Wednesday, January 6, 2016

The RSC's Nicholas Nickleby, from stage to screen


The Royal Shakespeare Company’s 1980 production of “The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby” was a landmark theatrical event. Presented in two parts, the entire production lasted eight and a half hours, with audiences either seeing the two parts on consecutive evenings or viewing the entire production within the span of a day. Part One of the play was broken into two acts, and Part Two into three.


Happily, the production was adapted for television broadcast. In England, Channel 4 broadcast "NN" in four weekly installments, starting on November 7, 1982. Mobil Oil presented it on US television over four consecutive nights, starting January 10, 1983. On that date, the New York Times reported: "David Edgar, the adapter for the stage, submitted a revised script, attuned to the requirements of the television breaks."

Indeed, when compared against the published playscript, the piece was radically revised.  The most striking change was in redividing the five-act theatrical structure into four acts for video. Acts 1 and 2 of the video correspond to the first two acts of the play. The third video act contains all of the play’s Act 3, plus some of the play’s Act 4. The fourth video act contains all the rest. Of course, this made it necessary for Edgar to find a new “act break” to end the third video act, which occurs after Squeers captures Smike.

But Edgar had to plan for still more breaks. As explained in the "official full colour magazine" produced by Channel 4: "Because of transmission requirements Nickleby was taped so that it could be transmitted in the UK and USA over a four-night span, three of two hours and one of three hours: and for the rest of the world in nine one-hour segments." In the US at least, the three two-hour evenings were each broken with an intermission, and the final three-hour evening had two intermissions. Thus the nine-part division was utilized even in the four-night broadcast. (Each of these nine segments was actually 53 minutes long; the remaining time in the US broadcast was filled with an animated opening, and wraparound segments by Peter Ustinov.)

But Edgar’s video adaptation saw changes in content as well. In the theatre, there was a recap at the beginning of Part Two (or the third of the play’s five acts), speedily explaining and re-enacting key moments of Part One for new audience members. For the video version, similar recaps were written and staged for Acts 2 and 4 as well.

The last two scenes that resolve the Mantalini storyline, which occur in the first part of the script, were moved into Act 3 of the video. There are a few scenes and exchanges of dialog in the video that are not found in the script, and many more instances where the reverse is true. In fact, it’s tempting to suspect the script was trimmed for video, but 477 minutes (53x9) is just about the perfect running time for what's referred to as "an eight-and-a-half hour play", if you factor in an additional 35 minutes or so of intermissions.

Still, more of the script was shot than made it into the final edit. In Act 4, Squeers is lying in wait to retrieve from Peg Sliderskew the will upon which Madeline Bray's fortune hinges. In the script, after a soliloquy, Squeers retrieves a letter from Mrs. Squeers, which he reads.


In the video, we see Squeers reach into his coat pocket for the letter, but then there's a cut to a wider shot where we can just glimpse the letter going back into his pocket. While the edit goes by smoothly, clearly the reading of the letter was shot, but then left on the cutting room floor.


In 1983, CBS Home Video released "NN" on four VHS tapes, one intermissionless act per tape. (The cost was $300, and it was also available in Beta.) Probably due to physical tape length limits, there were changes from the broadcast version to the home video. Around 25 minutes were cut from the beginning of Act 4 (after the recap), and placed at the end of Act 3. These 25 minutes included John Browdie’s release of Smike, and so the end of the Act 4 recap was edited to remove the reenactment of Squeers’ capture of Smike. This change made Act 3 end at a much weaker point, dramatically speaking.


Act 4 also saw the complete removal of the scene where the loony, cucumber-bearing "Man Next Door" visits the Nicklebys, a loss of about two and a half minutes. But the home video version actually included a lengthened conversation about the French language between Nicholas and Mr. Lillyvick, which added around 80 seconds to Act 2.


Interestingly, the home video version reveals that for the broadcast, an effort had been made to render John Browdie’s thick Yorkshire accent and archaic speech a bit more intelligible. Several of Browdie’s lines in the broadcast are looped; as one example, “Where’s this glass of summat, then?” in the home version is “Where’s this glass of something, then?” in the broadcast. It’s possible these changes were made for the US broadcast only, and thus not included in other versions.

