differs from screenwriting, I was surprised to find the dialogue pattern less extended in the film. As noted above, Mrs. Patmore’s rants are notably missing, especially with her kitchen being taken over by a foreigner. So too is Thomas Barrow’s scheming, which could be expected to make a brief return to protest the Earl of Grantham bringing back Mr. Carson as butler during the visit (only for Mr. Wilson of the palace to replace him!). Even given Carson’s penchant for hierarchy, it is too easy for Wilson—also a servant!—to take Carson down.

Gone too is the sibling rivalry between Lady Edith and Lady Mary—perhaps though because Mary respects her younger sister now that she is of a higher aristocratic rank. Character development and changed relationships since the series left off are good for the overall narrative, including that of the movie. This does not apply, however, to the truncated exchanges between the Dowager Countess (Violet Crowley) and Isobel Merton (mother of Lady Mary’s first husband). Indeed, the platitudes coming out of Violet’s mouth were fewer, less good, and even stilted. One platitude was even about saying platitudes! Had the two reached a meta-level?  I expected better platitudes in the movie than in the series. Moreover, Violet’s vitriol toward her cousin, who is refusing to make the Earl of Grantham her heir, seems muted. Maggie Smith could have shined. Also, Fellowes could have had the Earl of Grantham overhear his mother, the Dowager Countess, telling Lady Mary of the bad medical news, especially given that Violet tells her granddaughter that the fate of Downton Abbey is in her hands, rather than those of her father, Violet’s son, who presumably has done a lackluster job. A similar scenario wherein Robert is astonished at his mother is in the television series at several points.

In the movie, Robert Crowley, the earl, as well as his wife Cora have noticeably few lines and nothing dramatic. A good example is the truncated exchange in which Robert admits he is excited about the royal visit even if saying as much sounds common. His wife Cora, an American, replies that he can get away with making such a common statement to an American. None of the tension between Robert and Cora regarding her being an American exists, unlike in the series and yet nothing accounts for any resolution having occurred. The dialogue between the two is so short it comes off as stilted. You say something, then it’s my turn, rather than a conversation.

In short, the movie comes across as less well made than the series. Fellowes’ decision to use a television director and perhaps not enough work on the script itself were, I submit, problematic especially given that a movie rather than a television series was being made. It is as if someone took the air out of sails in the making of the movie. I expected better writing, especially given that Julian Fellowes had received an Oscar for screenwriting. I have sung in several choirs. I’ve been amazed at how different the actual concerts are from even the dress rehearsals, which are often better. The conductor, singers, and crew are typically so nervous during the concerts that everything seems rushed, and thus must impact the quality of the singing. I know I’ve taken fewer risks during concerts, and my air-flow is more restricted. I don’t “belt it out,” and am consequently less satisfied after a concert. The Downton crew, including the producer, director, screenwriter, and actors, must surely have been excited to make Downton into a movie, even though the screenwriter and many of the actors had worked in movies rather than merely television. In this case, the movie-making was compromised even relative to the television series.

Gandhi

Film is indeed an art form, but the medium can also function as a teacher in how it conveys values and wisdom. Both of these features of film are salient in Gandhi (1982), whose director, Richard Attenborough, says in his audio commentary that the film has done much keep Gandhi’s philosophy alive in the world. In using the film’s star protagonist to explain what is behind his approach, viewers become, in effect, students. The strength of film here lies in its use of both audio and visual means to engrave the lessons in memories. In Gandhi, the main concept to be explained and illustrated is nonviolent active non-cooperation or defiance of unjust laws or regimes.

In a speech to his fellow Indians, Gandhi declares, “We must defy the British.” The crowd erupts. “Not with violence,” he explains, that will inflame their will, but with a firmness that will open their eyes.” He then advocates burning clothes manufactured in Britain. “If you are left with one piece of homespun, then wear it with dignity!” Active, nonviolent defiance strengthens self-esteem. The strategy also has a strength that counters the force of the unjust.

For example, guards at the Salt Works hit the Indians protesting the British monopoly on salt. As the unarmed Indians walk row by row into the guards, wood swiftly comes down on heads, shoulders, and backs. “Women carried the wounded and broken bodies from the road, an American reporter reads into a phone, “until they dropped from exhaustion. But still, it went on and on.” Then, crucially, he reaches the essential point. “Whatever moral ascendancy the West held was lost here today. India is free, for she has taken all that steel and cruelty can give and she has neither cringed nor retreated.” In the voluntary taking on of suffering is a kind of invisible force that confronts the aggressors with their sense of being good rather than evil. In other words, the suffering is like a mirror making the dark side of the human psyche inexorably transparent. Not even a tyrant can put down such a squalid self-image. The image is also likely broadcasted to third parties and even the world at large, likely resulting in the very human sentiment of disapprobation, which Hume calls the moral sense. The culprits may find themselves cornered, psychologically and perhaps even politically and economically.

