#110 There Is Nothing Like a Dame
20/10/24 20:22
I was about fifteen when I read Jilly Cooper’s Rivals for the first time. To a goody-goody, middle-middle-class schoolgirl, Jilly’s world was a revelation. The money, the glamour, the flippancy. I’ve always been drawn to witty nonchalance – Mitford-esque irreverence - and Cooper’s characters have that in abundance. They’re so unrepentantly merry, indulging in their posh rumpy-pumpy, power-dressing and puns – in palatial pads. As a self-conscious, self-doubting teenager, where everything in real life mattered so much - too much - Rutshire offered an escape to a place where you could say and do whatever you liked, and it was all marvellous.
As I worked my way through her considerable oeuvre, it became more than that. For all their cartoonishness, Jilly’s sharply-observed characters became dear friends who I revisited over and over again throughout the years. My most recent re-read was during my second maternity leave, powering through night feeds with the help of Rupert Campbell-Black and his crew. It was like a riotous school reunion, cajoled and comforted by a bunch of glib, charismatic superstars who shagged and spent with gay abandon. I won Olympic gold again with Rupes, snatched the Corinium franchise with Declan, wooed neglected wives with Lysander, caroused with them all. Which is to say that I really love Jilly Cooper and her casts, and know them very well indeed. Rivals has always been my favourite of the Rutshire Chronicles, and I’ve written before about how apprehensive I felt seeing it translate to the small screen. Could Disney do this epic, sprawling, sexy novel justice?
There were good signs, and bad. The show runner is Dominic Treadwell-Collins, which is a name Jilly could have made up, and he made some promising remarks in interviews – for example, insisting on nudity equality (a willy for every pair of tits we see). One of the writers is someone I went to school with, and was always envious of because she was much cleverer than me and got better exam results – I definitely think clever people should be working on this show, because Jilly is a far, far cleverer writer than many give her credit for.
On the other hand, when the casting announcement came, I saw they’d gone for a dark Rupert and this was simply not on. The Campbell-Black blondness is essential, and anyone who’s read the series should understand that. But I figured they’d probably dye his hair, so parked the criticism for the time being. Now the full series has dropped, I’ve been glugging it like Janey Lloyd-Foxe with a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé, and I’m not holding back any more. Saddle up, ladies and gentlemen – this isn’t so much a deep dive as a committed canter into Cooper territory.
Firstly, they didn’t dye Rupert’s hair, and it’s ALL WRONG. He’s also not handsome enough, which I guess is acceptable because no one in real life could be as devastating as Jilly’s ultimate literary hero, constantly described as the handsomest man in England. But he’s not deadpan enough either. Rupert’s smile is a rare reward, whereas Alex Hassell is flashing his pearly whites almost as much as his knob. On the plus side, his resting face is quite depraved, which is apt, and he’s got a nice laconic delivery. He’s not terrible as Rutshire’s main rutter, he’s just falling slightly short of this admittedly tall order.
David Tennant, as the baddie Lord Baddingham, is faring better, although initially I was sceptical as I’d always imagined the character as beefier – more like Tony Soprano. Ditto Declan O’Hara, who looks like Ted Hughes in my imagination – Aiden Turner is spindlier than I’d like, though obviously fanciable, even with a ‘tache. He’s making a decent fist (oo-er) of Declan’s roaring Irish presence, and Victoria Smurfit as his wife Maud is great – wild and beautiful but hollowed-out, creped and desperate around the edges. Bella Maclean is pretty good (and very pretty) as their daughter Taggie, a bit of a drippy character who lacks the feistiness of her sister Caitlin. Catriona Chandler sports vivid pink locks for this part, showing that it is perfectly possible to dye for a role. Was Alex Hassell’s hairdresser on holiday?? Sorry, I can’t drop this – it’s too important.
Special mention to Gary Lamont as Charles Fairburn, a pathetic and heartbreaking figure, Claire Rushbrook as Monica Baddingham, nailing the brusque country gal, and Luke Pasqualino as the roguish Bas. Pretty much everyone is doing excellent work, and looking like they’re having great fun while they’re at it. But all the awards go to Katherine Parkinson as Lizzie Vereker, and Danny Dyer as Freddie Jones. Together they form the emotional heart of the show, rising above the uproariousness to give us a solid and profound love story. That’s the wonderful strength of a Jilly Cooper book – behind all the bluster and bonking, there’s genuine warmth and goodwill.
