Matialth Good concept, poorly executed.

Jenna Walter The film may be flawed, but its message is not.

Derrick Gibbons An old-fashioned movie made with new-fashioned finesse.

Guillelmina The film's masterful storytelling did its job. The message was clear. No need to overdo.

robert-temple-1 This is such an absorbing and brilliant drama series (4 episodes totalling 413 minutes) that it ranks as one of the finest ever made for British television. It is a condensation and adaptation of 12 novels by Anthony Powell (1905-2000), somehow miraculously crammed into this much shorter space by Hugh Whitemore, and don't ask me how he does it. The story of many interweaving characters follows them from their university days in the 1920s through to the early 1960s, taking in the War years in considerable detail. There are several Oscar-class performances in the series. One of these is by Simon Russell Beale, who makes the transition from boy to elderly man in a supernaturally convincing way as the character Kenneth Widmerpool. Other characters had to be replaced as they aged, sometimes even twice, but Beale goes all the way. Certainly the makeup people deserve gold medals for pulling that off. His searing performance wholly dominates the series, and is one of the greatest of our time. In terms of intensity of emotion of people at the limits of desperation, two others take the laurels. They are Miranda Richardson as Pamela Fitton and Paul Rhys as Christopher Stringham. Probably these are the finest performances in their respective careers. This series ought to be studied minutely in all drama schools to teach the young 'uns how things are done by the best of their profession. James Purefoy excels as the lead character Nick Jenkins, though in the final episode he is replaced by an older actor whose name does not appear on the IMDb cast list, alas. Jenkins is the languid observer and occasional narrator of the story, who becomes a novelist and to some extent represents Powell himself. Magnificent cameo appearances by Alan Bennett as Sillery are so wonderful that the series is worth watching just for him alone. James Villiers appears in the first episode but is not listed with IMDb either, I notice. My old friend Bryan Pringle plays a butler in a most amusing way. The casting is brilliant, because everybody is just right. No one could have played Jenkins's Uncle Giles so slyly and with such exquisite mannerisms as Edward Fox. James Fleet is perfect as the composer Moreland, Zoe Wanamaker is disturbingly hard and brittle as Audrey Maclintick, just as she is supposed to be, Jonathan Cake is perfect as Peter Templer, and one could go on and on listing them all and how fine they were. The direction alternates between Alvin Rakoff and Christopher Morahan, with Rakoff directing episodes 1 and 3, and Morahan directing episodes 2 and 4. Rakoff produced and Whitemore was Executive Producer. No expense was spared for this series, and some of the location shooting even took place in Venice, despite it being rather a minor bit of background for the story. Occasionally screen time is wasted by lingering over things for too long, such as Jenkins's officer training course for the War; we did not really need to see him falling into a bed of leaves and getting them up his nose. The title of the series of novels and the TV series derives from a painting by Poussin of that name, which shows figures engaged in a round dance of rising and falling fortunes, and we recur to this painting throughout the series, where the point is not rubbed home too obviously, but is made very tastefully. This is a multiple life-saga which shows how people begin, how they interact over the decades, and how they end. So many dreams turn to dust, so many relationships go sour, and Miranda Richardson and Paul Rhys both disintegrate in front of our eyes in portrayals of some of the most desperate human despair ever committed to film. One thing which is particularly notable about the script and the series is the extraordinary command which most of the characters have over language, and the superb ways they have of expressing themselves even in their worst moments. This ranks as probably the most literate of all modern TV series. Watching it comes near to being a course in how to speak and express oneself properly, and the eloquence of Paul Rhys as he dissolves as a personality is outstanding in its pathos. The fact is that all of these people, even the rough characters, know how to speak English, and there are not many people who do anymore. So rapidly have speech and the language declined that even though this was made as recently as 1997, it already seems nearly as far away as Shakespeare. We now live in a debased era where few people under 30 can read, write, or count properly, much less speak coherently. Such has been the total collapse of educational standards and the eradication of culture, not to mention the damage done by text messaging and the grunting in imitation of footballers which takes the place of speech amongst large segments of the population who now think it is more fashionable to make animal sounds than to use their tongues and teeth to articulate recognisable language. One day, in a wholly grunt-filled world, someone may come across an old DVD of this series, find an antique machine to play it on, and not understand a word of what anyone says, because it is all expressed in a dead language called English, which ceased to be spoken about the year 2000. If there is still such a thing as electricity in the future (since no one is building any power stations to replace the old ones, except in China), and if there are still people left with minds not wholly dulled, and should they come across a way of viewing this old TV series, they will learn about something called the twentieth century, in a most vivid and unforgettable way. This series truly is a triumph of artistic integrity, talent, and sheer genius.

