Truly Dreadful Film

SERIOUSLY. This is what the crap Hollywood still puts out?

Must See Movie...

It’s an especially fun movie from a director and cast who are clearly having a good time allowing themselves to let loose.

I should start perhaps by mentioning that I'm quite fond of the James Ivory movies, including the one by the same title. And still, I find this much more faithful to the original book. It better reflects the spirit of the writer and the age. It has an aura of authenticity, a natural flow and a je ne sais quoi that have made it quite endearing to me from the very beginning. The names in the cast are perhaps lesser known than those in the other version, and it is precisely the reason why I find them better suited to this television / cinematographic adaptation. They seem to be natural human beings, and not the caricatures thereof, as some of their counterparts in the more famous version. Other reviewers have been rather critical of the final few minutes in the film. I would be inclined to be much more tolerant, as the new ending, although perhaps questionable in itself, is yet so respectful of the spirit of the author in his novel that I tend to welcome it.

CASTING: A+ -- I thought that George Emerson in this production had a down-to-earth sexiness that was much more appealing than Julian Sands' version. The class differences were emphasized to very good effect in this one -- by comparison, Sands' Mr. Emerson seemed like an aristocrat, which made it harder to see the family's class objections. Lucy and the other characters were all played very well also -- the only character I didn't love was the elder Mr. Emerson, who was too much of a broad caricature for me here -- I preferred him in the original version, where he was my favorite character altogether. (I must admit that since Harry Potter, I can't see Timothy Spall without ears and whiskers -- he will be Peter Pettigrew/Scabbers forever in my mind).PLOT-CHANGE: F- This actually ruined the whole thing for me -- it made me furious! I never read the Forster novel, so after watching Davies' ending, I assumed that this must have been Forster's original ending, and reasoned that the Merchant/Ivory version must have been re-fitted with a false happy ending, because who would ever do the reverse? However, as I cried for fifteen minutes after the program ended, I knew that I definitely preferred the happy ending, manufactured or not -- the tragedy just seemed WRONG. How much angrier I was when I found out that Forster's novel DID have a happy ending! Good God! (Is that who Andrew Davies thinks he is?!) I've never heard of adapting a novel by changing the ending into a tragedy -- it doesn't fit, it subverts the whole point, and it ruined my evening. Andrew Davies, get over your pseudo-artistic self -- that stupid, ridiculous ending was a travesty. If Davies wanted to get attention for originality, he certainly did -- and from the reviews I've seen, it's overwhelmingly in the form of disgust.

This new adaptation of Forster's classic seems bizarrely beholden to Merchant Ivory's more successful film. Unfortunately it has little new to add (and at that, only something spurious) and, indeed, steals much from the film - including things that weren't even in the novel.Like Merchant Ivory, this adaptation plays up the heady romance, but lacks that film's moments of rapture. Writer Andrew Davies' decision to tell the story in flashback was bizarre and unnecessary - adding narrative twists that really did not help the drama in any way.Performances were largely disappointing. However, Elaine Cassidy breathed real life into Lucy Honeychurch. On the other hand, Sophie Thompson and Sinead Cussack both chose to base their characters on the performances given by Maggie Smith and Judi Dench in the film. As such they came off as poor imitations. Other performances were underwhelming, particularly the usually great Laurence Fox who both underplayed and seemed wholly unable to convince as an upper class Edwardian.

POSSIBLE SPOILERS!!!!! I watched this because I loved both Forster's novel and James Ivory's version of it. I wondered if this adaptation might be as good and so settled down to see; but oh how I wish I hadn't.Mr Beeb and his....'affection' for Lucy gave me the creeps the most (I'm really *trying* not to call him a vulgar vicar). His reaction to her announcement of her feelings for George left me speechless (not an easy thing to achieve, as my family will testify). This was never even hinted at in the book.I gave this TV adaptation of the wonderful original novel a 2 based purely on the excellent acting. Without the stalewart acting skills of the two young leads, as well as the always wonderful Sophie Thompson, Mark Williams, Sinead Cusack and Timothy Spall I would've given it an 1 (or even a zero if the marks went that low).However,the ending deserves the most vitriolic censure of all; Andrew Davies should hang his head in shame for being responsible for this dross.It snatched from the faithful reader of the novel, and fans of the 1985 film, the romantic ending that the two lovers deserved and ultimately got. Thereby E. M. Forster's attempt to break the class divide is shattered; in one fell swoop Davies merely reiterates what so many thought back then - if you crossed classes it could only end in tears.Please, PLEASE if you want the real ending, then read the novel; or even watch the sumptuous 1985 version with Julian Sands, Helena Bonham Carter and Dame Maggie Smith.Both show that class should not, and does not, matter; this was the somewhat outrageous idea that Forster had in 1908, and that Davies appears to have completely ignored in 2007. I began to wonder after watching an hour in open mouthed horror if he'd even looked at the original novel, let alone read it.Or perhaps he just decided that the entire point of the book was something he could ignore, in favour of his own unwatchable, morbid and totally disjointed ending? Better a brief swipe at the futility of war than a happy ending right? Either way he should be locked in a room with both the earlier film and the novel and forced to watch/read them over and over again, until he understands what Forster was trying to say about the pathetic snobbery and class divide of late Edwardian society.This was something that Ruth Prawer Jhabvala did appreciate (she was the adapter of the novel for the 1985 James Ivory film). Sadly it is clearly something Andrew Davies didn't master when he wrote this bilge.The other unforgivable thing he did was to gloss over all the remarkable little idiosyncrasies that Lucy, her cousin and all the other guests had (including George Emmerson and his father), and what made their eclectic little band so wonderfully entertaining.Instead he portrayed them all as sad little people leading mundane little lives and pretending they weren't. The whole programme was utterly depressing, instead of uplifting like the original novel.I think E. M. Forster is not so much turning in his grave as spinning in it after this vandalisation of his book. I am only thankful he died in 1970 and is not alive to witness this butchery of, what I personally think was, his greatest work.Unless you are a fan of the actors in this, or if you wish to see Timothy Spall acting along side his real life, and equally talented, son (Rafe Spall), then *miss.it.*Seriously, I mean it - it's a 116 minutes of your life you won't get back; when it comes out on DVD don't waste your money on it.You must have better things to spend that fourteen pounds on; like another thimbleful of petrol for your smart car, or those gorgeous shoes you couldn't afford until they were in the sale (and so what if the only pair the shop's got are two size too small and the wrong colour, they're half price! Yes, I've been there - only for me it was boots).But if the premise really appeals to you then, for the love of God, read the book or, if you really want the viewing experience, see the earlier film version; but I beg you, for the sake of your will to live (I almost lost mine), toss this one back in the 'bargain bin' where it ultimately belongs and walk swiftly away.