Oliver Twist (I)
As I observed the last time I discussed an adaptation of Oliver Twist, the problem with Oliver Twist is Oliver Twist. Oliver epitomizes the flat character: his morality is entirely innate, the product of genteel nature instead of brutal nurture, and none of the horrors he encounters sully his personality in any form. Not surprisingly, adaptations generally work around the title character. This newest Oliver Twist, however, clearly has more revisionist ambitions.
Like the recent Bleak House and the slightly older David Copperfield, OT relies on warp-speed plotting to get from one narrative post-hole to another; poor Oliver has barely made it to Mr. Brownlow's before he gets returned to Fagin and Sikes. The production team amps things up further with a heavy dose of farce (Oliver's escape from the Sowerbys), not to mention aggressively anachronistic underscoring that yokes rock n' roll guitar stylings to the Victorian era. In addition, the art direction conveniently color-codes Oliver's movement through space, from the dull greys of the workhouse to the dull wood of Fagin's lair to the bright creams and whites of the spartan Brownlow house. This is not to say that the adaptation neglects the usual conventions for representing Victorian London, including mud, dirt, and...ahem...an emptied chamber pot. (Not to mention multiple closeups of bad teeth. Oliver's teeth seem oddly good, one must note--innate gentility has its uses when you're stuck in a workhouse, I suppose.) The London streets frequently look claustrophobic, with lots of shots through winding passage-ways, jostling crowds, and dank alleys.
Writer Sarah Phelps and director Coky Giedroyc do their best to amp up Oliver as well: this Oliver doesn't just ask for more, but also talks back, far more than his original ever did. His moments of aggressive spunk go well beyond exacting vengeance on anyone who insults his mother, whether it's throwing a plate at the Artful Dodger or staring down Bill Sikes. At the same time, Phelps seems trammeled by Dickens' plot, in which Oliver gets toted about passively from place to place, and her Oliver ultimately suffers a similar fate; viewers may be tempted to count the number of times somebody grabs Oliver by the collar and drags him off. Unfortunately, matters are not helped by the young actor's frequently blank stare, and the Artful Dodger could have stood some injections of zest. (As well as better diction.)
The production clearly wants to underscore Dickens' political points about how the rich exploit the weak, although its zippy plotting sometimes undermines the proceedings. The running theme of food--where is it, who has it, who gets to eat it, what's in it--sums up the desperate struggle that characterizes the life of the poor. Clothing, too, plays a similar role, from the "flash" dress of Fagin and his lot to the restrained but appropriately genteel garments of Brownlow and co.; in a sense, Oliver, being a blank himself, undergoes his most profound changes in identity when he changes his clothes. Most obviously, the adaptation makes oppression a matter of race and religion as well as of class. This Fagin may be a thief--and physically grotesque to boot--but he's also a devout Orthodox Jew (the sausages and bacon are reserved for the kiddies); his "business" takes on Robin Hood-esque overtones. This take on Fagin holds up Dickens' own text for critique, although we should note that anti-anti-Semitic Fagins are not original. By contrast, the Afro-Caribbean Nancy seems to be less a riposte to Dickens than to our own stereotypes about the racial makeup of Victorian Britain.