A gullible English aristocrat falls into the clutches of a man-hungry hussy named Sylvia. Wait, don’t tell me! He has a butler named Jeeves and belongs to the Drones Club. No, that would be funny – and written by P.G. Wodehouse. Instead, these characters – and their resulting marriage – belong to Parade’s End, a recent minseries on HBO. A transparent attempt to cash in on the popularity of Downton Abbey, it’s based on a series of five (!) novels, also called Parade’s End, by the writer so nice, they named him twice: Ford Maddox Ford.
I’ll admit that I’ve only seen the first episode of five and that it may turn into a comedy by the end, but I doubt it. My experience with stories that begin in humiliation, like Parade’s End, is that they usually end in despair. There’s plenty of humiliation to go around, too. Christopher Tietjens, heir to a stately home so large that it looks like a Georgian airport, meets and abruptly marries Sylvia Satterthwaite, a pool of salacious quicksand that swallows men up to their necks. A solid chap, highly principled and what the British call, “very clever,” Tietjens is, in matters of the heart, anti-matter. Still, he’s aware enough to know that his wife will never be faithful. Propriety seems to goad her, immorality acts as a kind of sauce.
Why would a ranking member of society and influential member of the House of Lords, someone with everything to lose, marry – against all advice – someone with everything to gain? Sylvia is knocked up and Mr. Nice Guy wants to do the right thing by her, regardless of whom the father may be. Like I said, very solid. Also the sex, don’t you know. Quite thrilling, but exclusivity is not one of its charms.
Why would a ranking member of society and influential member of the House of Lords, someone with everything to lose, marry – against all advice – someone with everything to gain? Sylvia is knocked up and Mr. Nice Guy wants to do the right thing by her, regardless of whom the father may be. Like I said, very solid. Also the sex, don’t you know. Quite thrilling, but exclusivity is not one of its charms.
The only thing that saves Christopher Tietjens from complete saphood is his attraction to a winsome, young suffragette named Valentine Wannop. (Get it? Valentine/heart) He’s not discreet about it, either. His interest in her – and likewise – is as obvious as lighting on a golf course. Guess where they meet? A golf course! And he acts as if struck by what? Lightning! (Subtle – like two Fords coming together at an intersection.) At this point, I should mention that the adaption of Parade’s End for television was done by the eminent playwright and screenwriter, Tom Stoppard. Having already foisted upon us the current film version of Anna Karenina (TFT 1/15/13) Mr. Stoppard seems intent on 1) undoing his reputation 2) financing his retirement 3) both.
What lies ahead for Christopher, Sylvia and Valentine? Who cares? We have the makings of a triangle, but not an interesting one. It’s as if – in Gone With the Wind - Ashley married Scarlett and then met Melanie. Can you see getting another fours hours out of it? I can’t – and won’t.
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