There’s also a lot of nastiness, though, and one of the challenges of this saga is how to reflect and reconcile the extreme chauvinism – and worse – of the period. In Rivals, Rupert is, to an extent, redeemed by his love for Taggie, but let’s not beat about the bush (that nail-scissor-trimmed bush, heh-heh): in the previous book, Riders, he was a real shit. I don’t want to go into details, because the details are too damning, and from a modern point of view, it’s hard to move past them. You can try to brush it all off in a posh-blasé ‘it was a different time’ way, but there’s no getting around the fact that Jilly’s hero is in fact the most sordid, sadistic and cruel of villains. Perhaps it’s a measure of her skill as a writer that she doesn’t flinch from this portrayal, and gets away with it. Rupert isn’t ‘nice’. He does terrible things. But, boy, does he look good in a suit. And, I don’t know… it was a different time?? A time of double denim, plaid and shoulder pads, scrunchies and mullets – also unforgiveable.
The garish 80s era of Rivals is recreated sumptuously on screen in the showy prawn party platters, fussy dresses, naff cars and chintzy interiors. All with a banging soundtrack and pre-global-warming backdrop of bucolic countryside – I don’t know if it’s really the Cotswolds, but who cares; it’s idyllic. The buoyant spirit of Jilly is alive and well in the vibe of it all, and the content cleaves very closely to the book, sometimes slavishly so, as if the producers know legions of Cooper-groupies will be shouting ‘Archie snogged Tracey Makepiece before he got together with Caitlin!’ if they leave anything out. As it is, I indulged in a brief grumble about the O’Hara girls not having Irish accents, before telling myself to get a grip. I also lamented the lack of Billy Lloyd-Foxe, Rupert’s best friend, though in Rivals he’s more of a background presence, not really necessary to the action.
It got me thinking about what constitutes a good adaptation – is it sticking to the original, at all costs, or ruthlessly sacrificing details for the sake of the televisual narrative? Are the best interpretations more of an homage, boldly deviating from the primary source? Faithfulness or innovation? Probably a mix of the two – one of my favourite scenes was Caitlin swapping the place cards at the O’Haras’ infamous New Year’s Eve party. This happens in the book, but in the TV version she does it in roller boots, joyously cavorting around the room in a way that feels neat and fitting. At one point, Rupert rears out of his bubble bath, stark bollock-naked, leaving his black Labrador still in it. Never happened in print, as far as I remember, but absolutely could have. The ‘Perdita’ note going up in flames after the Declan/Rupert interview was genius; a canny Easter egg for those familiar with the later books. Fidelity to the original, with a little creative flirtation – that’s the ticket.
Previous adaptations of Cooper’s works have been unsuccessful, but to be honest they were so crap it’s not really possible to unpick where they fell down. I’ve really enjoyed this one (despite Rupert’s heinously inauthentic barnet), because it’s so much fun - so larky and lairy, with some very clever touches, and they say ‘cunt’ a lot. You really don’t expect that in a Disney show, do you? I bet Jilly fucking loves it.
Fair play to you, chaps - jolly good show. Moët all round!
As I worked my way through her considerable oeuvre, it became more than that. For all their cartoonishness, Jilly’s sharply-observed characters became dear friends who I revisited over and over again throughout the years. My most recent re-read was during my second maternity leave, powering through night feeds with the help of Rupert Campbell-Black and his crew. It was like a riotous school reunion, cajoled and comforted by a bunch of glib, charismatic superstars who shagged and spent with gay abandon. I won Olympic gold again with Rupes, snatched the Corinium franchise with Declan, wooed neglected wives with Lysander, caroused with them all. Which is to say that I really love Jilly Cooper and her casts, and know them very well indeed. Rivals has always been my favourite of the Rutshire Chronicles, and I’ve written before about how apprehensive I felt seeing it translate to the small screen. Could Disney do this epic, sprawling, sexy novel justice?
There were good signs, and bad. The show runner is Dominic Treadwell-Collins, which is a name Jilly could have made up, and he made some promising remarks in interviews – for example, insisting on nudity equality (a willy for every pair of tits we see). One of the writers is someone I went to school with, and was always envious of because she was much cleverer than me and got better exam results – I definitely think clever people should be working on this show, because Jilly is a far, far cleverer writer than many give her credit for.
On the other hand, when the casting announcement came, I saw they’d gone for a dark Rupert and this was simply not on. The Campbell-Black blondness is essential, and anyone who’s read the series should understand that. But I figured they’d probably dye his hair, so parked the criticism for the time being. Now the full series has dropped, I’ve been glugging it like Janey Lloyd-Foxe with a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé, and I’m not holding back any more. Saddle up, ladies and gentlemen – this isn’t so much a deep dive as a committed canter into Cooper territory.
Firstly, they didn’t dye Rupert’s hair, and it’s ALL WRONG. He’s also not handsome enough, which I guess is acceptable because no one in real life could be as devastating as Jilly’s ultimate literary hero, constantly described as the handsomest man in England. But he’s not deadpan enough either. Rupert’s smile is a rare reward, whereas Alex Hassell is flashing his pearly whites almost as much as his knob. On the plus side, his resting face is quite depraved, which is apt, and he’s got a nice laconic delivery. He’s not terrible as Rutshire’s main rutter, he’s just falling slightly short of this admittedly tall order.
