Where Sci-fi and Gothic Romance Meet

[shipperx]

No, not in BtVS.  In my head.  

Last night I watched Part II of Jane Eyre and Battlestar Gallactica.  I enjoyed the first greatly, and was more or less "eh" on the second.  It wasn't until reading some of the blogs this morning that I realized that there were some strange similarities about these radically different shows (and reasons why I enjoyed one more than the other).

Both shows dealt with infidelity, passion vs. repression of personal desire, and generally screwed-up/co-dependent relationships.

First off, let me confess that I've always been fascinated by the Bronte family, but I was never a great fan of the book Jane Eyre.   Of course, I read it in 7th grade and a child's view isn't the same as that of an adult.  After the miniseries, I'm tempted to go back and read it again to see whether the script writer and director egged it to a more proto-feminist story than I remember the book being.  I mean, I know that it was often regarded as a proto-feminist book but, quite frankly, as a 7th grader I didn't see it that way.  I basically saw "Gothic Romance" and that was about it.   When I read Wuthering Heights in 10th grade, I loved it much more than Jane Eyre.  And I always feel that I have to explain that, though Wuthering Heights is usually billed as a tragic romance, even as a 10th grader I didn't see Wuthering Heights in that way.  What I loved about WH was the language.  It flowed so simply and so beautifully.  There were passages in it which were downright poetic.  But...I never saw it as a romance... at least not between Cathy Sr. and Heathcliff. Perhaps between Little Cathy and Hareton, but definitely not between Cathy and Heathcliff.  In my eyes, WH was about two vengeful people who destroyed everything around them except -- in the end -- Little Cathy and Hareton.  Cathy and Heathcliff were the height of a toxic relationship, and even as a teen I viewed it that way.  So when I say I "loved" Wuthering Heights, I don't mean it in a Cathy + Heathcliff = OTP! way.    To me, as a teen and to this day, it's a gorgeous depiction of passion unrestrained by compassion or empathy for others -- it's a grand, over-the-top drama of where co-depency and nacissism leads.   Beside that, Jane Eyre always looked pallid to me.   (And, as I said, I was fascinated by the Bronte sisters as group, comparing their novels.  And, I must say, I always consider Anne's novel "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall"  to truly be the most proto-feminist book of the sisters, and I thought that Anne  must have had the most clear vision of her brother Branwell's destructiveness (Seriously, I consider Heathcliff, Mr. Rochester, and the alcoholic husband in "Tenant" to all be some version of Branwell.  I suppose one could even stretch it to saying that Jane Eyre's mad wife, Bertha, is a version of Branwell since, in reality, he's the drug addled fool who set fire to the bed.  What that says about the sisters, I shy away from, tending to think that they probably had little aquaintance of men and, certainly, Branwell Bronte was a colorful character.)  Anyway, I always classified them thus:  Jane Eyre :romanticizing and redeeming dysfunction,  WH: Romanticizing dysfunction but carrying it to its logical end, and Tenant: clear-eyed view of dysfunction and a practical view of how to escape it... marred a bit by the conventions of its times.  

And, as I said last week, I'm not entirely sure where I picked up the concepts from Jean Rhy's "Wide Sargasso Sea" with its indictments of Rochester and Eyre, but these criticisms also creeped into my feelings about the story.  

This mini-series actually brought me to looking at Jane Eyre (the novel) differently.  I'm not sure whether the interpretations in the movie are the exact same as in the book.  Perhaps, if I read the book again, I'll see these elements.  Or, perhaps, it's more the re-interpretations of the screenwriter and the mini-series director.  But, I have to say, this is the first version of "Jane Eyre" where I'm actually convinced that it had a happy ending, and that Rochester/Jane actually had a relationship worth redeeming.  

Before, I had always been left with this feeling that the ending was some huge "Rochester must be punished" ending and I found the "Jane as broken Rochester's nursemaid" to be anything but romantic or happy.  It always seemed a dark, gray, and a sad ending cloaked in a "Reader, I married him" announcement.

