I’ve not been rambling on aimlessly about Downton Abbey. I’ve had a destination from the beginning, but irresistible stories keep coming in. Nicole Childre, friend Jean’s daughter, is devoted to the show. Unfortunately the reception of PBS on their TV is poor. Her professional photographer husband, Jeff, e-mailed a picture of her wrapped in a blanket and standing on a footstool as a human antenna throughout the last episode.
The thing is, Downton Abbey is so well crafted that its characters become real. Some books, poems and dramatic productions are an art form and achieve their own reality. Just think about that jolly old elf whose reindeer drive him and a sleigh full of toys through the air, land on roofs and wait while he goes down chimneys and leaves presents for millions of children — all in one night!
The Lord of the Rings has a cult following, and the graffito “Frodo Lives!” is apt. Indeed, Frodo Baggins does live within me. So do Sherlock Holmes, Scrooge, Dorothy and her chums, the Joad family, Hamlet, the little women, Jake and Lady Brett, Lord Toranaga, Tom and Huck, Father Tim and Miss Sadie of the Mitford chronicles, and Anne of Green Gables.
Dramatic productions add new dimensions to my imagination and transport me to worlds that never were or to real ones that I shall never visit. Dorothy becomes Judy Garland, and there will never be another lion, woodman or scarecrow to equal those of that film. Tom Joad of The Grapes of Wrath lives in my imagination as Henry Fonda.
There are producers who think that they know better than authors. They ruined John Grisham’s exciting The Firm. Jody Picoult’s My Sister’s Keeper was a fine film until the end when they had the wrong sister die. Also, I know from Fleming’s books what James Bond is supposed to be like, and the current Bond certainly isn’t it. Plus that, with all due respect to Judy Dench, M was a man!
Music expands one’s reactions. Who can forget the theme from Gone With the Wind? Would the movie of The Wizard of Oz have been as wonderful without the music? Woody Allen‘s fine Midnight in Paris is enhanced by its music. I’ve seen men wiping their eyes, and I always cry during “La Boheme.”
Passion, fidelity to the source and meticulous attention to detail elevate exceptional productions above the rest. The love of the producer of the films of Tolkien’s books shines through. Steven Spielberg and the actors went all out to make Lincoln historically accurate, including the décor that has first editions of the books that Lincoln owned. He even had the ticking of Lincoln’s watch that’s owned by a museum recorded.
Sally Fields gained 25 pounds to portray Mary Todd Lincoln. Daniel Day Lewis, maintained the persona of Lincoln even when he wasn’t filming. While accepting his Oscar, he thanked his wife for living with so many different men. Eek! While watching him play a violent, psychopathic killer in No Country for Old Men, I whispered to Bill, “You owe me three chick flicks for this!” Other fine actors have portrayed my hero Lincoln, but none as well.
Spielberg wore a suit during filming. He said, “ . . . we were recreating a piece of history that we hope will stick around for a while, and I wanted to feel like I was a part of that recreation, and so I didn’t want to look like the schlubby baseball cap wearing 21st century guy.”
It’s refreshing to see such a high respect for one’s work in this era of shoddy workmanship, quick fixes and downright laziness. wclarke@comcast.net