| RATING: | 60% |
| FORMAT: | DVD |
A fun and brisk enterprise but, lacking any insights into the nature of art or of the artistic enterprise, this formalistic work falls back on the old, weak-dramatist's standby: Sexual intercourse.
The characters are flat, the acting perfunctory and the plotting pedestrian. The female author of the novel, on which this series is based, is unable to create convincing male characters who are not either rape fantasies, emasculatees or immature milquetoast. The modern dialogue attempts to demonstrate contemporary relevance but merely reveals the dearth of imagination on offer, since we then learn little of the times shown. And the six-hour length of the piece does not increase its depth.
Human motivations are elided in favor of the obviousness of sexual lust: Whys and wherefores are skillfully unexplored. Like all mediocre drama, characters do not speak from their own point of view, but from the limited political agenda of the dramatist. This sex-obsessed lack of character differentiation is the hypocrisy of critiquing social norms while fundamentally accepting them. The conflict between wanting social acceptance, while simultaneously rebelling against that very wanting remains dramatically unexplored. Yet, interestingly, this pseudo-rebellion fits the mediocrity of the Pre-Raphaelite art shown.
The view of human sexuality on offer is essentially cynically-repressive; that is, Christian. Sexual activity is indulged in, both by the characters and by the drama itself, but hypocritically-criticized for being an end in itself, rather than as a means to an end; making this drama as erotophobic as its characters. Little is objectively explored; especially one of the inevitable results of repression: Pedophilia. White culture has difficulty exploring human sexuality – dramatically - without expressing guilt and shame; producing, instead, confused, contrived and confusing dramaturgy. Sex here is a solace and a relief that brings little pleasure and no real comfort. Moreover, there is no clear distinction presented between the sexual prostitution of so called fallen women and painting girls for money whom the artist then proceeds to have sex with.
The only people who can represent artists are artists, themselves – since it takes one to know one. Sadly, the likes of a Ken Russell are past their prime - and he was presumably not invited to undertake this directing assignment in any case. This superficial series is neither as adventurous nor as inventive as it claims on the wrapper. And a drama that describes but does not explain is "Desperate" indeed.
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