I thought that the screenwriter, director, and actors in this version really did have a certain take on Jane Eyre and that they made a strong case for Jane's emotional journey, and that this journey was admirable, inspiring, and deserving of a happy ending.  (And, again, I think I'm curious enough to go back and read the book to see whether this is the screenwriter's/director's 21st century reinterpretation of the story or whether it's actually the story that Charlotte Bronte told, and my young eyes simply didn't see it.)

Over on TVGuide's blogs last week, someone complained about how the mini-series was all washed out color-wise and blamed it on PBS and her cable.  I even commented back, that this was a deliberate choice of the art direction (something I'm relatively certain anyone on my friends list would have picked up immediately) only for the person to post back that she really thought that I was wrong and that it was just poor filming (she did post back this week that "maybe" I was right).   Anyway, fully believing that I am right, I credit the art direction as one of the choices that really helped this miniseries along.  Gray, red, green, winter, spring, and summer were all strong elements mirroring Jane's emotional journey.  

Lowood School was all noir-like deep shadows with shades of gray being damn near the only palette... with the exception of the painting of the doves in the Blake-like mural of God reaching down from heaven, and in dear little Helen's flaming red hair.  When Helen died, the palette became desolate and bleak, with Jane sitting in a wintery graveyard drawing with charcoal.

When Jane first arrives at Rochester's home, there is a fire in the dark shadows, and when she awakes the next morning, there are hints of spring green in the garden, though the skies are still gray and the shadows loom long and deep.   Of course, there's the red banner hanging from the window in the attic where Bertha is held. 

Where the writing totally tips the hand of the art direction is the scene in Part I where Rochester flirts with Jane (and yes, Mr. Rochester was totally flirting with her.  I never, ever would have said such a thing about Orson Welles's Mr Rochester.  But Toby Stephens' Mr Rochester is screwed-up, snarky, and occasionally flirty.) Anyway, with a sidelong glance at Jane, Rochester sets about telling Adele a story about a little gray bird who lives in their garden, but the bird has a secret.   Beneath its wing -- where no one can see -- it has a patch of red.  And the red grows and grows until one day it soars up into the sky, free, becoming totally red, and flying away. Jane, flattered by the flirting, and clearly falling for Rochester ,adopts a small red kerchief around her neck in addition to her somber gray dress.   And, from then on out, her shawls are plaids with varying degrees of red and gray. And, it is spring... of course.  Jane is gaining confidence.

When she returns to her Aunt Reeds, Jane remembers her terror of the red room, and while in sitting in the red room this time around she witnesses two extremes in her cousins, with her very disapproving and controlling cousin cruelling belittling the 'frivolous' cousin in a way so eye-opening that when, as an adult Jane is faced with her Aunt's hate of her as a 'wild child', she has perspective and maturity about it.  She realizes that her wild tendencies aren't all bad.  In fact, by the time she returns to Rochester she embraces them.  She meets him again in a field of green and yes, this time he is full-on flirt as they banter about her having stayed away too long.  (And I commend the producers for casting actors who have actual chemistry with one another and then allowing that chemistry to flourish in a few scenes if banter so that the audience sees the connection between them.  This Rochester and this Jane aren't just intellectual equals, but they share senses of humor.  I know it's one my own preferences, but I'm far more likely to accept that two people share some deep understanding of one another when they "get" each others jokes and snarkiness.  This was one inclusion in the script which was well worth the time for these seemingly superfluous scenes which lack the typical gothic melodrama. It was always enjoyable to watch these two tease one another.  

