“Aren’t boys marvellous?”

CHRISTOPHER AND HIS KIND
Directed by Geoffrey Sax, 2011

This might seem an odd inaugural post as it’s not actually about a film, but indulge me. I’m all for the concept of QUALITY TELEVISION – eg, a large proportion of HBO’s output, von Trier’s Riget/The Kingdom – but this isn’t quality television. It’s when TV employs a cinematic style or approach that it is often at its most effective – in things like Six Feet Under, Carnivàle, or even Twin Peaks, which all have that kind of distinct, auterist voice. Ehh. Maybe it’s naïve to hope or expect that a mid-budget BBC TVM would in any way approach those sort of dizzy heights. Anyway, given that this is an adaptation of Christopher Isherwood’s autobiography, it essentially amounts to a knock-off of Cabaret in all but name.  


I like Cabaret. As it has the not-strictly-accurate ‘musical’ tag, it’s a film I ever particularly expected to enjoy, but as a slightly grotesque drama with some depraved songs thrown in, I can get behind that. Also, Joel Grey’s Emcee is brilliantly terrifying. By contrast, the ineptitude and self-satisfaction of this drama made me appreciate even more how impressive Bob Fosse’s film is. 


Everything here is monstrously simplified, to the extent of caricature - even down to seemingly every man in it being the exact same type of generic, gym-honed hottie. The casting director probably had fun with it, but the idea that all the boys on the game in pre-war Germany could have been Abercrombie & Fitch models demolishes what little sense of place there already is. Also, given that the backdrop of these events is the rise of Nazism, the prevailing tone is inappropriately and slightly bafflingly light and jaunty – even Isherwood getting to grips with his sexuality alone could have sustained a far fuller and more, I dunno, ‘emotionally honest’ drama, yet this production consistently plumps for a total lack of depth or insight. In spite of its slightly outré reputation, Cabaret is almost incomparably more sophisticated in its subtle handling of the broader situation - okay, maybe despite that scene of brownshirts meting out a beating intercut with a cabaret number, but at least that has some pizzazz.  


Cabaret’s iterations of the real life figures that we encounter here are surprisingly complex; in this though, Isherwood is just a slightly faffy ponce, and the Sally Bowles character is just a bit of an airhead, and… that’s about it. It’s like the director tried to cover up these shortcomings with full-frontal nudity and lashings of boys, but, contradictorily, it’s still all weirdly tame – all blow-jobs from an extreme distance and unconvincing sex scenes. Some wanky media types probably think they’re pushing boundaries, but it’s basically a Richard Curtis version of Nazi Germany, with twelve-men riots and unnecessarily CG’d cityscapes. It also includes the line, “Well, there you are – that’s what wars do; kill people.” No shit.


In the interest of balance, WH Auden talking about his rectal fissure is quite entertaining, and Matt Smith is good value, though, whereas in Doctor Who he seems naturally suited to the role, in his gangly, gawky, manic way, here his performance does makes me wonder whether like, say, David Bowie or Tilda Swinton, he just isn’t cut out to play normal people?


Maybe it didn’t help that I was recently reading Isherwood’s Goodbye to Berlin (or at least I was, until I lost it), which covers a lot of the same ground as the series, and makes the TV version seem even more flat and rote. Having said all that, one of my friends pointed out that as it irritated me so much despite featuring lots of semi-naked young men, maybe I’m just feeling out of sorts.