This article was originally published in The Courier on 18th November 2017.
LOVE, LIES AND
RECORDS:
Thursday, BBC One
HOWARDS’ END: Sunday, BBC One
A
Register Office is such an obvious setting for a TV show, it’s surprising that LOVE, LIES AND RECORDS is the first of
its kind.
Written
by that grand maven of humane ensemble dramas Kay Mellor (Fat Friends; The Syndicate; In the Club), it seizes upon the
narrative potential of a world in which a fresh batch of supporting characters,
each with various births, marriages and deaths to deal with, can be introduced
every week.
It
boasts a typically natural, likeable performance from Ashley Jensen as kindly
Kate, a senior registrar at Leeds City Hall. When she’s promoted to
Superintendent, a disgruntled colleague (Rebecca Front on bitterly tight-lipped
form) threatens to blackmail her by exposing CCTV footage of Kate and a male
colleague indulging in a drunken tryst at the office Christmas party.
If
this secret is revealed, it will destroy Kate’s career and her relationship
with her partner.
Her
guilt was compounded when she witnessed the bond between a young married couple
with a newly born baby. The bride had terminal cancer, and died just hours
after the wedding, thus forcing Kate to confront the brevity of existence.
Meanwhile,
she grew suspicious when a nervous young Slovenian woman arrived at the office
to register her marriage to an Iranian man. Kate wrestled with her liberal
conscience: was she wrong to suspect that this arrangement wasn’t all that it
seemed?
What’s
more, a male friend and colleague, who’s married with children, announced that
he would henceforth be dressing as a woman. Mellor being Mellor, this was all
handled with the utmost sensitivity.
She
has a gift for devising empathetic, troubled characters while smoothly weaving
multiple story strands into a satisfying thematic whole. The humour in her work
is never forced, she has an ear for the way people actually speak. Combine that
trait with Jensen, an actor who always sounds like an actual human being, and
you’ve got the ingredients for yet another engaging character drama from the
venerable house of Mellor.
E.M
Forster’s HOWARDS’ END is reputedly
one of the greatest novels of the 20th Century. Having never read
it, I’m in no position to debate its reputation. However, I have seen the
garlanded Merchant Ivory film version and episode one of the BBC’s new vaporous
adaptation, both of which bored me rigid.
A
tiresome tale of two wealthy families, it strikes me as nothing more than a
group of introspective bohemian intellectuals mithering on about love, art and
what it means to be human. Yes, I know that could also serve as a description
of practically every Woody Allen film ever made, but at least his characters
tend to be interesting.
I
just can’t engage at all with this wooden shower of pampered dullards. Writer
Kenneth Lornegan (author of the overrated Manchester
By The Sea) fails to establish any reason for caring about them. Granted,
the actors manage to avoid the staid pitfalls of so many English period dramas
by delivering their dialogue in a semi-naturalistic, overlapping style. But
that’s a minor technical detail, and no substitute for compelling
characterisation and narrative.
Its
themes are still relevant, so it should theoretically work. Our protagonist is
an independent young woman struggling to achieve respect within a rigid, sexist
patriarchy. Societal hypocrisy and the hardship of transcending class barriers
are also on the table. But Howards’ End
examines these issues in a fatally dreary, distancing way.
Bring
back Howards’ Way, I’d rather watch
that instead.
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