Some changes from broadcast to home video were decidedly for the worse. There are clumsy and distracting attempts to dub in audience reaction sounds during Nicholas’ thrashing of Squeers, during the schoolboys’ rebellion against Mrs. Squeers, and (most damagingly) during the play’s final moment of Nicholas picking up the “other Smike”. There are also over 20 musical cues completely missing from the home video version, whether due to artistic decision or mere editorial fatigue we cannot know.

One notable difference comes at the end of Ralph Nickleby’s unraveling at Ned and Charles Cheeryble’s, after Ralph whispers the name “Smike”. In broadcast, there’s a very lengthy closeup of Ralph’s face, during which only somber string music is heard. In the home video version, the music is gone, but two lines are instead added from the script, spoken by the Cheerybles offscreen. Ned says (referring to Ralph’s accuser, Brooker) “Unhappy man. Unhappy man.” and Charles then adds “But doubly, trebly, ten times more unhappy must you be, Ralph Nickleby.”


Years later, A&E re-released "NN" on VHS, in a nine-tape set. There are opening and closing credits on each installment, but otherwise the contents of this version are exactly the same as the CBS version. The breaks follow David Edgar’s original nine-segment plan for broadcast, with each tape ending precisely where its corresponding broadcast segment ends. Within the seventh segment, the 25 minutes that should rightly come after the Act 4 recap instead come before it.

The only thing A&E "cut" from the CBS version is the proper Act 2 bows, with the company bowing in Romeo and Juliet attire as the video credits roll. A&E used the final (Act 4) bows under the end credits for all nine segments.

A&E later released their nine-part version on DVD, with the nine segments spread out over four DVDs. This release has drawn a great deal of ire in the comments section on Amazon.com, with viewers bemoaning A&E’s “butchering” of the masterpiece into nine parts, and holding the CBS Home Video release as a “gold standard” which they suppose is an entirely faithful record of what happened onstage. As I’ve shown here, this is all very far from the truth. There are perfectly good reasons to dislike the home video version of "NN", but A&E is not responsible for most of them.

So then, what is the “gold standard” for viewing “The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby”? I humbly offer my version, which I make available on YouTube until told not to by The Powers That Be. (Hopefully this will be because TPTB have taken the time to restore and release it properly.) My four-act version draws almost entirely from the A&E DVD media, with occasional pieces of the CBS version, the original music soundtrack, and the broadcast version (from 30-year-old VHS tapes) as well. My goal was to create the most complete "NN" possible, so I’ve included all available scenes and music cues, painstakingly editing and restoring everything myself.

I hope this makes it easier for interested parties (including me) to enjoy this masterpiece. I’ve cherished it since the original broadcast, and even acted in a version in Memphis in 1985. My wife (then-girlfriend) and I binge-watched it straight through one night, just weeks after we met. Roger Rees, David Threlfall, Edward Petherbridge, and Alun Armstrong give unforgettable performances. Lines and moments from the show come into my head with great frequency. It’s a part of me. As Bernard Levin wrote of the original production in the London Times:

“There is only one way to behave at the Aldwych; to surrender completely to the truth, which is that not for many years has London's theatre seen anything so richly joyous, so immoderately rife with pleasure, drama, colour and entertainment, so life-enhancing, yea-saying and fecund, so — in the one word which embraces all these and more — so Dickensian. This production of “Nicholas Nickleby” is ceaselessly entertaining, dramatic, funny, touching, beautiful and right; it is a tribute to England’s greatest writer of prose and of the teeming world he conjured up; it is an evocation of England herself; but it is something more than all of these. It is a celebration of love and justice that is true to the spirit of Dickens' belief that those are the fulcrums on which the universe is moved, and the consequence is that we come out not merely delighted but strengthened, not just entertained but uplifted, not only affected but changed.”

Watch it here.






