TV Series: Versailles on BBC2

Louis XIV in front of his palace at Versailles

Found myself seduced by the trailer and the incredibly apposite choice of an Adam and the Ants song, 'Kings of the Wild Frontier' ('A new royal family, a wild nobility'), a song that still sounds so fresh and alive. It made me think that the series creators, Simon Mirren (Helen's nephew) and David Wolstencroft, might have an interesting slant on their subject matter.

Gorgeous interior, pretty cast, great hair

'Appearance is everything' (Louis XIV)

Many have compared Versailles unfavourably with Wolf Hall. I found the latter turgid in the extreme, in plot, dialogue, character, action. Its whole ambience was drab and dark and I was left thinking that there was no budget for anything but obscure interiors, whereas Versailles is like a glitterball, its many bright facets attracting my attention: its undeniably pretty cast, the sumptuous costumes, magnificent settings and the stunning, beautifully crafted opening credit sequence, which has deservedly won awards, with its perfect marriage of images, music, typeface (just the way the title comes together makes my heart beat a little faster) - every time it comes on I have to turn the volume up. Every time. Louis XIV is often shown being dressed by his entourage, occasionally seeming mesmerised by his own reflection. But the whole shebang is an essay in grandiloquence, worthy of Louis himself, with the first season reportedly costing £20 million.

Then there's the adroit characterisation and fantastic acting from the leads (George Blagden, one minute masterful, the next vulnerable, plus he can sashay in a sash, as Louis XIV; Alexander Vlahos as his petulant brother, Philippe; and Evan Williams's turn as the saucy, mischief-making Chevalier). So I agree that Versailles is no Wolf Hall. And all the better for that. It's way more engaging and much more fun.

Mark Rylance in Wolf Hall

Where Wolf Hall had the lugubrious, dour (or badly constipated) Mark Rylance barely altering his expression throughout (watch it for yourself), in Versailles, Louis XIV's face is never the same, each subtle nuance of emotion registered in a sometimes infinitesimal alteration, only fleetingly visible. Blagden conveys more in one scene than Rylance did in a whole series, from a demure tilt of the head to a melancholy glance, a forgiving smile to a sudden rousing of rage.

Louis looks down

And then up, prettily

'You haven’t seen the shoes'

'Are you with me, brother?'
The dynamic between him and Philippe is complex and intriguing. They strike sparks off each other, their exchanges flare up like fireworks and are as suddenly extinguished but come replete with arch looks and sometimes not-so-subtle innuendo about exposed flanks and well-timed thrusts. More of a seesaw than a power struggle as they peacock around the court, with Philippe, when rebuked for his excessive expenditure, retorting: 'You build your palace. I wear my clothes.' And called to account for his shoes in particular, he explains 'You haven’t seen the shoes.' Even when he's sent to war, there's time to agonise over his outfit: 'How does one dress for war?'

Machinating

Conflict is rife as both brothers are imperious, impetuous and believe they're entitled to behave as they like, which often translates as badly (Louis is obliged to consider his position longer because he's King, as he's fond of reminding everyone although mostly to no avail). He randomly wields his power like an omnipotent toddler. Louis' affair with Philippe's wife doesn't help. Then there's the war, the striking builders (it's France after all), the discontented nobility, the whingeing mistresses, mysterious masked conspirators, not to mention the seditious machinations of Chevalier. Poor Louis. He feels benighted and doesn't know who to trust.

To top it all, his wife has given birth to a black baby. She has a pet blackamoor. This exchange follows:
Doctor: There is an explanation.
Louis, icily sardonic: I cannot wait to hear it.
Doctor: ... He gave her a look of such force that it served to corrupt the royal womb with darkness.
Louis, icily sardonic again: It must have been a very penetrating look.

Vlahos is superb as Philippe, who does an awful lot of stomping in and storming out like a teenager in a tantrum, even on a coach trip - we're not talking Ebdons - appearing at the window to ask 'Are we there yet? I'm bored.' But he is steadfastly loyal to his brother, despite the latter continually playing the King card every time they argue. And Louis can depend on him, when beset by nightmares or inadequacy, crying out 'Make them go away.' Philippe takes charge, merely commanding 'Leave us.' It's as easy as that.

Boy on boy tongue action

'It's all about sex' ...
As my English teacher (Mr Wells) was wont to say. In Versailles, there's not exactly a homoerotic subtext. Everything else is subtext to the homoeroticism. The relationship between Philippe and Chevalier is fascinating, its chemistry so palpable that it's spawned a number of inventive YouTube tributes. Plus, it's the first series to depict realistic kissing between men - yes, truly (better than Queer as Folk). There's some defiant cross-dressing and I'm sure Conchita would approve. Philippe seems determined to provoke a reaction but when he gets one, turns, let's say 'aggressive' although 'murderous' might be more apt, so we're left wondering if this was his original aim - to be given an excuse to vent his fury.

Louis: Have you lost your mind?

The court is decadent, Louis is promiscuous. Philippe is bi. Chevalier is easy. It's possible to extrapolate innuendo from relatively harmless-sounding dialogue. Louis is conversing with a friend from his youth. They admire his mistress-in-waiting (with Louis flattery will get you everywhere and she's wise to this) and Louis warns: 'She you do not touch' then 'I have a position in mind for you' and we have to wonder if he's suggesting a threesome.

Louis maintains 'A little death is good for you', a reference to orgasm (cf John Donne, William Shakespeare) and he certainly abides by this creed. Culture creeps in now and then.

