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Friday, June 29, 2007
Fancy Talk in Deadwood and Philadelphia
Scott Eric Kaufman’s post on Deadwood and its language so intrigued me that I ordered the first disk of the first season on Netflix. I was so impressed with what I saw that I’ve since seen all the episodes except for the first two of season three, on which there is such a goldrush at Netflix that I was unable to elevate my sense of unidirectional temporal propriety above my galloping desire to see more. So I let those Platonic stallions rip and started in with disk 2 of season three and continued on through disks 3, 4, and 5 (disk 6 is some extra stuff on which I can wait). The language has maintained its wonderful blend of scatology and cuss words intermingled with syntax of such orotund complexity as makes one thankful for having a DVD one can repeat at will, both in whole and in part.
During this period I happened to see The Philadelphia Story on TV and was impressed with its sophisticated wit. I decided to order it from Netflix as well. As fate would have it, I watched the DVD the same weekend that I watched the final episodes of Deadwood. What struck me was that the language of The Philadelphia Story was every bit as sophisticated as that of Deadwood, or, if you will, that the language of Deadwood was every bit as sophisticated as that of The Philadelphia Story – which, by the way, scores 100% fresh at Rotten Tomatoes, with 38 reviews. The language, and the way both underscore the element of negotiation in human relationships. Neither vehicle takes intimacy lightly.
These are such very different works that any comparison between them seems odd and forced. The Philadelphia Story is a major film that came out in 1940, when the studio system reigned and before television, and it featured three well-known movie stars: Katherine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart. It was made for a mass audience and succeeded with that audience. I’m not sure what audience Deadwood was made for. But it’s not a mass audience and there are no movie stars in the cast, though I’ve seen Gerald McRaney (who played George Hearst) on network TV and Powers Booth (Cy Tolliver) here and there.
And then we have the actual form and content of these two works. The Philadelphia Story is a romantic comedy – specificially, a comedy of remarriage – set in high society, though class issues are obvious. It is light and witty, so much so that it is easy to miss the deep and fundamental way it explores human relationships. You must actively probe beneath the witty dialogue, which is easy enough to do when you have the control afforded by a DVD. Otherwise, it would help if you are used to watching such films, which are in short supply these days.
Deadwood is not romantic, not a comedy, and it’s gone on for 36 episodes and the story’s not yet concluded (the series was canceled, though there may by a pair of movies to end it, sometime). Its world is rude and crude and the play of power is naked and brutal. Its artistry is sophisticated, but it presents a world that is not. By contrast, not only is the artistry of The Philadelphia Story sophisticated, but so is the world it presents.
I can’t imagine that Deadwood could have been made in 1940, certainly not for the movies, nor for the theatre. Deadwood exists in a cultural space that did not exist in 1940. But the cultural space of The Philadelphia Story, that does not exist any more, not as a living artistic capability. A lot has happened in 65 years.
Taking into account that the language of these two works is very different, I am not happy that the linguistic sophistication of Deadwood now is not as public as that of The Philadelphia Story was then. Is the current mass audience more less sophisticated in some way than was the mass audience of 1940?
Comments
Is the current mass audience more sophisticated in some way than was the mass audience of 1940?
Did you mean to say this the other way around? Because I would say that the current mass audience may be “more sophisticated” in its expectation of use of the movie medium itself for things like special effects, but it is far less tolerant and less “sophisticated” in appreciation of sustained, brilliant, yet understated verbal pyrotechnics of the type that characterize The Philadelphia Story. It may not be the best film to generalize from as it probably represents the pinnacle of “talky” comedy of manners films. (And as I only learned when I just looked it up, it was nearly direct working in film of the original Broadway play.) But in my (somewhat limited) experience other mainstream films of the era such as His Girl Friday and even Casablanca also stand out in this characteristic when compared to mainstream films of the present era.
I was thinking along similar lines when I recently saw I ♥ Huckabees for the first time, and in which the rapidfire interplay between Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman had some of the Grant/Hepburn feel to it. But Huckabees was also a somewhat marginal film and it may be telling that the premise of the film explicitly about an “intellectual” topic. In fact I can imagine a modified Huckabee’s as a comedy of manners coming from the 40’s (minus some of the “shock” elements and Tomlin and Hoffman as some more standard form of wacky scientists or psychologists helping a well-meaning but “lost” son of privilege competing with an obnoxious rival.)
Yes, “less.”
I’ve just watched High Society, which is a 1956 remake of The Philadelphia Story. It’s not as good. For one thing, it’s been made into a quasi-musical—no production numbers, but several solos and duets, including “True Love,” which became a hit single. The songs interrupt the flow and slow it down. Some of the dialogue is retained, but much has not. And the players, of course are different. Grace Kelly, Bing Crosby, and Frank Sinatra have replaced Katherine Hepburne, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart. Louis Armstrong and his band have been added into the mix as well.
I’m not sure what audience Deadwood was made for. But it’s not a mass audience and there are no movie stars in the cast, though I’ve seen Gerald McRaney (who played George Hearst) on network TV and Powers Booth (Cy Tolliver) here and there.
Ian McShane is a reasonably big star this side of the pond: Lovejoy and such. Indeed, one of the joys of the show for a UK viewer is seeing the star of this very well-spoken rather safe and cosy BBC teatime drama about an antiques dealer running around the home counties suddenly popping up with the moustache and the slicked back hair and the potty mouth and the tendency to murderous violence.
I could add that, like Bill, it was Scott’s post that turned me on to Deadwood. I saw the DVD box-set of the first series being sold off cheap in a London discount shop, thought back to SEK’s post and thought ‘I’ll give it a go’. I fell so violently in love with it that I bought the box-set of series 2 at fullprice at the first opportunity, and am waiting with baited breath for the release of series 3 over here in August. It is some of the best telly I can remember seeing in a long long time.
The appeal for me, I’d say, is primarily the worldbuilding. Although dialogue of such heft and strange eloquence is also part of it.
Originally, I had nothing but contempt for Deadwood, mainly because the anachronistic profanity annoyed me. However, Scott’s post and the discussion afterward prompted me to give the series another try, and now it’s one of my favorite shows.
The sophistication of Deadwood in general--not just the dialogue--is used to break down the conventions of the western into a new, daring beast. Some of the work remains quite subtle after three seasons. For instance, in most westerns the horse is a loyal companion. But in Deadwood the horse creates havok and death. Small deviations like this add depth to an already deep ocean of a show.
By the way, get ready for the best season of the series, Adam. Season three traverses through more ornate, unpredictable, and unsettling material than the previous two, which is saying a lot as you know.