Dartblog

Although I neglected to make note of it in this space, a couple of months ago a friend and I saw the new rehearsal of Brideshead Revisited in theaters. It was ridiculous. It was something like the television show “Friends” but, underperforming that show’s sophomoric lexicon of 1,000 words or so, the movie Brideshead made use of a more toddlerish 800. At one moment, a key moment, the screenwriter had Sebastian Flyte yell to Charles Ryder, shaking his head hamishly, freeing an eyedropped tear, “You just want to sleep with my sister!” at which we threw our heads back and laughed and laughed. The audience behind us did not laugh and laugh, because this was the most emotional piece of the film—made plain by the fact that it was also the loudest piece of the film, which is the modern filmmaker’s cue that something of consequence is occurring. The entire thing was on the nose like a bad pince-nez.

I mention that by way of mentioning this: I have just learned, via this Wikipedia entry, that a new Hollywood version of Middlemarch lies somewhere over the horizon. You have been warned.