This suspense is terrible: I do hope it will last

Sunday, 16 November 2008

Does it count as a spoiler if the text is over a century old?

When we went to see the current RSC production of Hamlet, the chap was reading the programme and suddenly muttered “spoiler alert”. I was surprised he didn’t know the end but it turned out he just didn’t know the details and the programme had given it away. Oddly enough, I don’t count the end of Shakespeare plays as something to keep secret. They’ve been around for a lot longer than, say, the Mousetrap (and does anyone not know the end of that these days?). When I was raving about the RSC production, I did keep some details of how they do certain scenes back as I know several friends who had yet to see it in its Stratford run or who have tickets for the London run and I didn’t want to spoil it for them. There are some bits of stagecraft that took my breath away – and I don’t just mean the very delicious sight of Tennant’s bare midriff.

Sorry, where was I?

Years ago, when the BBC ran their adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, I was amused to watch newly converted fans rushing to buy the video in order to find out the end sooner (the video being released a few days before the airing of the final episode). I wanted to point out they could have got the book for a couple of quid. I also once resisted the urge to turn around in Rymans and tell someone how The Lord of the Rings ended to stop her wittering on about how she had to wait a year to see the ending. The book’s been around for fifty years: if it matters to you that much, go and read it.

On Thursday night, I used wikipedia to find out the end of Little Dorrit. I am so ashamed. I have spoilered myself because I was impatient to find out what happens between Arthur and Amy. And now I know, and wish that I didn’t because I won’t be held on the same tenterhooks for the rest of the adaptation. I briefly looked at the text on Project Gutenburg but, guilty, I popped into Waterstones on the way home on Friday and bought the book. The edition has an introduction which starts with the note “new readers are advised that this Introduction makes the details of the plot explicit”. So spoiler warnings now appear at the start of Penguin classic editions.

I am very annoyed with myself.


Tangent: I wonder what the second half of Hamlet was like on the night Tennant resigned from Who live on air during the interval? And the insanity of seeing a Doctor resign live on ITV1 via a link from the Royal Albert Hall (where there was wailing) and the stage door of the RSC (“I’ve got to go and kill Patrick Stewart”) made me wonder what world I am living in. I’m a fan, and I never expected things to become this big…

And sew on…

Friday, 7 November 2008

Winter arrived last week, with a cold snap and the usual beautiful Andrew Davies Dickens adaptation (Little Dorrit on iPlayer for locals; colonials will have to find their own way to see it). Having idly wondered what I could do to make presents this year, since giving people lavender birds every year is a bit harsh, the arrival of the Prestigeous BBC Adaptation made me start thinking in all earnest. And in a launderette.

It doesn’t involve lavender. I off to collect supplies tomorrow, and may go crazy and buy an electric sewing machine as my much loved hand Singer is prone to losing tension.

What the gorram Dickens?

Sunday, 9 October 2005

As my penchant for Lost continues, and going to see Serenity again caused a Firefly marathon, I started to think about modern television and classic literature. More precisely, I started to compare Joss Whedon to Charles Dickens. Both write long, complex narratives with a clear beginning, middle and end which are released in a serial format. An episode of Firefly is very much like a chapter of Great Expectations. Only with more funny.

A quick google reveals that the process of following a Dickens novel is highly similar to following an entire (American) season.

Most of Dickens’ novels were serialized in 20 monthly installments, or numbers. They were usually bound in green paper, and — after the first two monthly installments of THE PICKWICK PAPERS — always included precisely 32 pages of text, two engraved illustrations, and, usually, 16 pages of advertisements. The final installment of a novel was double size, including more text
— from

This compares rather neatly with the 22 or 24 episodes of a season, even down to having the double episode finale. Of course, Whedon got a bit over-excited towards the end of Buffy and the finales started earlier and earlier into the season until you started to wonder if the entire thing was finale. Lost will obviously be following a similar structure, with season 1 now having moved into the middle part of the story. New Who is running to UK season lengths (13 episodes instead of 22 or 24) but also worked with the drip-feed storyline. A chapter a week, to keep you coming back, but each chapter relatively contained. And, just as Victorian readers paid for their partworks to be bound or bought a subsequent prebound edition to read in one or two sittings, we preorder ourselves the boxsets and have marathon watching sessions.

One of the reasons I started thinking these similarities was because I think Whedon etc are very good serial writers. I dislike the assumption that a film deserves more kudos than a tv series. Whedon really scores when he’s given the time to nuance his characters: the time scale the narrative plays out on really suits him.

There’s a rather interesting essay here about how the serialisation of fiction changes the nature of its creation:

Serialization deconstructs the single author as sole creator, and does so as part of a larger collaborative project within which the serial is framed.

Thus amateur and professional readers of serial fiction are encouraged to speculate about the story and the characters, to project the future, and to offer the writer advice.
When Is a Book Not a Book? Oliver Twist in Context

All of which could apply as equally to the modern tv serial writers as to Dickens, Gaskell and Conan Doyle. There is even Victorian discussion about issues of copyright and of ideas theft (something which ties this back to my own interest in looking at the literary antecedents of modern fanfic and the rise in the idea of copyright at the same time as the industrialisation of Britain – see the odd post in my readingblog):

When a magazine serial becomes popular, it gets copied, imitated, pirated, plagiarized, often before the story has been completed in manuscript, much less in print. Such imitations and anticipations rob the original producers of the story of some of their revenue and some of their options, both for the story and for merchandising the product. Hence Dickens and others were deeply concerned, when Oliver Twist was being published, about passing legislation to strengthen copyright.

It’s one of those horrid clich├ęs people spout that if Dickens were alive today he would be writing soaps. I’m starting to suspect it would be far more likely that he would be convincing networks to give him a 22 part series of his own.

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