Sophie (Maddison Jaizani)

Maddison Jaizani has fun as Sophie, the teenage girl in court, unwittingly being groomed by her Mother for a role as the King's mistress. She's more eye candy for Louis's wandering eye to feast upon. Thus far he hasn't noticed her, even though she looks like a young Liz Taylor. Oh and a special mention to Anna Brewster for her performance as Mme DeMontespan - she has the best lines.

So, are there too many sex scenes? It is racy and raunchy but that reflects the real relationships in the court, ramped up for the purposes of the drama. And a little controversy can't really hurt. But, let's face it, it's British TV, it ain't that explicit.

Which filter should I use?

The past reimagined via the present
It's a vision of the past tempered by a lens from the present. There's evidence of a postmodern self-awareness in a shot of the ever fashion-conscious Philippe checking himself out in a mirror before he begins his battle charge. It looks, deliberately I'm sure, exactly as if he were taking a selfie.



So, what's the caveat?
The dialogue is sometimes rather clunky and plain wrong. Here are some toe-curling examples:
Chevalier is described as 'beyond reproach' . Beyond reproach is the exact opposite of what Chevalier is. The writers mean 'beyond the pale'.
A visiting royal declares 'Versailles is more beautiful than I can imagine.' I think he must mean 'than I could have imagined.'

'Do you have my back?'

Then there's the use of modern-day vernacular such as 'Are you with me, brother? Do you have my back?', which reminds me of that line from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, 'Must you walk in back of me?' or the faut pas in Titanic when Kate Winslet gives someone the finger.  Some of it is meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but there's a general tendency to sacrifice authenticity for a quick quip. George Blagden shows a particular talent for delivering some of the dodgier lines, such as 'That's a lot of shit' when he sees a cartload of manure. He still  manages to emerge regal. Anyway, I volunteer to do a quick read-through of the script to avoid at least the first kind of mistake.

Then, not all the actors are as convincing as the leads. I won't mention names.

The series doesn't purport to be a history documentary but a drama derived from history or historical facts. As such, it's more than a tongue-in-cheek romp but less than an adaptation. It would suffer in comparison to Poldark, which derives from Winston Graham's brilliant novels (never short of wit themselves and intelligently scripted to retain the power of the original) and should never be reduced, as the press seems determined to do, to a showcase for Aidan Turner's physique (appealing as it is) because the writing, acting and visualisation are all superb.

But, for all that, Versailles is involving, beautifully realised and incredibly watchable, with irresistible tableaux and curiously appealing characters. I won't be missing an episode.

For more on George Blagden, see This Week's Passion on Vikings. For more on Versailles, see Do You Speak Olde Worlde?

Book: The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing

The book

Everybody but everybody knows other people’s dreams are boring. Why didn’t anyone tell Doris Lessing? This book is full of descriptions of her dreams and convoluted flights of fancy, which might possibly be of interest to her therapist (the excuse for some of the endless detail about them) but are tedious in the extreme for the reader. They don’t ring true and are full of glaringly obvious symbolism. I was going to type out a section from one of these dreams but started to lose the will to live. They are mind-numbingly dull. There’s a really long, involved one about an encounter with a tiger near the end of the book. Read at your peril.

(Here’s a bit I copied from a file – it’s not as dull or long as most of them: “I stood looking down out of the window. The street seemed miles down. Suddenly I felt as if I'd flung myself out of the window. I could see myself lying on the pavement. Then I seemed to be standing by the body on the pavement. I was two people. Blood and brains were scattered everywhere. I knelt down and began licking up the blood and brains.” Need I say more?)

From the book: ‘How boring these emotions are that we're caught in and can't get free of, no matter how much we want to.’
You’re telling me. If you find them boring and they’re your emotions, how do you think we feel?

The word other reviewers have used is self-indulgent and I totally agree. The whole thing needs much more careful and extensive editing. Inside this tome, there is a slim volume of merit I’m sure but its traces are so rare and obscure that it isn’t worth reading for them. An editor needed to go through this with a scythe, or whatever tool would get rid of all the chaff.

Doris Lessing

What really offends me is any notion that this book has feminist credentials or is some kind of classic of any genre at all, eg ‘Widely regarded as Doris Lessing’s masterpiece and one of the greatest novels of the twentieth century, ‘The Golden Notebook’ is wry and perceptive, bold and indispensable.’

It’s the opposite of everything feminism stands for. The women in it are totally in thrall to whichever man chooses to sleep with them. They have little volition. Unless Doris Lessing is suggesting that the fact that they are ‘Free Women’ (admittedly this term has to be ironic) allows them to sleep with other women’s husbands while remaining stalwartly single themselves. It’s all pretty pathetic.

‘Anna discovered she was spending most of her time doing nothing at all; and decided the remedy for her condition was a man. She prescribed this for herself like a medicine.’
Guess what? It doesn’t work. And anybody who thinks this is feminist in any way is seriously deluded.

Lessing says: ‘Although no one will ever believe it, I was completely unconscious of writing a feminist book. I was simply writing about what I saw.’
I believe it, Doris.

The structure comes across as an attempt to do something different for the sake of it. It doesn’t work or add anything to the novel, merely obfuscates any point the author is trying to make although I’m not convinced there was any kind of point in the first place. The idea seems to be to demonstrate her failure to communicate anything to the reader but a deep and lasting ennui as we struggle to get through her stodgy prose and endless whingeing.

If this really was seen as a ‘landmark novel of the Sixties – a powerful account of a woman searching for her personal, political and professional identity’ or as representative of any kind of feminist value or stance, it’s a sad indictment of the era. And it won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2007!