By the time Mrs. Fairfax mentions that she's "never seen summer linger so long", the grass is still verdant and green while the leaves have turned red and gold... as is showcased in the scene where Rochester asks Jane to marry him... followed of course with the tree being struck by lightening (red leafed no less).  I thought that in this production they didn't go over the top with the tree being struck by lightening.  They had enough time between Rochester's proposal and the lightening -- and they had built the storm -- so that the portent wasn't as heavy handed.  I have to say that when the tree was struck by lightening in the Orson Welles version I laughed out loud at the heavy melodrama of it.  Zefirelli left it out entirely in the William Hurt version.  This version kept it in, but wasn't heavy handed about it, and didn't overtly highlight it (even though I was waiting for it to happen).   And it was around this time another character introduced a story of a bird from Rochester's home that would fly away for winter, but always returned in the spring.


Of course, Mrs. Fairfax's comments about summer having lasted overlong was the foreshadowing that, as good as things were, it couldn't possibly last... which anyone having read Jane Eyre knew to begin with.  By the time they reached Jane's and Rochester's wedding, there are again long, dark shadows contrasting the green.  And when all it thrown to smithereens the reveal that Rochester is married to Bertha, they to go Bertha's room where she is draped in a deep scarlet shawl, with torn scarlett walpaper, and her scarlet banner hanging out the window.  All of this just minutes after Mrs. Fairfax expressed concern that Jane was being imprudent.  And all these horrid revelations soon followed by the scene  where Rochester begs her not to leave him, to run away with him which (I'm sure it's never been staged this way before) is bathed in firelight and fleshtones as Rochester tempts her with passion both with words (run away with him) and -- in this version -- physical seduction.  I loved the part where they were curled into each other, spooning, with his kissing her neck  (and, no, they didn't push it so far out of canon that there was sex). 

Disturbed by her own imprudency and suseptibility to seduction, Jane ran away... which, again (to me at least) played differently than I remember from the book and other versions.  I mean, yes, it's totally historically in character for a young woman to be scandalized by the bigamy thing, horrified and running away.  It just felt that in this version they tried to carry the sympatico between Rochester and Jane further. He said in Part I that one of the things he liked most about Jane was that she never looked at him with judgement OR pity.  She simply saw him clearly.  By her not running away because of him, it never felt like she was judging HIM. She was terrified that she had lost herself in passion (which Bertha personified), and that she could be tempted (and... oh yeah, Rochester tempted her).  So she ends up in desolation, figuatively and literally as she wandered the gray, windy moors, eventually being found by St. John.

As a kid, I remember wondering why in the hell didn't Jane just marry St. John who was described as handsome, smart, and good.  This version presented why (quite well with the judicious use of flashbacks to juxtapose current situations with her own situation with Rochester).  St. John had a purpose in the story other than third wheel to a triangle.  He was the mirror version of Jane.  When Jane lectures him about his love for Rosamund, saying that she doesn't understand the impediment.  Why is he so cold to Rosamund?  St. John and Rosamund love each other. They should be together, St. John then speaks of duty, for the better good, yadda, yadda, yadda... and really, it raises the question of Jane and Rochester.  Jane and Rochester loved each other but she  wouldn't foresake convention and morals to be with him.  

When they do the "one year later" we see that Jane's plane gray world now has color in it, green grass, children's colorful sketches on her wall.  When St. John says she's done wonders with the children, Jane tells him that she's found balance between discipline and freedom.  She's talking about teaching, but really this is the core of this Jane's emotional journey in this version of the story.

When St. John asks Jane to marry him she points out that he doesn't love her.  And when she feels the inner call to return to Rochester, she is framed in a brilliant red-gold sunset.

Again, my memory of the book is fuzzy, but I don't remember that final scene with Jane and Rochester by the river in the green, green grass.  It was a jewel of a scene in this version, as Jane teasingly deals with Rochester's badgering about St. John.  Did this man really ask her to marry him?  Oh yes, he did.  And was he handsome?  Oh yes, he was -- more handsome than Rochester (even before the fire) and more "good" as well.  All the way around, a better man.    He snarkily wonders why Jane is here with him then, and she says that St. John didn't love her.   He's heartless then, Rochester concludes.  No, she tells him.  Worse.  There's love and passion in St. John.  She's seen it,  but he pushes it away, repressing it, denying it... and this is where Jane and Rochester get snuggly and Rochester makes clear that theirs can never be a marriage of convenience.  "They aren't platonic people,"  In the final scene, Rochester, Jane, and family gather before their new red brick home to be painted by a portratist shown painting... with red and gold.

