Oscar Wilde’s The Importance Of Being Earnest (1895)

Oscar Wilde is remem­bered these days for being 1) wit­ty (“I have noth­ing to declare but my genius”) and 2) gay, in a far-from-ide­al peri­od of his­to­ry in which to be gay (Bosie, Read­ing gaol and all that). I sup­pose all writ­ers can be boiled down to a sim­ple phrase (Orwell: edgy polit­i­cal alle­go­ry and warn­ing to future gen­er­a­tions; Tolkien: medieval­ist pur­vey­or of elf-lore, etc). How­ev­er, whilst describ­ing Wilde in a sen­tence or two is all well and good, it’s good to know that his actu­al work con­tin­ues to be con­sumed on stage and screen — all four of his so-called draw­ing-room plays have been made into films (not to men­tion operas and musi­cals) and all four have reg­u­lar­ly been per­formed on stage up and down the land. And to any­one who enjoys their wit sharp and acer­bic, his plays are bril­liant.

Wilde wrote nine plays in all (not quite the 39 that are attrib­uted to Shake­speare but then Wilde did die at 46, and in fact wrote noth­ing much after his spell in prison) and of these it is the four afore­men­tioned draw­ing-room plays that are the most promi­nent: Lady Win­der­mere’s Fan (1892), A Woman of No Impor­tance (1893), An Ide­al Hus­band (1895) and The Impor­tance of Being Earnest (1895). The lat­ter, sub-titled a Triv­ial Com­e­dy for Seri­ous Peo­ple, was first per­formed on 14ᵗʰ Feb­ru­ary 1895 at the St James’s The­atre in Lon­don. It is a far­ci­cal com­e­dy fea­tur­ing two young men-about-town assum­ing dou­ble lives — and the name Ernest — whilst woo­ing the two young women of their affec­tions.

The play par­o­dies con­tem­po­rary social mores and man­ners, and intro­duces two great sup­port­ing char­ac­ters in the form of the for­mi­da­ble Lady Brack­nell and the fussy gov­erness Miss Prism. With the best quips, Lady Brack­nell is a bit­ing­ly comedic char­ac­ter, played over the years in var­i­ous incar­na­tions by Edith Evans, Judi Dench, Mag­gie Smith and Gwen Tay­lor (and even David Suchet). Hers is the line “To lose one par­ent, Mr Wor­thing, may be regard­ed as a mis­for­tune; to lose both looks like care­less­ness” and of course the famous­ly haughty excla­ma­tion “A hand­bag?!”. Watch Judi Dench’s ver­sion in the “inter­ro­ga­tion” clip below (though she choos­es to almost whis­per the hand­bag line instead of going for the full-blown out­raged excla­ma­tion of Edith Evans et al).

The suc­cess­ful open­ing night marked the zenith of Wilde’s career but even as he was bask­ing in the plau­dits from the appre­cia­tive audi­ence, forces were gath­er­ing that would lead to his down­fall. The Mar­quess of Queens­ber­ry, whose son Lord Alfred Dou­glas (Bosie) was Wilde’s lover, was schem­ing to throw a bunch of rot­ten veg­eta­bles at the play­wright at the end of the per­for­mance. This act of ret­ri­bu­tion was thwart­ed by secu­ri­ty but soon the feud would lead to a series of legal tri­als between March to May 1895 which would result in Wilde’s con­vic­tion and impris­on­ment for homo­sex­u­al acts. Despite the play’s ear­ly suc­cess, Wilde’s dis­grace sad­ly caused it to be closed in May after 86 per­for­mances.

Oscar Wilde

Robert Altman’s Short Cuts (1993)

I have just fin­ished read­ing Ray­mond Carver’s col­lec­tion of dis­qui­et­ing short sto­ries, Short Cuts, which inspired the sub­ject of today’s blog, Robert Altman’s 1993 movie of the same name. Carv­er was a mas­ter of the sub-genre of lit­er­ary fic­tion dubbed “dirty real­ism” by Amer­i­can jour­nal­ist Bill Buford. Dirty real­ism is char­ac­terised by depict­ing the seami­er side of life, with down­beat char­ac­ters suf­fer­ing from a kind of inter­nal des­per­a­tion brought about by their par­tic­u­lar life cir­cum­stances. Before full-time writ­ing, Carv­er had worked in Cal­i­for­nia in the fifties and six­ties in a vari­ety of jobs — deliv­ery man, jan­i­tor, library assis­tant, sawmill labour­er — and per­haps inter­nalised mate­r­i­al from see­ing peo­ple liv­ing lives of qui­et des­per­a­tion (to quote Hen­ry David Thore­au). His sto­ries of ordi­nary peo­ple at break­ing point inspired Robert Alt­man to make the mas­ter­piece we’re about to dis­cuss.

Filmed from a screen­play by Alt­man and Frank Barhy­dt, Short Cuts was inspired by nine of Carver’s short sto­ries (culled large­ly from his col­lec­tion Will You Please Be Qui­et, Please?, pub­lished in 1976). It was set in Los Ange­les (in con­trast to the orig­i­nal Pacif­ic North­west back­drop of Carver’s sto­ries) and traces the lives of twen­ty two prin­ci­pal char­ac­ters, loose­ly con­nect­ed to one anoth­er in one way or anoth­er. The stel­lar cast includes Matthew Modine, Julianne Moore, Jen­nifer Jason Leigh, Robert Downey Jr., Madeleine Stowe, Chris Penn, Jack Lem­mon, Frances McDor­mand, Lori Singer, Andie Mac­Dow­ell, Buck Hen­ry, Lily Tom­lin, actress and singer Annie Ross, and musi­cians Huey Lewis, Lyle Lovett, and Tom Waits.

The film begins with a fleet of heli­copters spray­ing for med­flies, which brings var­i­ous char­ac­ters togeth­er along the flight path. To this back­drop, and with the sul­try night­club jazz songs of Annie Ross as the inci­den­tal music, we see the mul­ti­ple char­ac­ters in their var­i­ous sce­nar­ios slow­ly falling apart. There is too much by way of plot to describe here, but the sto­ries play out in tan­dem and often loop back on them­selves as we see char­ac­ters famil­iar from ear­li­er scenes in the movie appear­ing in dif­fer­ent con­texts lat­er.

I called it a mas­ter­piece for good rea­son: the actors absolute­ly nail the theme of dys­func­tion. There are heart-break­ing scenes, but also mun­dane ones that nonethe­less mas­ter­ful­ly dis­play the human con­di­tion thanks to the qual­i­ty of the actors. It’s a psy­cho­log­i­cal dra­ma but a com­ic one too, and it swings from tragedy to com­e­dy and back again. It is, like Carver’s orig­i­nal sto­ries, high­ly dis­qui­et­ing but well worth the expe­ri­ence. Here is the film trail­er to whet your appetite but watch the full three hours for an extra­or­di­nary ride.