Desperate Romantics BBC 2, Tuesday 9.00pm
"In the mid-19th century, a group of young men challenged the art establishment of the day. The pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood were inspired by the real world, yet took imaginative licence in their art. This story, based on their lives and loves, follows in that inventive spirit."
It’s witty. It’s entertaining. It looks great. But what’s it all about?
Well, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, apparently. There’s the young, fresh-faced one whose talent the others envy (John Millais), the bohemian, brooding one who’s always tapping the others for cash (Dante Gabriel Rosetti) and the stripped-to-the-waist boxing one known as ‘maniac’ (William Holman Hunt) who is, well... a bit of a maniac.
The drama follows them on their quest for fame and fortune in the art world, set against a lively backdrop of saucy London lowlifes and the stuffy, Academy-dominated art world. They dash about bustling, Dickensian streets, questing here, questing there, pursuing the perfect model, ordering gins on the slate in whore-infested taverns and wondering when they’ll break into the big time. Seen through the eyes of a (fictional) hanger-on imaginatively named ‘Fred’, the action plays out like a sophisticated and very expensive soap, built around the shifting relationships between the key characters and the wacky/funny/embarrassing/dangerous situations they periodically find themselves in as they vie for success.
Those seeking historical accuracy are likely to be disappointed – as are those expecting to encounter Romantics (as opposed to romantics). It’s all good fun, nonetheless – and the handy disclaimer invoking ‘inventive spirit’ at the start of each episode neatly sidesteps the need to stick to the facts. But while most of us can happily accept the flouting of a few facts for the sake of a juicy narrative (facts, as Dickens points out, are greatly overrated) there’s a far more fundamental issue at the heart of it all. A gaping hole, in fact. What are ‘Pre-Raphaelites’, and why have these men chosen to become them?
Since this is ostensibly what motivates the action of the entire drama, it would seem a fair question – and a necessary bit of information, whether we’re interested in the facts or not. But it remains unanswered. OK, so they ‘challenged the art establishment’. But as to how, the drama gives us no clue. We’re simply told in the opening preamble that they ‘were inspired by the real world, yet took imaginative licence in their art’. And that’s that. The fact that this vague generalisation could apply to any artist at any time doesn’t seem to bother the makers; stereotypical character background has been established. Passionate. Bohemian. Rebellious. Just artists, OK?
The real Pre-Raphaelites were indeed ‘inspired by the real world’ – they felt artists should ‘study Nature attentively’ so they would be better equipped to express their ideas. Certainly they were also passionate, as well as determined to overturn the prevailing trends in art by consciously rejecting ‘what is conventional and self-parodying and learned by rote’. In this, they might be seen to have a great deal in common with the (genuine) Romantic William Blake, who – contrarian that he was – was one of the few to speak out against the establishment of a free National Gallery, on the grounds that it would corrupt young artists and encourage them to copy other art, rather than follow their own pure visions.
But the Pre-Raphaelites were no less contrary. They were radical, yes – but, in many respects, radically conservative, pledged to ‘sympathise with what is direct and serious and heartfelt in previous art’. The fact that they felt the art of their day to be stiflingly mannered and lacking meaning doesn’t mean they had a secret yen to invent Cubism or were planning to set up the Bauhuas. In fact, the art they held up as the ideal to aspire to was, quite literally, medieval. The clue, as they say, is in the name; ‘Pre-Raphaelite’ is a term that evokes what came before – that looks back, not forward.
It is their primary pledge, however, that is the one most noticeably absent from the drama: ‘to have genuine ideas to express’. Theirs was not simply an aesthetic revolution. Art, they felt, had become a depressing parade of empty gestures, and they sought to re-establish painting that had a moral point, based on Christian ideals. Certainly they were hungry for success, but central to their art – and central to understanding both it and them – is a moral crusade.
Yet of all this, there is no hint. True, Hunt seems to agonise – at least for a couple of seconds – before giving in to the charms of his former prostitute model, but this is presented not so much as a moral dilemma as just him being a bit uptight. Most of the time, the rogering and roistering and purposeful striding about streets in long coats seems to go on without too much of a care for anything – apart from how their generic, proto-X Factor quest for fame is progressing.
Why should this be? Does the BBC really believe that an audience who – let’s face it – are prepared to give a drama about a group of 19th century British painters a punt are nonetheless too stupid to understand what motivated them, or too lazy to care? Even if one assumes the most jaded audience possible, raised on a tooth-rotting diet of pure summer blockbusters, the desire to have some vague explanation of character behaviour is still very much in evidence. In fact, whole genres are built on it. Think of all those superhero origins stories – Superman, Spider-Man, Batman Begins, X-Men, Hulk, Blade, Daredevil, Elektra, The Fantastic Four, Iron Man, another Hulk (Incredible), and X-Men Origins: Wolverine, not to mention the forthcoming Thor and Captain America. If these don’t demonstrate that the vast majority of us have more than a passing interest in what makes a character tick – even a comic-strip character – then what does?
But no. Like a household appliance-wielding psychopath in a bad, straight to video ‘80s slasher movie, no explanation is deemed necessary. Instead, we’re just given a kind of shorthand. He’s mental. They’re rebellious artistic types. What more do you need?
The queer thing is that on this point even the writer, Pete Bowker (who also wrote the recent Occupation) seems conflicted. In the midst of it all, the character of John Ruskin – beautifully played by Tom Hollander – shines out like a beacon. This is no bawdy caricature, but a complex, rounded character, whose past and tangled motivations seem utterly convincing (which, ultimately, is more important than whether they are true). Troubled – haunted, almost – and carefully balancing wit with poignancy, the part is often funny, but never played for laughs. The effect of this is to make any scene in which Ruskin appears immediately stand out, whilst simultaneously demonstrating what Desperate Romantics could so easily have been – a great drama, rather than a merely entertaining, unneccessarily dumbed-down romp.