David Tennant, as the baddie Lord Baddingham, is faring better, although initially I was sceptical as I’d always imagined the character as beefier – more like Tony Soprano. Ditto Declan O’Hara, who looks like Ted Hughes in my imagination – Aiden Turner is spindlier than I’d like, though obviously fanciable, even with a ‘tache. He’s making a decent fist (oo-er) of Declan’s roaring Irish presence, and Victoria Smurfit as his wife Maud is great – wild and beautiful but hollowed-out, creped and desperate around the edges. Bella Maclean is pretty good (and very pretty) as their daughter Taggie, a bit of a drippy character who lacks the feistiness of her sister Caitlin. Catriona Chandler sports vivid pink locks for this part, showing that it is perfectly possible to dye for a role. Was Alex Hassell’s hairdresser on holiday?? Sorry, I can’t drop this – it’s too important.
Special mention to Gary Lamont as Charles Fairburn, a pathetic and heartbreaking figure, Claire Rushbrook as Monica Baddingham, nailing the brusque country gal, and Luke Pasqualino as the roguish Bas. Pretty much everyone is doing excellent work, and looking like they’re having great fun while they’re at it. But all the awards go to Katherine Parkinson as Lizzie Vereker, and Danny Dyer as Freddie Jones. Together they form the emotional heart of the show, rising above the uproariousness to give us a solid and profound love story. That’s the wonderful strength of a Jilly Cooper book – behind all the bluster and bonking, there’s genuine warmth and goodwill.
There’s also a lot of nastiness, though, and one of the challenges of this saga is how to reflect and reconcile the extreme chauvinism – and worse – of the period. In Rivals, Rupert is, to an extent, redeemed by his love for Taggie, but let’s not beat about the bush (that nail-scissor-trimmed bush, heh-heh): in the previous book, Riders, he was a real shit. I don’t want to go into details, because the details are too damning, and from a modern point of view, it’s hard to move past them. You can try to brush it all off in a posh-blasé ‘it was a different time’ way, but there’s no getting around the fact that Jilly’s hero is in fact the most sordid, sadistic and cruel of villains. Perhaps it’s a measure of her skill as a writer that she doesn’t flinch from this portrayal, and gets away with it. Rupert isn’t ‘nice’. He does terrible things. But, boy, does he look good in a suit. And, I don’t know… it was a different time?? A time of double denim, plaid and shoulder pads, scrunchies and mullets – also unforgiveable.
The garish 80s era of Rivals is recreated sumptuously on screen in the showy prawn party platters, fussy dresses, naff cars and chintzy interiors. All with a banging soundtrack and pre-global-warming backdrop of bucolic countryside – I don’t know if it’s really the Cotswolds, but who cares; it’s idyllic. The buoyant spirit of Jilly is alive and well in the vibe of it all, and the content cleaves very closely to the book, sometimes slavishly so, as if the producers know legions of Cooper-groupies will be shouting ‘Archie snogged Tracey Makepiece before he got together with Caitlin!’ if they leave anything out. As it is, I indulged in a brief grumble about the O’Hara girls not having Irish accents, before telling myself to get a grip. I also lamented the lack of Billy Lloyd-Foxe, Rupert’s best friend, though in Rivals he’s more of a background presence, not really necessary to the action.
It got me thinking about what constitutes a good adaptation – is it sticking to the original, at all costs, or ruthlessly sacrificing details for the sake of the televisual narrative? Are the best interpretations more of an homage, boldly deviating from the primary source? Faithfulness or innovation? Probably a mix of the two – one of my favourite scenes was Caitlin swapping the place cards at the O’Haras’ infamous New Year’s Eve party. This happens in the book, but in the TV version she does it in roller boots, joyously cavorting around the room in a way that feels neat and fitting. At one point, Rupert rears out of his bubble bath, stark bollock-naked, leaving his black Labrador still in it. Never happened in print, as far as I remember, but absolutely could have. The ‘Perdita’ note going up in flames after the Declan/Rupert interview was genius; a canny Easter egg for those familiar with the later books. Fidelity to the original, with a little creative flirtation – that’s the ticket.
Previous adaptations of Cooper’s works have been unsuccessful, but to be honest they were so crap it’s not really possible to unpick where they fell down. I’ve really enjoyed this one (despite Rupert’s heinously inauthentic barnet), because it’s so much fun - so larky and lairy, with some very clever touches, and they say ‘cunt’ a lot. You really don’t expect that in a Disney show, do you? I bet Jilly fucking loves it.
Fair play to you, chaps - jolly good show. Moët all round!
- Rivals, 8 episodes, Disney+
