Jack the Ripper: The First Two

 "A middle class Ripper...?"

Yes, I know, this is a fantastically obscure bit of telly. It's a drama, not a documentary, from 1973. It's a spin-off of a spin-off. Two popular detectives- Detective Superintendents Barlow and Watt from Softly Softly, a spin-off from Z-Cars (and no, I'm not going to blog those very old, mostly missing series!) spend the whole episode just investigating and discussing this very cold case, the documented statements from witnesses, police surgeons and the like being nicely dramatised. The effect is something that feels very much like a documentary, and a good one. But it isn't.

Stratford Johns and Frank Windsor are awfully good, excellent actors with loads of charisma. Even just the two of them intrelligently discussing the case is splendidly entertaining in itself, and that's before we get to the dramatised bits.

This is deeply engrossing. It doesn't neglect the social context of 1888- a time where women and boys are sent out of the room at the inquest as the Ripper's incisions to poor Annie Chapman's genitals are described, yet there are 80,000 prostitutes. There's a scene where Charles Booth describes the poverty of Whitechapel. And impressions begin to emerge. A left-handed killer, middle-aged. One with anatomical knowledge and the decidedly middle class of luxury to dispose of the blood from his clothes and so on. Yet a middle class man who would not look out of place in Whitechapel.

The format works brilliantly at acquainting us with details: instead of a dry narration, we get two senior detectives dicussing, debating, questioning the evidence intelligently. Why, for instance, was Annia Chapman killed at 5.25am, when day was well into the process of dawning, rather than earlier? Why such intricate ceremony, taking quite some time after each murder? I know not. But I'm already engrossed.

Poirot: The Adventure of the Clapham Cook

 "Ah, the stewed peaches! Quite!"

I've done the Granada Sherlock Holmes; why not make a leisurely start to Thames' Poirots? Incidentally, the Thames indent at the start gave me a nice nostalgic rush. ITV was a proper channel before the franchises were ruined in '91...

I've gone on record as saying I'm not an enormous fan of Agatha Christie. Her plots are as clever as their reputation, but she's a snob, and her prose and characterisation are not great. She is, in short, no Margery Allingham. However, I confess that my reasing of her novels, while extensive, was (ahem) a quarter of a century ago. I ought to revist one at some point.

However, I have to say that this episode bears out my prejudices somewhat. It's a well-made bit of telly, but the story upon which it is based is full of one-dimensional domestic servants and generally superficial characters. I suspect part of the reason this annoys me more than the Sherlock Holmes stuff is simply that, unlike the late Victorian setting of the other programme, this is set quite clearly in the 1930s, and the cars, clothing and general "look" are far less alien and more modern-looking, at least if one happens (just about) to remember a pre-digital world. There are no Hansom Cabs here. Also, the murder mystery is fine, but nothing special.

However, David Suchet is very good, and the woodenness of Hugh Fraser as Hastings probably owes as much to the character as the actor. I'll persevere, at least for a season.

The Return of Sherlock Holmes: The Devil's Foot

 "John!"

This is a very interesting way to begin a new season, to say the least. I suppose this episode is known for two things. One, of course, is the glorious Cornish location filming, which truly sells the austere, ship-wrecking beauty of the peninsula which is not quite, really, a part of England. The other is the unexpected trippy sequence where Holmes and Watson get high on some bad acid, man.

The thing is, though, it works. It has a plot-related reason and, indeed, is part of the original Conan Doyle short story- this is yet another faithful adaptation. Yet we see some rather well done trippy direction as well as flashbacks including the Reichenbach Falls and, rather randomly and interestingly, some William Blake woodcuts. Jeremy Brett is extraordinary here, as he is always. He is also good at presenting us with hins of the psyche of a Holmes who is close to breakdown and recuperating for the good of his mental health. There are some excellent scenes, in particular, of Holmes alternately taking cocaine and trying to get rid of it, and Watson's reaction. None of this, in a nice subtle touch, is referred to at all either in the dialogue or Watson's narration, which is thus given the air of euphemism.

As for the mystery itself, it is executed very well indeed, with a strong cast. But this episode lingers in the mind for the ancient wildness of the land beyond the Tamar, as well as the land behind the doors of perception.

I, Clavdivs: Old King Log

"The man who dwells by the pool shall open Graves..."

The first episode, which seems so long ago, featured an interesting bit of breakage to the fourth wall early on as, while Augustus, Marcus Agrippa and co reclined and chatted, a couple of minor characters discussed how the old days never truly existed, that the past is an illusion. That was a clear acknowledgement by Jack Pulman that we rely on sources but we can never arrive at real historical truth, and certainly not via Suetonius.

And so it’s appropriate that, in this final episode, realism breaks down somewhat and the fourth wall is constantly pointed at- and not only in the above quote from Claudius’ farewell speech to the Senate, where he refers to Jack Pulman and Robert Graves. No; in this final episode Claudius has become convinced that he erred in ruling wisely; he reconciled Rome to monarchy instead of discrediting it. So Old King Log resolves to “let all the poisons that lurk in the mud gat h it”, leaning into the Sibylline Prophecy. So he marries his niece and favours Nero as heir over his own son Britannicus. In doing so he raises himself from a mere principal character almost to the status of author, truly Claudius the God. This is often humorous, as when he exasperates Agripinilla by anticipating her every wish without hiding his contempt. (How come such a noble couple as Germanicus and Aggripina spawned such a nest of monsters?). He exerts control over his own death. Yet the ferryman waits for us all in the end.

There is one thing Claudius can not control- his honourable yet naive son, Britannicus, who refuses to  go along with Claudius’ secret plan because “no one believes in the Republic any more”. Instead he chooses to put on his manly gown and face death. Claudius is not omnipotent, after all.

So Claudius gets his big death scene, and a chat with the Sibyll. We get the cameos we’ve longed for from the characters we missed. We get to know the loathsome Agripinilla and Nero (interesting casting!) who, as we won’t be following their exploits after Claudius, can be portrayed with relish, with Nero noting “What a pretty thing a fire is”. No subtext there...

A fitting end to a drama that is justly seen as one of the finest ever. Who cares about the obvious staginess. This is superlative telly.

I, Clavdivs: Hail Who?

“Drusilla! I’m dying!”

So this is it; the big one. Claudius, amongst chaotic schemes, and while protesting that he wants a republic, is made emperor. And the whole thing, really, is played like a farce.

Caligula is still dangerously mad and capricious, of course, but the shock of all this most definitely peaked at the end of last episode. Not that we lack spectacle, or John Hurt being superb; on the contrary we get several minutes of Caligula in a dress performing as Dawn in a weird dance to Homer. But the focus has moved to Claudius. So the palace is a brothel at the start, but shown in relation to on Claudius, the butt of the joke but managing to save a couple of women from being raped. Caligula plays at being on campaign and makes war on Neptune, yes, and his booty is a load of shells, but the focus is on how court jester Claudius saves two messengers from death by beheading, and later saves the entire Senate by acting the fool. And on how the old and clumsy Claudius is married to the young and beautiful Messalina- as a joke.

Just as chaotic is the plot to murder Caligula- ultimately, and sbsurdly, caused by his silly habit of giving Cassius suggestive phrases to use as the watchword of the day. Nothing goes right, and the surviving Claudius is almost killed before he is declared emperor by a Praetorian Guard who want to keep the cushy life they have.

Less amusing, of course, and a brutal contrast, is the murder of Caligula's wife and baby daughter, a reminder that Cassius is no saint either. It is, as usual, a splendidly written and acted piece, although the range of settings- on camp near the Rhine, at the Gams- make it more than usually obvious how studio-bound it all is.