No One So Good

Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet ‘tis Truth alone is strong,

And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng

Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.

From The Present Crisis, by James Russell Lowell

The British series Little Dorrit is a superb adaption of the spirit which made Charles Dickens great. This series definitely captures the flavor of Dickens’s novels better then any adaptation I have yet come across. The vivid caricatures, the ironic humor, the disdain of the upper social classes are all present, as vivid as Dickens’s own writing. Characters such as Mrs. Plornish, Flora Finching, and Mr. Pancks are fully realized; their quirks are as distinct as they are in Dickens’s own creations, and are neither stuffy nor boring. The motley crew which has banded together as a community at the end of the film is heartwarming and hilarious at the same time.

But interwoven with the absurdly funny are serious themes of love and hate, forgiveness and vengeance; what at first appears to be merely a social commentary turns out to be a powerful examination of the human soul. Though, like all great literature, Little Dorrit has many themes I could look at, in the interest of time I’ll be content with the one I think is the most powerful and overarching. To put it simply, Little Dorrit claims that a person’s goodness or badness is their own responsibility, and does not depend upon their circumstances whatsoever.

We follow this thread in the two people who dominate the story, Arthur Clennam and Amy Dorrit. We watch them as they try to do what is best in every situation, and to treat everyone they meet with propriety since they believe that true happiness can only come through sincere principles. Those who have fewer scruples aim at achieving their own ends even if others must pay the cost, but Amy and Arthur are eager to be “of use” by helping those around them. Through the twistings and turnings which are inevitable in a Dickens tale, we compare all the other characters to them, and we are forced to see the differences.

At times it appears as if the less principled are rewarded, as if their choices will lead to ultimate satisfaction. Mr. Merdle is tremendously wealthy, and is considered the man of the age. Fanny gets a rich husband with high social standing. Miss Wade has a chance to take revenge on all those she hates. Mrs. Clennam “saves” Arthur, in reality soothing her own wounded pride. “Circumstances alter cases,” Fanny tells Amy, explaining her philosophy, which is shared by most others in the story. They excuse their actions with their circumstances. Amy and Arthur, however, never use difficult circumstances to excuse evil. Instead, they use every situation to test their own integrity and commitment to justice. They train themselves to be untouched by the evil which surrounds them, because they know that good character is the only thing which can withstand the buffets of life, the shiftings of fortune.

And as the story progresses, we see that in the end, it is this unmovable virtue which they have developed in themselves that prevails. Over the course of the latter episodes, we watch as the characters who once seemed to be triumphant taste the bitter draught which they have unwittingly selected. Merdle loses everything, even his own life. Fanny has lost all her money, with only her husband’s job for support, and is stuck in a marriage to a fool. Miss Wade has alienated everyone and is more alone than she was before. Mrs. Clennam is caught in a web from which she cannot extricate herself. And while they are reeling at the shock of their own downfall, Arthur and Amy, and those who have remained steadfast to the simple but difficult path of upstanding decency, are reaping the happy rewards of their actions.

This theme is accentuated even more in the film’s crux. The villain Rigaud has everything under his control. He has placed incriminating letters in the hands of Amy, which she is to open at an appointed time. He then blackmails Mrs. Clennam, asserting that if she does not give him 2,000 pounds by that time, Amy will open the letters and reveal the great secret. His wicked smiles wreck havoc on everyone’s emotions and they all panic. Rigaud’s methods are working, and it seems as if avarice has defeated morality, and the ways of evil have crushed everyone.

And then Rigaud looks out of the window and watches Amy, with the opened letters held carelessly in her hand, leading Mrs. Clennam, the woman who has done Arthur and herself so much harm. And with a shock, it hits us as it does him. Goodness has prevailed. Ironically, Amy is not even touched by the sin which involves her. Because she has spent her whole life seeking what is right, ignoring what is unimportant, the sin which seemed to be so very great doesn’t phase her. Though Mrs. Clennam has sinned greatly, and by all rights her actions should have caused irrevocable harm, we see that her iniquity cannot mar the beauty of a righteous heart. When Amy first reads the letters, she is only surprised and forgives Mrs. Clennam immediately. Mrs. Clennam is at first shocked that Amy can pass over such a great sin. But over the course of the series, we have come to see through Amy’s eyes, knowing that she didn’t need different circumstances to come to hold the purity she does. It’s a simple idea, and yet it is quietly profound. Goodness can exist no matter what the circumstances are. And this goodness will always win out.

I cannot end without raving just a little over the quality of this film. The acting, music, colors, and everything else are all top-notch. The series is headed with phenomenally complex performances by a seasoned cast of Matthew MacFadyen, Judy Parfitt, Andy Serkis, and Tom Courtenay. At the same time, their experience is offset by the freshness of new-comer Claire Foy, who, though fresh out of drama school, holds her own magnificently. The intricacy of their performances is stellar, and they lead so well that the series could have stopped there and it would still have been successful. But, like all the great British adaptions, the side characters are just as strong as the leads. Alun Armstrong as Flintwinch, Emma Pierson as Fanny, Eddie Marsan as Mr. Pancks, and Sebastian Armesto as Sparkler all shine and their strength helps the main characters to glow even brighter.

The music is torturously beautiful. Honestly, can it be right to compose such gorgeous music and not come out with a soundtrack? The two main components - the piano and the violin - weave the themes back and forth and particular parts, such as Amy’s run to the riverside, give me chills at every viewing. If only BBC would get it into their heads that soundtracks would be a good investment. *sigh*

The palette is good, nothing stunning like that in Bright Star, but the unpretentious colors were a good choice. Instead of distracting attention, it lets other aspects impress audiences first, all the while reinforcing with its slightly somber tone the hardness of the lives Amy and Arthur have lived. At times in the Venetian episodes the shots seemed somewhat blurry, and had an ethereality, skillfully making Amy’s description of Venice (“It makes me feel strange, like I’m dreaming”) the viewer’s experience as well.

To conclude this rather lengthy review, Little Dorrit was a joy. It exemplifies the very best of British film, which is in general the very best to be found. Little Dorrit is well worth the 8 hours it takes to watch, and I suggest making a pot of hot tea, grabbing a snack, and snuggling down on the couch with this beautiful, soul-feeding story.