“I think our resistance must be active and provocative,” Gandhi tells the Congress Party leaders meeting in Jinah’s living room to strategize. “Where there’s injustice, I always believed in fighting,” Gandhi states at another point in the film. “The question is, do you fight to change things or to punish? For myself, I’ve found we’re all such sinners, we should leave punishment to God. And, if we really want to change things, there are better ways of doing things than derailing trains or slashing someone with a sword.” Nonviolent non-cooperation is geared to changing the unjust by forcing them to confront themselves.

“I wish to embarrass all those who wish to treat us as slaves. All of them,” Gandhi tells the Congress Party leaders at Jinah’s house. He then illustrates his point. Specifically, he asks the servant for the tray of tea and starts to serve “I want to change their minds, not kill them for weaknesses we all possess.” He then suggests a day of prayer and fasting, which of course would have the same impact as a general strike. The prayer and fasting are oriented to confronting a person’s own demons, while the societal discomfort draws attention to the demons plaguing the oppressors who are living comfortably while exploiting the Indians. Awareness is the first step on the road to change.

“What about very powerful tyrants like Hitler? Do you really believe you could use nonviolence against Hitler?” a photographer from Life magazine asks Gandhi in a later scene. “Not without defeats and great pain,” he replies. “But are there no defeats in [World War II]? No pain? What you cannot do is accept injustice from Hitler or from anyone. You must make the injustice visible; be prepared to die like a soldier to do so.” The strength in active nonviolent defiance is subtle, unlike that of a club or gun; the impact on the oppressor psyche is reflected in the excessive measures that it takes in reaction.

For example, Gandhi remarks at one point that “Marshal law [in Bengal] only shows how desperate the British are.” Surely some kind of force had provoked the desperation that the British rulers could not shake. The strength of Gandhi is essentially the innate ability of any human being to make force a confrontation within another person between a self-image, which can be so convenient to the self, and the demons that inhabit every person.

More broadly than in nonviolent civil disobedience, the demons plaguing another person’s soul can both be made more transparent and exculpated by means of restorative suffering. While Gandhi is on a hunger-strike to end Muslim-Hindu violence in the newly independent India, a violent Hindu man approaches Gandhi and tosses some bread on the old man’s chest.

“Here! Eat! I’m going to hell, but not with your death on my soul.” Unlike the typical oppressor, the man is already aware of his demons.

“Only God decides who goes to hell,” Gandhi retorts.

“I killed a child,” the man explains. “I smashed his head against a wall.”

“Why?”

“The Muslims killed my son! My boy.”

“I know a way out of hell,” Gandhi offers. “Find a child—a child whose mother and father have been killed . . . and raise him as your own. Only be sure he is a Muslim and that you raise him as one.”

The hardened murderer is stunned, and collapses at the foot of Gandhi’s slender bed. The great soul has given the angry sufferer a way to reintegrate his soul that is plagued with pain; in coming to see the Muslim side by raising a Muslim child, the man would come to see the other side in the societal strife and therein create space in his own soul for the otherness of the other in place of the seemingly intractable demons. For being a man of peace, Gandhi does an awful lot of fighting.

Just before Gandhi is assassinated by a fellow Hindu, he tells the photographer from Life that “(t)he only devils in the world are those running around in our own hearts, that that’s where all our battles ought to be fought.” Civic clashes are essentially projections of those which take place in the human mind between contending urges, and ought to be viewed and attacked as such by opening eyes.

The Iron Lady

Sometimes a film is worth seeing just to watch an excellent actor capture an interesting character. This applies to Meryl Streep playing Julia Child in Julie and Julia and Margaret Thatcher in The Iron Lady. I am writing on the The Iron Lady a day after seeing it and watching Streep accept a Golden Globe for her role in the film. Prior to seeing the film, I had heard critics say that the film itself pales in comparison with Streep’s performance. I concur, though whereas the critics complain of the extent of disjunction between Thatcher as the prime minister and Thatcher as an old woman in dementia, I want to point to the sheer extent of “back and forth” between the two. Typically, there would be a snippet of Thatcher as prime minister, than back to the old woman in the dark, then back again to the past. A viewer could get whiplash. I would have preferred to begin at the beginning—with Thatcher’s start in politics—and work up to the dementia (giving the old Thatcher much, much less air time). Perhaps the “linear chronological” approach was presumed too straight-forward, or boring, by the screenwriter or director. However, any story naturally has a beginning, middle and an end, and too much jumping around can eclipse the natural progression.

