I had the Masters live visual running in one window and the play burbling on as a soundtrack. The former's passion was palpable, the latter had been drained of it, and little differentiation between the older patriarchs - Raphael is omnipresent in all his characters, although to be fair, he doesn't have a problem taking the p out of himself in his crustier portrayals, and seems content with or perhaps even oblivious of his natural pomposity. The 'drama', in as much as this was drama, was snippets of a story of a life, embedded primarily in (an unfortunately typecast) Geoffrey Palmer’s 'grumpy old man' exposition in the narrator role. The tone is unrelentingly knowing (or lapidary, as Draco might call it) and cynical: "the telling is much better than the kissing", and not confined to the men either - the women, whether lowly or of high status, are confined to Raphael's clever, bitchy aphorisms, which I don't object per se in moderation - what gets me is the lofty and over-comfortable detachment in their authorship, and the women in particular are demeaned in character and context as a result, being portrayed as a consequence as uniformly predatory and robotic. The pervading cruelty does have an undeniable strong basis in some of the poems themselves though, but from the little I have seen from the range of Catullus' poetry, Raphael's narrative arc is not from the poems about the relationship between Catullus and Clodia. It is in these other poems that one can see how Raphael is drawn to Catullus, a brainy cheeky detached young misfit as far as we know, and sees him as a some kind of historical match or perhaps hero. And Raphael feels totally at home in the political duplicity and infighting of a turbulent Rome.
A key question is whether Raphael's intentional lack of passion is true to his subject. Look at ff's extract poem above. Is that the outpouring of someone thinking the 'telling is better than the kissing'? No. It is the antithesis of it.
I guess this play was commissioned about the same time as the awful (and subsequently panned, both as a play and a novel) Fame & Fortune for R4, so this Do3 can be regarded I hope as the end phase of a big Beeb mistake. I don't disagree with Draco's condemnations, but this was nowhere near as bad as the overblown R4 efforts, and Raphael's trademark world-weary view does find a genuine resonance in the twisted bitterness of some of the poems, even the love poems, but the trouble is that Raphael's version of world-weariness is always delivered with a yawn and a snigger.
And yet, and yet, you'll think me mad because I listened to it twice, despite all these serious reservations, the central tale, albeit via the scraps of the poems surrounding the love affair itself, was an intriguing and fascinating one. That's why I hated this Raphael - he's not a romantic, and he chooses to sully what sounds like could have been a great romance. I guess we'll never know. One can't help feeling Raphael's remnant of his glittering prizes of 30 years ago is merely the referential love affair he has with himself.
I really should edit the above down to a more coherent ramble, but there yer go.
Russ
A key question is whether Raphael's intentional lack of passion is true to his subject. Look at ff's extract poem above. Is that the outpouring of someone thinking the 'telling is better than the kissing'? No. It is the antithesis of it.
I guess this play was commissioned about the same time as the awful (and subsequently panned, both as a play and a novel) Fame & Fortune for R4, so this Do3 can be regarded I hope as the end phase of a big Beeb mistake. I don't disagree with Draco's condemnations, but this was nowhere near as bad as the overblown R4 efforts, and Raphael's trademark world-weary view does find a genuine resonance in the twisted bitterness of some of the poems, even the love poems, but the trouble is that Raphael's version of world-weariness is always delivered with a yawn and a snigger.
And yet, and yet, you'll think me mad because I listened to it twice, despite all these serious reservations, the central tale, albeit via the scraps of the poems surrounding the love affair itself, was an intriguing and fascinating one. That's why I hated this Raphael - he's not a romantic, and he chooses to sully what sounds like could have been a great romance. I guess we'll never know. One can't help feeling Raphael's remnant of his glittering prizes of 30 years ago is merely the referential love affair he has with himself.
I really should edit the above down to a more coherent ramble, but there yer go.
Russ
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