Film Review
The Pallisers was among the
most prestigious of drama series made for British television in the
1970s and continues to be held in high esteem, one of the most fondly
remembered of BBC's 'classic serial' dramatisations. The series
ran to 26 episodes of 50 minutes each and spanned all six instalments
in a series of lengthy novels written by Anthony Trollope between 1864
and 1879 featuring the aristocratic politician Plantagenet Palliser and
his mischievous, ill-matched wife Lady Glencora.
The task of adapting a literary tome that runs to around four thousand pages would
prove a daunting undertaking for any writer but Simon Raven pulled off
this remarkable feat with considerable élan, although Trollope
purists will doubtless curse his name for the alterations and omissions
he was bound to make in the course of his heroic endeavour.
Raven's brazen 'soapification' of one great work of literature is
unlikely to satisfy most people with the letters 'D.Litt' after their
name but it doubtless achieved the desired result of bringing
Trollope's finest series of novels to the masses.
The first half of the series concerns itself with the first two
Palliser novels -
Can You Forgive
Her? (1864) and
Phineas Finn
(1869). Directed by Hugh David these episodes proceed at a
leisurely pace and are mostly faithful to Trollope's original text, the
series beginning with a spectacular exterior sequence which introduces
the principal characters at a grand garden party. The pace picks
up markedly by Episode 13 (by which time Ronald Wilson has taken over
as director) and there then seems to be a desperate scrabble to cram in
the last four novels of the series into an impossibly small
space.
The final Palliser novel
The
Duke's Children (1879) comes off worst and is barely stretched
to two episodes, which is just as well given that it probably rates (at
least in plot terms) as the most pointlessly repetitive novel in the
English language. The best three of the Palliser novels -
The Eustace Diamonds (1873),
Phineas Redux (1874) and
The Prime Minister (1876) - are
also slightly short-changed, with character motivations often skated
over to the detriment of the narrative. Trollope's Lizzie Eustace
is much nastier on the printed page than she is here, and the great set
piece of
Phineas Redux
(namely the trial scene) feels needlessly curtailed.
In spite of the astonishing degree of plot compression,
The Pallisers still manages to move
at a far slower pace than today's television viewers are used to, and
this is not necessarily a bad thing. With over 20 hours of
runtime to play with, there is time for characters and intrigue to
develop in a rich and satisfying way, with none of the haste and gross
over-simplification (to say nothing of the poor diction and excessive
use of music) that characterise much of today's television drama.
And with such a distinguished cast (including both long established
divas and an eye-popping cavalcade of rising talent) how could the
series fail to be anything other than compulsive viewing?
Susan Hampshire was born to play the part of Lady Glencora although she
was not the actress who was originally cast for the role. That
honour went to Hayley Mills, who pulled out just a few weeks before
location filming was due to commence after giving birth to her first
son, Crispian Mills. Having played a principal role in
another ambitious and groundbreaking television serial,
The Forsyte Saga (1967),
Hampshire initially had reservations about making a similar commitment
to a long serial but proved to be an inspired casting choice, bringing
vitality, depth and a dangerous unpredictability to her portrayal of
Trollope's greatest fictional heroine. As challenging as the part
of Lady Glencora may be, any actress who is blessed (or burdened) with
interpreting her at least has the advantage that she has the audience
on her side. The same can hardly be said of the other main
protagonist in the drama, the chronically dull and tediously righteous
Plantagenet Palliser.
Overly concerned with propriety and his grand designs for his nation
(foremost of which is a mad scheme to introduce a system of decimal
currency), Plantagenet is a desiccated husk of a man, one of those
high-minded Victorians who loathes people but selflessly devotes
himself to humanity (providing he can hold onto his wealth). To
play such an unprepossessing soul as this, as Trollope conceived him
but with that essential spark of humanity so that we may sympathise
with him, was the challenge that faced Philip Latham when he took on
the role, and it is to the actor's credit that he managed to do just
this.
It helped that Latham was well-known to television viewers
at the time, mainly through his likeable role in the long-running
series
The Troubleshooters
(1965-1972). A less familiar actor would have had a much harder
time winning his audience round and the production would doubtless have
sunk as a result. Latham would go on to play a similar
aristocratic patrician role in another hugely popular television
series,
The Cedar Tree
(1976-1978).
It is the developing relationship between Plantagenet Palliser and Lady
Glencora which provides the essential thread that binds together the 26
episodes of the series. The couple's trials and tribulations
serve to illuminate and link the self-contained stories that run in
parallel, each taking up between three and five episodes. Of
these, the most substantial is the poignant love triangle involving
Irish political gigolo Phineas Finn (a man with a tragic knack of
falling foul of intrigue of every kind - amorous, political and
criminal), the cruelly fated Lady Laura Standish (who loves nothing
better than to play the aggrieved martyr) and Germanic social outsider
with a heart of gold, Madame Max Goesler, played respectively by Donal
McCann, Anna Massey and Barbara Murray. Murray's Madame Max
proves to be the most likeable and convincing character in the series,
the one who succeeds where Glencora fails, to humanise Plantagenet
Palliser.
Moving on to the supporting cast, it is hard to know where to
begin. Roland Culver deserves a special mention for his exquisite
turn as the old Duke of Omnium, and Roger Livesey (fondly remembered as
Powell and Pressburger's
Colonel Blimp)
has no difficulty stealing every one of his scenes as the doddering
Duke of St.Bungay. Anthony Andrews and Jeremy Irons show up late
in the serial in what looks scarily like a dry run for their respective
roles in another major television adaptation,
Brideshead Revisited, seven year
later. Meanwhile, another rising star Derek Jacobi provides
comedic value by the cartload as the hopelessly inept suitor Lord Fawn,
just a few years before he secured his career-making role in the BBC
drama series
I, Claudius.
Peter Sallis, Martin Jarvis, Penelope Keith, June Whitfield, Donald
Pickering and Edward Hardwicke are just some of the familiar names that
grace this sumptuous production, which boasts some deliciously nasty
villains, played with relish (and varying degrees of seductive charm)
by Clifford Rose, Gary Watson, Sarah Badel, Anthony Ainley and Stuart Wilson.
Period drama was a domain in which the BBC led the way throughout much
of the 1970s, and the expertise of the company's in-house set and
costume designers is very much in evidence throughout
The Pallisers, showing a remarkable
commitment and attention to detail. Only in a few scenes, where
the directors become a little too ambitious, do the budgetary
constraints become noticeable, with unconvincing painted backdrops
standing in for exotic locations which the production couldn't reach on
a BBC budget. The flipping between videotape and 16mm film for
the exterior scenes is also somewhat jarring and was doubtless dictated
by financial expediency (ideally the series would have been shot
entirely on videotape, the standard medium for studio recording).
These are, however, minor quibbles. In all other respects,
The Pallisers represents the
highest in artistic achievement in British television of the
mid-1970s. Forty years on, this jewel from the heyday of British
TV drama continues to be compelling viewing and puts most of what we
now see on television to shame.
© James Travers 2014
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