hjmsia49 I obtained this four DVD series from a local library. I saw it advertised in a catalog and recognized some of the performers so I thought it might be interesting. My impression was that the first three decades were almost totally divorced from the final decade. We liked the performance and narration by James Purefoy of the lead character Nick Jenkins but I felt the series would have ended satisfactorily when he returned from WWII to his wife and child. I stared in disbelief at the final episode when the main characters of Nick Jenkins, his wife Isobel and his former lover Jean were now all portrayed by different performers? I suspect the original actors might have read the script and wisely decided that sordid episode was not for them? Few of the characters in the final decade have any redeeming qualities whatsoever especially poor Pamela. You didn't care any longer about the fate of most of them. When you thought you have seen enough decadent characters, a new one shows up. Simon Russell Beale as Widmerpool managed to be be alternately amusing, pompous, entertaining, ambitious and comical during the first three episodes. In the final decade he became too pathetic to watch. I also felt there were far too many characters to try to keep track of with many popping in and out of the saga at different times with no apparent rhyme or reason.We really liked the first three decades, especially the music which represented accurately the mood of the times. When Jenkins entered the Ritz Hotal to meet with the ex-husband of his former mistress, the pianist was playing two Vera Lynn chestnuts- "Room 504" and "That Lovely Weekend" which I haven't heard since my WWII days. Perhaps, I enjoyed the music of the initial decades because so much of it was American and familiar. The final decade was totally devoid of any music which made it too ponderous and ugly to bear. My suggestion would be to enjoy the bravura performances and music of the first three episodes and terminate your viewing when Nick Jenkins returns home to his family to another Vera Lynn melody- "It's A Lovely Day Tomorrow." Spare yourself the discomfort of watching the tawdry final episode. Finally, much of the nudity was jarring and unnecessary and probably as embarrassing to the audience as it appeared to be to many of the characters.

Magnus Christiansson Once again BBC show us the pride of British drama, giving us a full account of this incredible Anthony Powell saga. Not only does it contain a rich historical scenery, but also something of a philosophical clue of how life actually works. Starting off in Uni environment, we get to know young Nick Jenkins - a man in the middle in a circle of friends. Moving on in life is inevitably also a break up from this social network. As the inter war periods goes on, Nick meets his old friends (and friends of friends) in the most unexpected ways. Ever so slowly a pattern emerge, that is somehow life itself - we move around, get married, divorced, change political opinions in a series of shorter and longer encounters. As Poussin's painting has it - A Dance to the Music of Time. A true masterpiece.

Philby-3 Caution: spoilersCramming Anthony Powell's magnum opus, the longest novel in the English language (over 3000 pages published in 12 parts over 20 years and at least 400 characters), into 8 hours of television is an awesome task which defeated several would-be adapters including Dennis Potter, but Hugh Whitemore has managed it here, although of course a lot has been left out. The obsessive Captain Gwatkin and the likable rogue Dicky Umfraville do not make an appearance, though minor characters like Robert Tolland whose only claim to fame is his involvement with an older woman appears in full. It can't have been easy deciding what to leave out, but rightly, I think, the blue pencil fell more heavily on the weaker later parts. Powell was a lot better at depicting the 20s, 30s and 40s that he was the 50s, 60s and 70s, after he had moved from London to Devon. Maybe Hilaire Belloc was correct, at least for urban writers, when he said that the country 'was a kind of healthy death.'The effect of the necessary editing (the dialogue is usually straight from the novel) is to put that great character of English fiction, Kenneth Widmerpool, firmly in centre stage (though his gruesome mother has been dispensed with). Widmerpool is portrayed over the 50 year time span by the same actor, Simon Russell Beale, in a stunningly consistent characterisation. He is a monster, but there is something very ordinary about him, a kid who was never accepted for what he was and who became a power-hungry bureaucrat as a means of imposing his will on those who would not accept him. The final crack-up is a tad fanciful, but it fits, for at last Kenneth can be his obsequious self while at the same time reject the hierarchy he has spent the previous 50 years trying to climb (the best he does is a peerage and a University Chancellorship, which would have to be regarded as consolation prizes). Widmerpool was obviously inspired by some real-life acquaintances of Powell's, but he is a true fictional creation far more vivid and horrible than if he was merely the subject of a disguised biography.One of the mysteries of the novel is why Nicholas Jenkins, the self-effacing narrator, spends so much time on Widmerpool, who is patently not Nicholas's kind of guy. In fact Nicholas, who mostly hob-nobs with fellow-writers and artists such as Moreland the composer, probably shares Bob Duport's opinion uttered from his wheelchair near the end that Widmerpool was 'a château-bottled sh*t'. Perhaps it's just that Widmerpool has been adopted as the centre of the Dance and we should remember there are many other interesting stories going on around the centre. Pamela Flitton, la belle dame sans merci, is splendidly realised by Miranda Richardson (despite being too old for the part) and this tends to strengthen the focus on Widmerpool, given her stormy relationship with him and her unparalleled ability to create scenes on genteel social occasions. Having to cast two or three actors in the same part (four in the case of Jenkins) is always a problem, and the gap between Jenkins Mark III (James Purefoy) and Jenkins Mark IV (John Standing) is, alas, obvious. Some actors, with the aid of excellent make-up, age beautifully, like Adrian Scarborough as J G Quiggan and Alan Bennett as Sillery, others, such as the beautiful Mona (Annabel Mullion) scarcely age at all. 'Dance' is stuffed full of wonderful minor characters – Uncle Giles, Mrs Erdleigh, McLintock and his wife, Lady Mollie, Ted Jeavons, Erridge, Magnus Donners, Matilda Donners, Deacon the painter, St John Clarke, Mark Members, to name about a dozen of them. Most of the performances are fine, though maybe John Gielgud (at 95) was a bit ancient for a novelist in his 60s.I hope viewers of this production won't be put off reading the book (which is still obtainable in a four volume set). I don't know whether it is still obtainable but there is also an excellent 'Handbook' to the Dance and its characters by Hilary Spurling, published by Heinemann in 1977.Anthony Powell, who died aged 94 in 2000, was keen to have 'Dance' televised (on his terms) and spent years trying to get it on air. His contemporary Evelyn Waugh hated the idea of his novels being televised, or for that matter being made into films. Ironically, "Dance" on TV, while generally good viewing is very much a compromise and 'Brideshead Revisited' remains the TV adaptation which produced a work of art comparable with the novel itself.