A more serious problem may exist, moreover, should the viewer wonder what the conflict in the story is. In other words, what or who is the antagonist? Sadly, if it is dementia itself, there is little suspense in the outcome. Perhaps the only suspense in that regard what whether she would get rid of her dead husband, Dennis. Unfortunately, that character had more screen time dead than alive. If the main conflict is Thatcher’s political support while in office, that too could hold little drama. Likewise, it is difficult to view a “war” over a few islands off Argentina as significant to justify Thatcher’s urging her fellow British people that it is a day to feel proud to be British. Perhaps the tension between her ambition and household could have had potential had it been developed beyond a breakfast scene, though it is doubtful that the antagonist in Dennis could have given that conflict enough strength. Of course, if watching Streep inhabit Thatcher is the viewer’s aim, then perhaps drama is of secondary importance. Still, a nice story would have been a nice cherry on the sundae.

Furthermore, I contend the screenwriter failed to capitalize on some rather obvious opportunities to draw viewers into the story. Most notably, both Queen Elizabeth and President Reagan were alluded to, yet without any parts in the narrative (i.e., screen time beyond a bizarre brief dance in Reagan’s case). What, for instance, if Helen Mirren had reprised her role as Elizabeth for a few scenes with the Iron Lady? Might there have been any drama there? I suspect so. What did the Queen think of the Thatcher herself, her conservatism in the recession, and the Falklands War? Did the Queen play any indirect or subtle role in Thatcher’s fall from power? Concerning Reagan, what if we could have seen a bit of what might have been the real relationship between him and Thatcher? Might the screenwriter have gone native, leaving California for Britain? For that matter, what about showing Thatcher at Reagan’s funeral? These were major opportunities strangely lost in favor of a brief shot of the palace as Thatcher was becoming Prime Minister and of a brief dance with Reagan (which was strange in the montage). At the very least, the screenwriter missed a major opportunity by failing to capitalize on the Queen’s jubilee and irritate progressives by delving into two conservative political soulmates doing more than dancing across the screen.

Concerning Steep’s Thatcher, it is difficult to be critical. Besides the uncomfortable “leap” from the young Margaret Roberts and Thatcher as a new member of parliament, Streep herself may put too much stress on certain words in mimicking Thatcher’s sentences. The emphasis itself reminded me a bit of Streep’s Julia Child. To be sure, both characters are strong women, which undoubtedly drew Streep to the two roles. Whereas Streep probably found little not to like in Julia, the conservative politics of Thatcher must have been an obstacle. Yet even here, Streep’s maturity can be seen. “It was interesting to me to look at the human being behind the headlines," Streep said, "to imagine what it's like to a live a life so huge, controversial, and groundbreaking in the winter of that life, and to have sort of a compassionate view for someone with whom I disagree."[1] If only more prime ministers had that sort of compassion!

Ironically, at least as depicted in the film, Margaret Thatcher did not have much compassion for even her own partisans—though they were voicing compassion for the unemployed. As a viewer enthralled by Streep’s acting ability, I found it difficult to care about the protagonist—the lack of drama exacerbating this problem. Perhaps Streep’s acting could be criticized in the end for not having sufficiently communicated her compassionate view of someone with whom she disagrees. In the ending scene itself, it is difficult to feel anything for the old woman wandering in her hallway, regardless of her past politics. The film’s true antagonist may be meaninglessness, or death itself, and I’m not sure the film survives it. Furthermore, I don’t think we find a protagonist doing more than flirt with the inevitable.  How much drama can there be in facing certainty? To be sure, we all flirt with the fact that each of us will die—for all the significance each of us thinks is in our daily battles, we barely acknowledge that one day we ourselves won’t exist and that in a few generations (or centuries for some) we will be forgotten. This is part of the human condition that screenwriters attempt to capture. Even so, perhaps the dementia in The Iron Lady is more of a taste of reality than the viewers would care to tolerate, least of all for entertainment!

1. Huffington Post, “’The Iron Lady’ Star Meryl Streep Talks Playing Margaret Thatcher, Losing Her Glasses,” January 16, 2012.