Hey Sky, time to use Darcy more sparsely
Overused mini series needs to go, says Jane Bowron.
AFTER weeks of promoting a trumped-up anniversary of 20 years since the television serialisation of Pride and Prejudice, even the most devoted fans of Sky’s UKTV channel must be heartily sick of seeing and hearing excerpts from the miniseries.
In the ad breaks – which happen far too regularly for a pay TV channel – any dramatic narrative has continually been interrupted by the irritating screech of Miss Lydia Bennet yelling out to her sister Lizzy: ‘‘Have you heard?’’
Yes we have, over and over again thanks very much Lydia, played by Julia Sawalha, who wouldn’t thank UKTV for the excessive use of clips from her brilliant interpretation of one of Jane Austen’s sillier characters, of which there is an abundance to choose from.
We know Sawalha from Absolutely Fabulous fame and now curse the boards she ever set foot on after this ongoing onslaught of over promotion.
Having once delighted in this high-quality mini-series, I now want to throw the family silver at the set whenever I hear Mrs Bennet gossip about Mr Bingley’s £5000 a year, or Mr Collins boast of his association with Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
To quote the clergyman, ‘‘such condescension’’ the channel now torments our senses and sensibilities, degrading the Austen canon.
To think that Colin Firth as Mr Darcy was once top of the erotic pops after this 1995 adaptation.
The repetitive overplay of the famous scene where he emerges from the lake in moist shirt dishevelment puts a damp squib on it, making him seem as sexy as a big girl’s blouse.
The classic rom-com has been debased, the advertising blitz having turned the much-loved drama into a rom-con.
In my humble opinion, this adaptation really rated, but I now look upon the 2005 film with fondness – and I absolutely detest Keira Knightley, all her lines uttered through the jut of her jaw.
However, Matthew Macfadyen, an actor I once confused with Clive Owen, was a wonderful Darcy.
Speaking of Owen, the first episode of the new series of The Knick (SoHo, 8.30pm, Thursday) screamed of his absence in the first half – but needs must. Dr Thackery was subsumed by his drug addiction and had to be kidnapped, put on a sailing boat, taken far out to sea and left down below to sober up.
Actually, Doc Thackery did put in an appearance at the beginning, performing a bit of surgery on the side, or in this case, a nose at a mental hospital.
Why is it that I can happily watch the unrelenting blood and guts of Critical (UKTV, 7.30pm, Saturday) without so much as a flinch, but the operations in The Knick have me hiding cowardly eyes behind my hands?
Luckily, the background interiors of this drama, set in 1901, are stunning, making this drama appointment viewing for Antiques Roadshow fans.
The slavish attention to detail of the period is a visual joy. Not so, the break with style and period, with the annoying percussive From Scratch-style music in the wrestling scenes.
The episode ended as it had to, with Dr Thackery clear and present and ready for duty and hopefully back in the saddle as chief surgeon at the Knickerbocker Hospital, but I guess that restoration will take a while.
The Knick constantly reminds you of the appalling inequality of the sexes, particularly the words said by Cornelia’s father-in-law, who believes her to be far too freespirited and off the leash for his liking.
He interferes with her marriage and invites, insists rather that she come home to New York to live in a spacious 11-room apartment where she can ‘‘bear as many children as you wish’’.
Thankfully, fecundity doesn’t appear to be her strong suit and I look forward to her continued insurrection.