This version really did seem like a proto-feminist story for Jane, a journey of self discovery where she found strength and courage, then eventually a voice, then passion, then independence, and finally she found balance and fulfilment.  A life in full color instead of black and white.

Anyway, those were  my thoughts on the BBC/Masterpiece Theater version of Jane Eyre, what does this have to do with BSG other than I watched BSG after JE?

Well, first off let me state that I'm frustrated with to no end with the quandrangle from hell over on BSG.  The whole Dualla/Apollo/Starbuck/Anders quad has me scratching my head.  Are we supposed to be rooting for Starbuck and Apollo?  If so...uh yeah... I'm NOT!  In fact, I'm growing to dislike them.   And it sort of struck me at some point that the Quad of Doom situation isn't all that different from the stuff I just wrote about Jane Eyre, in that there's this sticky quagmire of passion, repression, and varying versions of morality and fidelity.  

I don't pretend to understand Starbucks "screwing around is okay but I won't get a divorce" stance.  For one thing, I'm not the least bit convinced by that stance.   I think she's just pathologically passive aggressive with both Lee and Anders.  She wants Lee, so she pushes him away.  She wants Lee so she pulls her husband close. Lee turns away, she pulls Anders closer to make Lee jealous.  Whatever.  Starbuck is just screwed up... and it's not being written in a particularly sympathetic way (even if it is written in a self aware way because even Kara realizes that she's the wife/lover from hell).

And Lee is almost as bad.  Seriously, he needs to grow a pair, because this shit ain't attractive (even though his sculpted cheekbones and abs are).  Whether or not he ends up with Kara should be completely separate from whether or not he stays with Dualla.  Get your shit straight, Apollo.  If it's a craptastic marriage, then end it.  You don't need a damn safety net in Kara Thrace... who can't be a safety net in any case because -- look at her.  She's screwed up.   And Dualla as your crutch is no better. Stand on your own two feet, man. 

I want to smack Lee (and Kara) around and say "grow the hell up."  Their inner moppets aren't cute, cuddley, or even just tolerable!

And, I know all the debates about Lee and his duty vs. passion issues, but-- and this is where the Jane Eyre comparison came in -- this isn't the way to go about it.  I'm not seeing a maturation process with Lee/Kara. I'm just seeing dysfunction and self-pity.  

So, I ask, are we supposed to be rooting for Lee and Kara as a couple OR as individuals.  The writing makes that really, really tough.   I don't mind flawed heroes and heroines, but I do occasionally like reasons why I should empathize with them.  Quite frankly, it's been a while since I felt for either.  They may be intergalactic heroes with guns, but neither of them seem as admirable as a small, gray, obscure Jane Eyre...  

As for Dualla, she's too long suffering for me to buy. I'm becoming increasingly convinced that she has to be a Cylon.  If she isn't, she should be. 

Anders is coming off best in the QoD (Quad of Doom), but that isn't saying a hell of a lot as being a doormat isn't sexy either.  Putting up with Kara's crap is pushing Anders into doormat territory.  I mean, I can enjoy "I'm love's bitch and man enough to admit it."  But even Love's Bitch knows when to say "No, you don't [love me] but thanks for [playing anyway]."  It's time to cut bait, man.  This QoD isn't going to do anyone any good.  And, at the end of the day, I'm forseeing tragic death for you.  Go have some fun with someone less crazy before you die. 

Speaking of Crazy.  Baltar now looks like Jesus and remains as wonderfully batshit as ever.  Oh, Baltar, you crazy.  Please, never change.