Category Archives: Screen

Postcards From Armchair Travellers

LITERARY ADAPTATIONS FEATURING plenty of yearning, unresolved romance and resilient creatives rising above the odds rank amongst my favourite movies. No surprise that they’re usually about writers and our work, one of the most elusive practices to effectively commit to the screen.

The tropes of cinema’s wordsmiths are well-used: chewing on the ends of pencils while gazing at the ceiling, screwing up pages and tossing them into a bin (usually a wire basket surrounded by plenty of scrunched paper), long walks in wild places, angst.

Overused, perhaps, but all based on truths that wordsmiths recognise.

Common threads and themes run through these films: America and Europe, past and present, queer and straight, Hopkins and Streep, readers and writers, love and loss, success and failure.

The use of unusual type-key symbols in the titles of these works (digits, ampersands, question marks, etc.) is also resonant of the old typesetting language that literature lovers understand.

Welcome to my list of guilty screen pleasures…

84, Charing Cross Road

Adapted from Helene Hanff’s 1970 epistolary memoir, this tale by the mother of all armchair travellers rode into the literary scene on a post-WWII nostalgia wave. Headed up by Anne Bancroft as struggling New York writer Hanff and Anthony Hopkins as reserved London bookshop manager Frank Doel, there is perhaps no better example of a genteel story that is “just” a collection of real-life letters, unfolding over decades via simple acts of human kindness. Hanff and Doel are literature-loving denizens separated by the Atlantic, helping each other through austere years with the soul food of literature and ration-busting hampers. Along the way they find shared humanity and unrequited love. The divine art of humane correspondence.

Julie & Julia

A food writer (Julia Child) and a food blogger (Julie Powell) embody the creation and purpose of Child’s 1961 culinary classic Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Meanwhile, their separate relationships are tested by the impacts of WWII and 9/11 on Paris and New York. In the hands of Meryl Streep, this is a raucous Julia Child counterpointed by the more subdued Powell (Amy Adams) as she cooks her way through the weighty tome decades after all the obstacles of its publication. Like Hanff’s story, food plays a pivotal role, but as a conduit for passion and a metaphor for commitment. Through cooking, Child and Powell find purpose in this call-and-echo tale on satiation, nurture and never giving up. The life-enlarging art of describing food with words.

Can You Ever Forgive Me?

When her career as a biographer stalls in 1980s New York, writer Lee Israel (Melissa McCarthy) decides it’s easier to pay her bills from the takings of forging type-written letters by the city’s artistic icons, from Dorothy Parker to Fanny Brice. All seems harmless until the FBI picks up the trail, and Britain gets roped in with Israel’s partner-in-crime Jack (Richard E. Grant, although the real-life Jack was American). Apart from being a glimpse of how writers survive New York (not too far removed from Hanff’s experience), the beauty of this plot, taken from Israel’s 2008 confessional memoir, is that of course we forgive a struggling writer forced to pretend to be someone else in order to stay afloat in the book trade. The art of making believe.

{The} Hours

Michael Cunningham’s most beguiling premise springs off the page of his 1998 novel onto the screen in the hands of Nicole Kidman (as Virginia Woolf) pushing through demons to write her 1923 novel Mrs Dalloway; a suburban housewife (Julianne Moore) in 1949 Los Angeles, reading vicariously between the lines of Woolf’s classic; and a successful editor (Meryl Streep) in 1999 New York, embodying Mrs Dalloway’s brittle independence while throwing a party for a doomed poet. Taking viewers well beyond Hanff’s armchair, this time-travelling rumination on memory and regret weighs up the costs of liberating oneself from expectation instead of staying put. The art of making meaning.

Shadowlands

We fully cross the Atlantic in this counterpoint to the unrequited love of Charing Cross Road, to explore what happens when writerly penpals – quiet Brit C.S. Lewis (Anthony Hopkins) and boisterous Yank Joy Davidman (Debra Winger) – become the unlikeliest of star-crossed lovers. Their initial meeting of minds leads to a marriage of convenience, but when disaster strikes, it blossoms into a passionate betrothal. Several source materials went into this epic romance, none so visceral as Lewis’s own reflection on the experience in his 1961 book A Grief Observed. This screenplay wraps love, loss and literature into an icicle of fire shot straight from Narnia into your heart. The art of enduring love despite the odds.

Please tell me in the comments the examples I’ve overlooked…

Take Another Look: The ‘passionate absurdities’ of James Lapine’s Impromptu

The fourth in a series of retrospective pop culture reviews revisits the historical romance that reignited the careers of Judy Davis and Hugh Grant…


TWO-THIRDS OF THE way through James Lapine’s 1990 film Impromptu, Mandy Patinkin (as 19th century French poet Alfred de Musset) stretches his face towards the camera in full clown whiteface and viciously shuts down his flaky colleague Hugh Grant (as Polish composer Frédéric Chopin), shouting, “Art never apologises!”

