Talk about love in a cold climate

The British genteel class, particularly of the nineteenth century, is noted for it's understated demeanor and social protocol that often teeters on (and occasionally dives head first into) the hypocritical. In no area do these rules up the proverbial ante more than in love and marriage. The Forsyte Saga engages this conflict to the maximum effect and hits the jackpot. While audacious liaisons abound in this tale, they all center around the "union" of Soames and Irene Heron Forsyte.

By the second hour, we are already beginning to see the variables of a tragic lust story wiggling their way into a disastrous equation. We have Young Jolyon, disenchanted with aristocracy and an undisputed romantic. Then there's his estranged daughter June, a "flibbertigibbet" as Soames calls her, a silly and naive gossip, though, essentially harmless--but she's engaged (and madly in love with) Bossiney. Yes, Bossiney, a charming artist, who's already stolen a kiss (and the intrigue) of Irene. Let's talk about Irene, the cold companion of Soames. She's repulsed at herself for marrying him for her own convenience, and yet repulsed by Soames for being so worthy yet so uninspiring of her affection. Still, we haven't even mentioned Winnifred and Dartie.

And now a word from our sponsors: Old Jolyon is the beloved patriarch of the family, and thus he's called upon to enforce propriety--and distribute funds. James, his brother and Soames' father, is a much more willing protector of the status quo. And its also appropriate to include Mrs. Heron, who told her daughter: work or marry.

Finally, there's Soames. Who is he, and why does he get his own paragraph? Well firstly, he's a businessman, "a man of great property." He managed to claim Irene as his wife, despite his stilted, though lavish, and in turns unsettling courtship methods. But what really makes him the heart of this episode is his vulnerability. Either because he finds security in rules, or is just obedient by nature, Soames is repressed to a fault, governing every action on convention. His actions are always calculated, and he projects what he wants people to believe, that he is moral, elevated, and wealthy. He is entirely quantitative, which makes him a superb businessman, but an emotional enigma. Even so, he is very much human. Very much so. He loves his sister and his parents, and values family. But never has his reserve been so tested as in his infatuation with Irene. His love is so constant, he stalwartly pines for her affection with absolutely no assurance that she will ever reciprocate. He is sincere in his wonderment at why she refuses to love him, and castigates himself for his failure. He seems unaware that its not that Irene can't love him, rather, she won't love him, not only for what he lacks in personality, but for what he represents - her loss of financial independence, and dashed hopes for marital bliss.

Marriages of convenience, adulterous scandal, and treachery at balls are nothing new to entertainment Anglophiles. In that respect, The Forsyte Saga is not revolutionary. However, what sets it apart is the journey - watching the saga unfold is a gripping and heartbreaking experience.

The first two hours essentially serve as Act 1; they become the fruition of all of our worst fears thus far, the resolution (or desolation) of all key relationships, and the presentation of elements that will fuel future action. I mean, in all seriousness, do we need a Forsyte Saga TV companion coffee table book to figure out that Soames is on the verge of losing all civility and that Irene's and Bossiney's rash relationship will peak and inevitably fail?

"Act II" is where it gets excruciating.

While Soames remains romantically unattractive, he is not repulsive, so we still cannot empathize with Irene's wounding coolness. This is coupled with the fact that his love for her is sincere - he wants to please her.

Some scenes were particularly heartrending. On the way home from the ball, Soames inquires why she doesn't look at him like she looks at Bossiney. "What's wrong with me?" he asks. The following morning, he sees her smiling to herself, no doubt thinking of her dance with Bossiney. He inquires of her whereabouts all morning, she mumbles an excuse, and walks away. He calls for her to stop, and then approaching her, he tenderly fixes something at the nape of her neck. He suggests they take a trip to Florence - of course she declines. There aren't words for the frustrated disappointment on his face. We agree when Soames' mother calls Irene "cold" and when Saomes says that he believes she is "made of stone."

As a side note, the camerawork in particular was well done. In one scene, Soames is inquiring of a letter that Irene is sending to Old Jolyon, declining his invitation for the weekend. They both are sitting in our line of sight. So, without moving or cutting away, the camera in turns focuses on Irene, then Soames, then Irene, and so on. As a result, we get to see each's facial expressions and other details in full clarity, while feeling the volley of their dialogue. The stream is finally interrupted when Irene balls the letter up and tosses it in the wastebasket. Another fine moment is when June arrives to the ball, only to find Irene and Bossiney in each other's arms. June's slow motion retreat only intensifies the dramatic irony of the scene. Kudos to the director for these inspired touches.

Despite all the commendatory comments above, this review would be remiss without mentioning something that struck me as I watched the series . While I have not read the books or seen the original series (circa 1970), I have managed to surmise that the average viewer teeters between moments of intense sympathy for Soames and moments of intense sympathy for Irene. At the end of the fourth hour, even despite Soames' transgressions (and transgressions they are), my sympathies generally remained with him. So, I imagined that very soon, he would transform into a hideous beast. He did not. Additionally, after June's rabid derision of Soames at Bossiney's funeral, his subsequent confinement to bed and near breakdown almost sealed my undying devotion to him regardless of any subsequent behavior. So I asked myself: Why the discreancy between the general opinion and my own?

While cognizant that the worst may be yet to come, I decided on one of three theories: (1) His offensiveness was lost in the translation from book to film; (2) I personally may happen to like Soames for whatever reasons; and (3) Gina McGee's interpretation of Irene made her more offensive than the character actually was intended to be.

After deliberation, I decided the reason was #3, with a dash of #2. While #2 is probably of little interest to readers, I will justify #3 only.

Irene Forsyte's dynamic life is supposed to be propelled by two facts: her arresting beauty and captivating charm. With all due respect, Irene is beautiful, yet not enough so to hypnotize men into destroying their lives. This is probably more a commentary on the work of the make-up artists than Ms. McGee. As far as charm goes, Irene seems to be full of vacuos observations and chatty clichés. Also, her voice is weak and strained.

So where did the production fall short? The most obvious reason for this error could be that Ms. McGee, in redeeming her character, overcompensated by becoming pitiful. Yet, in my opinion, she, or others involved in the production, may not have fully realized that an audience doesn't forgive a character because she is pitiful, but because they like her. But, what reason do we have to like Irene? Her personality? Her looks? Maybe it's her plight. Maybe--but she seemed totally willing to be in a loveless marriage for the money. Even watching her filled with regret gets little sympathy since Soames basically leaves her alone, except for building her homes, drowning her in lavish gifts, and asking her to attend an occasional event. Cry me a river.

Should we love her for her talent? While she is talented, music doesn't seem to be essential to who she is, comparable to an athlete who happens to sing. We certainly do not admire her virtue. The above facets of her character have only been showcased in relation to plot advancement, but we really don't know what makes her do what she does, or worse don't care. She's very decisive in the decisions she makes, they are usually self-serving, and she has a way of re-victimizing the people she uses. I mean, she actually slapped June. To be fair, Irene isn't evil really, but ultimately, its hard to side with her.

I won't completely ruin the tale, as I could hardly do justice to it here anyway. But consider this a primer to the emotional and circumstantial climate under which the story unfolds. Additionally, if at all possible, forgive the Irene we are stuck with, and implant, lets say, Catherine Zeta Jones, or whoever else floats your fatal attraction vamp boat.