Friday, September 5, 2014

Watch Me Move: The Animation Show at the Frist

The Barbican exhibit Watch Me Move: The Animation Show just left the Frist Center for the Visual Arts here in Nashville. Next stop for the exhibit is Monterrey, Mexico. I am very glad to see the art of animation treated so seriously by Nashville's premier gallery/museum. I spent around 12 hours total in the exhibit, and saw several terrific films I had never seen before. But I did come away with some thoughts and questions I wanted to set down.

• First, I am still skeptical that an exhibit in a gallery is a proper way to experience a film. The way the exhibit was organized, it practically invited the viewer to "graze" from film to film. As any filmmaker will tell you, a film is made to be experienced straight through from beginning to end, and with as few distractions as possible. By inviting the viewer to drift from film-in-progress to film-in-progress, I felt the exhibit was reinforcing the fallacy that animation is a "genre", and not a "medium". Each film deserved to be seen in its entirety, free of visual and audible distractions, and not just as another example of "animation". I didn't feel that was possible in the exhibit.

• While Eadweard Muybridge is of course revered and celebrated by animators for making possible the frame-by-frame analysis of movement, it seems to me that he was much more concerned with the development of motion pictures than animation itself.

• Picky, but there were a few typos in the wall text.

• The Lumiere Brothers' 1898 film "Le Squelette Joyeux" is not animation. The exhibit is hardly alone in calling this one of the first stop motion animated films, but it is no such thing. It is, purely and simply, a film of a "breakaway" skeleton marionette. Thus, the comparison to Iwerk's (sic) "Skeleton Dance" was pointless.

• Some of the captions seemed to be written by someone who had no grasp of what they were writing about. For instance, it was said that Caroline Leaf "made her debut film by manipulating individual frames of images drawn in sand spread across the surface of a light box". Um...what? The words "individual frames of images drawn in" could be eliminated from that sentence, and then the reader might have some idea of what Leaf actually did. The explanation of time-lapse photography for "Birth of a Flower" was similarly convoluted and tortured.

• Gollum in "Lord of the Rings" is unquestionably a groundbreaking animated character, highly worthy of inclusion in the exhibit. But of all the fantastic scenes that could have been chosen, why did they pick a sequence showing Smeagol's transformation into Gollum, which was approximately 90% nothing more than actor Andy Serkis in makeup? Baffling.

• Pixar claims "The Adventures of AndrĂ© and Wally B." as their first film, not "Luxo Jr.".

• Why was the editing in the large projection "Characters" sequence so appallingly crude? Sound levels were inconsistent from clip to clip, video quality varied hugely (some clips looking much worse than even standard definition TV), and beginning and ending lines of scenes were awkwardly cut off and faded to black. And what precisely was the criterion for inclusion here? Well-known animated characters who have spawned serial adventures? Then why the "Roger Rabbit" clip of Jessica Rabbit? Why a clip from the "Creature Comforts" TV series instead of Nick Park's original film — or, much more logically, a clip of Wallace and Gromit? And what in the world was a clip from Bakshi's "Hey Good Lookin'" doing in the sequence? This is a well-known character? Who has even seen this film?

• What specifically about "La Plage" and "(Tommy-Chat Just E-mailed Me)" qualified them to be regarded as "animation"? Whatever their merits might be, they aren't examples of animation. It's painful to think of all the worthy films that might have been included instead.

• It's a shame that the 11-minute "Story of Rapunzel" looped with the 63-minute "Tale of the Fox", and the 15-minute "Spider and the Tulip" looped with the 73-minute "Princess Iron Fan". While I understand the thematic pairings, the vast majority of attendees never saw a single frame of the shorter films. Paired the other way, each film would have approximately a 50% chance of being seen.

• It's a pity that no mention was made of Otto Messmer in the caption for Felix the Cat. Messmer is regarded by many animators as Felix's true creator (John Canemaker wrote a book about it), and Pat Sullivan most certainly didn't draw the Felix comic strip!

• I was glad to see that somewhere between the opening of the exhibit and the closing, Run Wrake's year of death was added to the wall description for "Rabbit".