It heralds an explosive turning point in screenwriter Sarah Kernochan’s reimagining of the notorious affair between French writer George Sand (played with pants-wearing, gun-toting, acrobatic gusto by Judy Davis) and sickly Chopin (in the hands of comedically brittle Grant).

Legends of the 19th century’s French Romantic era have joined Sand, Chopin, de Musset, composer Franz Liszt (Julian Sands), writer Marie d’Agoult (Bernadette Peters), and painter Eugène Delacroix (Ralph Brown) at the bucolic retreat of patron Duchess d’Antan (Emma Thompson).

SCREEN SAND Judy Davis

In a black comedy akin to Peter’s Friends meets Dangerous Liaisons, picnics, croquet and illicit sex punctuate Madame Sand’s escapades from former lovers. All the while she simply wants to seduce the man behind the music: the phlegmatic and reclusive Chopin.

He represents a higher form of expression to the brash novelist’s hungry heart. Trapped by a seemingly unconquerable object of desire, the great feminist novelist meets her match, and in the fallout of this summer jaunt Impromptu finds its feet as an original and compelling romance.

Romantic Heroism

The film contains several treats, particularly Thompson’s early comedic turn as the hilarious Duchess d’Antan; and Elizabeth Spriggs as an enthusiastic fan who corners Sand just as Chopin’s music really starts to beguile her.

There was near-universal critical praise for Judy Davis in another career-defining portrayal of a writer at a very different stage of her career to the aspiring Sybylla Melvyn in My Brilliant Career (1979). 

“A great actress in a great role,” wrote Terrence Rafferty in The New Yorker. “Davis makes Sand’s passionate absurdities both funny and tremendously moving; this woman’s willingness to embarrass herself seems a kind of romantic heroism.”

Davis stepped up to play the unconventional Sand at a critical time of her career, and put an heroic effort into promoting her first international lead role since A Passage to India, the production that left her with that ‘difficult actress’ reputation.

A 1991 interview with the Los Angeles Times from a Hollywood hotel reads a bit like a charm offensive. Confined to the descriptor of “Australian actress”, Davis delivered several bombshells that can be read as a form of art in a state of apology.

Her up-front explanation to the notorious clash with “autocratic” British director David Lean (“we got into an actual screaming match in India”) came the very month of the movie titan’s death. This is counterpointed with revelations about Impromptu, shot entirely in France with a director who did not speak the language, “a recipe for disaster” dodged due to Lapine’s “staying power”, according to Davis.

Yet despite her picking up an Independent Spirit Award for best actress, in a role that amplified Davis’ independence, Impromptu failed to outsell its modest budget.

Discordant Twits

Some critics focussed on the director’s inexperience. Renowned for his Pulitzer Prize-winning libretto of the Broadway premier of Sunday in the Park With George (complete with Peters and Patinkin in a Sondheim masterpiece exploring France, art and love) Lapine’s film debut came off as lacking in big-screen technique.

CHOPIN LISZT Julian Sands and Hugh Grant

“When he introduces the music of Chopin and Liszt into the proceedings, the effect isn’t revelatory, it’s discordant,” wrote Peter Rainer in the Los Angeles Times. “It’s impossible to believe that such sounds could have issued from such twits.”

Yet Rafferty found more nuance in Grant’s performance, a precursor of portrayals to come: “A brilliant caricature of the Romantic ideal of the artist; he gives the character an air of befuddled unworldliness.”

Kernochan might have put one of the Romantic era’s greatest mysteries on the page – exploring why the reticent Chopin succumbed to the steamroller Sand – but Hugh Grant and Judy Davis came into their own portraying it.

Drawing on Sand’s strength, Chopin fronts up to a duel with one of her former lovers. He fails miserably and she picks up the pieces, but left to their own devices in a rural farmhouse (designed with exquisite simplicity by art director Gérard Daoudal) Sand and Chopin are finally able to work themselves free of artifice.

By then, she’s adopted her real name, Aurora, and taken to dresses (Jenny Beavan’s outstanding work). He shrugs off his shyness in a tender and unpredictable bedroom scene where, as it turns out, artists do apologise when they seek true connection.

In the hands of key creatives Lapine and Kernochan – a spousal team in a rare collaboration – Impromptu says much about the meeting of minds that is possible for artistic couples.

Chopin allowed Grant to realise his potential as a leading man who can embrace his pathetic side, and Sand gave Davis the opportunity to transcend her independent reputation by owning it.

Impromptu is streaming on Apple TV.

Take Another Look: Michael Apted’s ‘pleasantly endurable’ Agatha

The third in a series of retrospective pop culture reviews revisits the mystery movie that Christie fans love to hate-watch …


THERE’S AN EVOCATIVE scene in the big-screen adaptation of Kathleen Tynan’s novel Agatha when Vanessa Redgrave as Agatha Christie and Helen Morse as her new bestie Evelyn Crawley, languish in a steam room at Harrogate’s Royal Baths in 1926.

