As I have seen neither State of Play, the British TV miniseries nor the American film, I obviously don't have much to say about them. I will make a couple comments. First, I'll probably see the miniseries at some point (it probably won't be that soon, though, considering how long my Netflix queue is already), if for no other reason than what looks like an incredible cast: Bill Nighy, Kelly Macdonald, James McAvoy, Polly Walker. (Afraid I don't recognize David Morrissey or John Simm.)
Also, I can't say I share your feelings about Russell Crowe. I'm not sure what you mean when you say that you find him "irritating." I agree that a lot of his films—A Beautiful Mind, Cinderella Man, A Good Year—are too sentimental and, as you said, "earnest," but I guess I just avoid those ones for the most part and go to his less Oscar-baiting films—L.A. Confidential, Master and Commander, 3:10 to Yuma, American Gangster. I'm not saying he's my favorite actor and I have pictures of him all over my room or anything, I'm just curious why you don't like him much.
The main thing I wanted to talk about, though, as you may have been able to tell from this post's title, is looking at the different ways that the same material is approached in British and American productions. There are innumerable examples of this phenomenon, going back to the first American production of Shakespeare; for every positive example, there have been more than a few negative examples, like Life on Mars, The Ladykillers, or McG's abortive remake of Spaced. Rather than dwell on those, I'll take a look at a couple relative successes, Traffic and The Office.
I haven't seen Traffik, the five-episode 1989 British miniseries on which Soderbergh's 2000 film Traffic is based, but, based on your description of the two versions of State of Play, it sounds like something similar took place with this British-to-American adaptation as well. Don't get me wrong, I think Traffic was a good film, I just see it falling into the "Big Issues" problem you mentioned. (Of course, for all I know the British miniseries did too.) While it does a good job of showing the complexity and interconnectedness involved in the drug-trafficking and drug-control systems, it also depicts some elements—especially in the Michael Douglas parts—in overly straightforward, message- or dilemma-driven terms. Douglas's character comes to believe that drug addiction needs to be dealt with through understanding rather than crack-downs; Benicio del Toro's character discovers the extent of the corruption in the Mexican war on drugs; Don Cheadle's character gets his man in the end, despite the murders of his partner and the prosecution's chief witness. While it makes for some entertaining storytelling, it presents things so straightforwardly that, like what you said about the American State of Play, it doesn't leave you with a lot to think about (other than, maybe, "Did she do the right thing?" with regard to Catherine Zeta-Jones's character).
Turning to another British-to-American adaptation, the American version of The Office is obviously very different from the British original. (I say "obviously" because I assume you've seen it, Matt. If you haven't, drop what you're doing and rectify that immediately.) Despite its superficial similarities to the original—the setting, the main characters, the faux-reality-show documentarian style—it takes a much simpler, sitcom-y approach. The clearest example of this is the shows' respective bosses, David Brent (Ricky Gervais) and Michael Scott (Steve Carell). Michael Scott is dorky, clueless, and generally incompetent, but his heart's usually in the right place, and the American series often gives him opportunties to demonstrate this. David Brent, on the other hand, has virtually no redeeming qualities, is almost uniformly selfish and inconsiderate, and when he's fired at the end of the second series I had a hard time not thinking "good riddance" (even though he was the funniest character, and his departure meant the end of the show). (He only redeems himself, slightly, at the end of the Christmas special.) As with Traffic, I don't mean to sound like I dislike the American version, it's actually one of my favorite shows; it's just that while it's a great sitcom, the original's a work of sheer genius, largely because of the harder edge the latter is willing to take with its boss character.
I can't help but think that a great deal of the difference between British television and American television—as can be seen most clearly in examples of direct adaptation like The Office—is due to structural differences as well as creative ones. A great number of British TV series aren't what we would think of as series, but as miniseries with only a limited number of episodes. Whereas American shows are usually open-ended stories of often two dozen or so episodes per season, made with the expectation of renewal for addition seasons, British shows (or at least the one's I'm familiar with) are made one series (i.e., season) at a time without expectation of renewal. (Even when they do get another series, it isn't always immediately; for example, there was a year-long hiatus between the first series (1999) and the second series (2001) of Spaced.) And each series is much shorter as well—six-episode series for The Office, seven- for Spaced—requiring much greater concision and economy of storytelling. This ends up meaning that British shows tend to have a lot less unnecessary fat than their American counterparts. Given the amount of story, characterization, and humor in the British Office, it still amazes me that it was all done in only twelve episodes and the two-part Christmas special. So, in comparison to American television, British television (at least the examples I've seen) tends to be much leaner and more carefully structured, since they can't afford to waste a single episode.
But in the end, I think we can all agree that Russell Crowe is too old to play Ben Affleck's college roommate, and that Ben Affleck is too Ben-Affleck-y to play a member of Congress.
No comments:
Post a Comment