So, this basically reads like a long list of grievances. Again, I'm very glad the Frist hosted the exhibit. But I can't help thinking the whole thing was curated by someone who didn't have an especially firm grasp on the art, history, and breadth of animation.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Code I, 16 Down

I know, I know. Just like me, through Google Books, you found Stephen Sondheim's "Code I" puzzle in the May 12, 1969 issue of New York Magazine. But the encoded clue for 16 Down doesn't make sense! Sure, you checked the solution to the puzzle, as printed in the June 2, 1969 issue. And okay, while the solution acknowledges the error — "Apologies for the letters omitted from the clue for 16 Down" — it doesn't say what the missing letters are! And to make matters worse, the mistake wasn't even corrected for publication in the book Stephen Sondheim's Crossword Puzzles!

No problem. I figured it out. It was not easy, oh no, it was not easy, and so I'm going to say it again in all caps: I FIGURED IT OUT. (I used Adobe InDesign to solve it. No joke.)

16 Down isn't:

HINETAG LSIHNGT HNOSAKSH EOFGITNP ONFOAHYI

It's:

HINETAG LSIHNGT HSTIW NNOSAKSH EOFGITNP ONFOAHYI


There. You're welcome. I feel certain this post will be the one to skyrocket my blog to the heights of popularity in the blogosphere.

Monday, July 28, 2014

Pogo 9/15/52

I am, as I have previously stated, a big fan of Fantagraphics' republishing of Walt Kelly's Pogo comic strip. In the second volume, I was interested to see the last panel of the strip for September 15, 1952. One corner of the panel has clearly been redrawn and relettered, and rather crudely and inaccurately. A quick search on newspapers.com shows that Fantagraphics used the Spokane Chronicle as their source for this strip. The Chronicle scan on newspapers.com was made with the top right corner of the page folded back, obscuring that corner of the panel. In every other newspaper on that date, the strip appears intact.

The same panel also appears, perfectly intact as Kelly wrote and drew it, in the book The Pogo Papers. For the sake of anyone who might have noticed this in the Fantagraphics book, below are both versions. (You'll see that in the Pogo Papers version, there's a great deal more detail in the line work as well.)


Monday, July 21, 2014

Stephen Sondheim's Crossword Puzzles

I've become obsessed with the cryptic crossword puzzles that Stephen Sondheim devised for New York Magazine in 1968-69. I'm slowly working my way through solving them. This article gives a pretty good overview of the Sondheim/puzzle story. In 1980 the puzzles were collected and published in the almost-impossible-to-find (or afford) book Stephen Sondheim's Crossword Puzzles from New York Magazine. (If you're remotely interested in this topic, you'll want to read Sondheim's explanation of why cryptic crossword puzzles are so much better than regular ones.)




As my research has revealed, there were 42 Sondheim puzzles published in New York. (The book has 41, omitting the puzzle "Un-American", which has a central theme that became outdated just a few months after magazine publication.) 34 of the puzzles are readily available online, through Google Books. Below is my chronological list of which puzzles appeared in which issues, starting with New York's first issue. There were a few "holes" in 1968 in which puzzles were contributed by other people, at least three by Richard Maltby Jr., but I'm only concerning myself with the Sondheim puzzles here. In 1969 Sondheim switched to an every-third-week schedule, but apparently even that was too much for him to maintain as he was busy writing Company.

Note: The published errata notwithstanding, there are still some mistakes in these puzzles. These may be due more to New York's editors than to Sondheim himself. But even in the book, mistakes went uncorrected. I solved one such error here.