In this tranquil, white-tiled, female-only space, the conversation between two fictitious women (Agatha is at that point pretending to be Teresa Neele of Capetown, South Africa; Evelyn is an entirely made-up character) drifts from ageing to the changeability of men.

Evelyn confesses to being very choosy with her lovers, a concept that Teresa is slightly shocked about and attempts to counter with a rather limp argument for faithfulness.

“It hardly seems worth it,” Evelyn replies. “That’s why choosing’s important. We can’t just let things happen to us.”

Up to this point in the film, director Michael Apted (1941-2021) and story writer Kathleen Tynan (1937-1995) had played reasonably fair with the facts, exploring significant gaps between the dots about the infamous disappearance of Agatha Christie (1890-1976).

Her disintegrating marriage, her car crash in Surrey followed by a night train to Yorkshire’s spa town Harrogate, her adoption of a new persona: these are all known facts.

The rest of Agatha (1979) could only be described as a masterclass in how to get away with portrayals of real-life people, or a cautionary tale about what can go wrong when you try.

Unarguably, the time was right. The ‘Queen of Crime’ had died in early 1976 when her cult was at its peak. Her posthumously released autobiography made no mention of her disappearance, but Tynan’s book Agatha: The Agatha Christie Mystery (1978), with its pitch of “an imaginary solution to an authentic mystery”, captured the interest of American and British film producers.

CINEMA’S CHRISTIES: Timothy Dalton and Vanessa Redgrave.

Agatha’s exposition beautifully portrays a collapsing marriage in the home counties between the wars. Timothy Dalton drives the scenes as the well-mannered but hardline Archie, the jaded husband who ignites the hidden survival instinct in Redgrave’s crumbling Agatha.

But American Gumshoe Wally Stanton (Dustin Hoffman in full flight) sniffs out a story in the ruins of the marriage, and as the tension rises, Timothy West’s pragmatic police detective delivers the cynicism that underpins the massive manhunt for the crime writer when she goes missing.

By the midpoint, Historic Harrogate serves up all the flavour of the Roaring Twenties, a decade that had been recaptured so exquisitely and profitably on film throughout the Seventies.

Tynan’s vision for Agatha was bold, yet her book and the subsequent film have been largely forgotten, something only devoted Christie fans love to hate-watch.

Woman in Crisis

Film critic Vincent Canby of The New York Times made allowances for Agatha “given the few verifiable facts of the case”.

“The result is a handsome, rudder-less sort of movie that isn’t quite a mystery story, not quite a love story and certainly not a biography,” he wrote, concluding that the production felt “unfinished”, “aimless” and “pleasantly endurable”.

Pauline Kael of The New Yorker saw “the oddness of genius” in Redgrave’s portrayal, but believed the production team, “haven’t come up with enough for their sorrowful, swanlike lady to do.”

It wasn’t until 2020, in a broad-ranging article Re-writing the Past, Autobiography and Celebrity in Agatha by academic Sarah Street, that we got a thorough examination of what happened to Tynan’s story when it was committed to film.

Street concluded that Tynan’s adaptation of her own novel had a “sympathetic premise” towards Agatha Christie, but unearthed a movie production she described as “torturous”.

“Apart from exploiting intense public interest in Christie, the film involved conflict between other celebrities and professionals who in their different ways struggled to make sense of this puzzling event in Christie’s life,” Street wrote.

Given access to transatlantic film production archives, she was able to examine correspondence between key creatives, tussling over the narrative.

In a 1977 letter to Apted during hurried, late-stage rewrites, Tynan described the characters of Evelyn and Wally as catalysts for the personal growth of Agatha Christie, a “woman in crisis”.

In recent years, much has been written about the mental health struggles of Agatha Christie in the 1920s. But in the 1970s, Kathleen Tynan was one of the first writers to suggest the author’s flight to Harrogate played out a desire for reinvention.

Evelyn Crawley was the emotional guide Tynan gave her, through a reckoning that had been intended to play out in the hands of women.

The original casting for this glamorous, independent character also became apparent in the details unearthed by Street: Julie Christie, who pulled out of the film due to illness. Helen Morse deftly stepped in, but late screenplay rewrites supplanted Evelyn with Wally in the film’s second half. The gumshoe becomes the wayward crime writer’s love interest, something Tynan never intended, according to her archived correspondence.

The major consequence was the unravelling of the feminist thread in Agatha. There’s a trace of it in that steam room conversation, when Evelyn encourages Agatha about not letting things just happen to her. Like a moment of insight in a fever dream, it feels as close to the emotional truth as anything.

Hang onto it when you watch this problematic but gripping film, to make sense of what Agatha does next.

Agatha is streaming on Apple TV and Prime.