1968

April 22: 3 Downs (solution 5/6/68)
May 20: Misprints (solution 6/3/68)
June 3: Vicious Circles (solution 6/17/68)
June 17: Chop Logic (solution 7/8/68)
July 8: Sixes and Sevens (solution 7/29/68)
August 5: Assemblage Line (solution 8/26/68)
September 16: Word Games (solution 10/7/68)
September 23: 1 Across (solution 10/14/68)
October 7: New Directions (solution 10/28/68)
October 28: Head-Hunting (solution 11/18/68)
December 9: Treasure Hunt (solution 1/6/69)
December 16: Perspectives (solution 1/27/69)
December 23: Christmas Competition (solution 1/27/69)

1969

January 6: Un-American (solution 2/17/69)
January 27: Vicious Circles II (solution 2/17/69)
February 17: Faces (solution 3/10/69)
June 23: Critical Birds (solution 7/14/69)
July 14: Sixes and Sevens II (solution 8/4/69)

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

The Impossible Claim

I read, and enjoyed, Dale Wasserman's book The Impossible Musical, chronicling his writing the TV teleplay I, Don Quixote which he eventually turned into the Broadway musical Man of La Mancha. Almost everyone is familiar with the song "The Quest", which begins "To dream the impossible dream/To fight the unbeatable foe..."

In his book, Wasserman repeatedly emphasizes that those two lines originated verbatim in his original teleplay, and generally laments the lot of the librettist. He writes:

It works like this: I, the "bookwriter" wrote, "To dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe..." The lyricist then wrote: 
To dream the impossible dream,
to fight the unbeatable foe...
 
— whereupon, through the alchemy of contractual usage the words became his forever.

Later, Wasserman elaborates on this:

Once upon a time I invented a phrase, "the impossible dream." People think it comes from a song, but it doesn't. It's from my original television play, "I, Don Quixote". The phrase has gone into the language and traveled far and wide. It's been used (and abused) countless times, and will continue into the future. I invented it simply to explain Don Quixote's quest — indeed, the song's proper title is "The Quest." But the public seized upon the eponymous phrase and won't let go. 
...Sometimes I'm sorry I invented it. Sometimes I feel I opened a verbal Pandora's box and wish it could be slammed shut again.

Poor Wasserman. It must have been quite a burden for him. Of course, it would be much easier to sympathize with him IF HE HAD ACTUALLY INVENTED THE PHRASE. Thanks to the research of Dr. Howard Mancing, Professor of Spanish at Purdue University, we know that the lines "To dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe" actually originated in the press materials at the back of the Samuel French publication of Paul Kester's 1908 play, "Don Quixote". Here's a 2008 news report dating from the month before Wasserman's death, that tells the story:



I wondered if it was possible that the script Mancing found might have been a later edition, and so the press materials were actually quoting the musical. I contacted Samuel French — they didn't know anything about the whole affair — and I heard back from two very helpful and interested employees. The script was long out of print, but one of the employees sent me a PDF of the entire thing. After examining it, it is unquestionable to me that the publication dates back to 1930, no later.

It's already pretty "impossible" to believe Wasserman's claim that he came up with the exact same ten sequential words, all on his own. But wait: There's more! Wasserman's Wikipedia page mentions that the phrase "To each his Dulcinea" appears in Kester's play as well. (I'm guessing this information stems from Mancing's research too, but I'm not certain.) "To Each His Dulcinea" is a song in "La Mancha", sung by the Padre.

Sure enough, there it is on page 30 of Kester's script:

PRIEST. (Smiling sadly) To each his Dulcinea!

Wasserman included his "I, Don Quixote" teleplay at the end of "The Impossible Musical". And lo and behold, on page 263 of that book, what do we find?

PADRE (A pause. With a sad smile:) To each his Dulcinea.

Wasserman borrowed not only the exact line, but also the sad smile!

And really, it's fine that he appropriated these words. It's inarguable that on the whole, Wasserman used Cervantes' novel as a springboard for his own original work.  But his vehement, angry, defensive emailed denials in the video are still troubling. Someone with a lot of time and interest should study first Cervantes' novel, then Kester's play, then Wasserman's teleplay, and finally the "La Mancha" script, to see just how much of a debt Wasserman owes to Kester. It sounds like a most interesting Quest.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

A Perfect Rhyne

A lyric I just overheard on iTunes Radio's "Original Broadway Cast" station:

I feel like the sun is shining 
Like every song is rhyming

Every song, I suppose, except that one?