The Personal History Of David Copperfield

The mid-19th century novel The Personal History Of David Copperfield is considered Charles Dickens’ masterpiece. Narrated in the first person by the eponymous David, it tells of one man’s life from birth through a series of adventures and encounters with a motley crew of relatives, friends and associates that seem to span the social breadth of Victorian England.

To cut the novel’s tale down to a manageable movie length, director Ianucci and his co-writer Simon Blackwell have dumped certain characters and subplots to focus on others. As with the director’s previous outing The Death Of Stalin (2017), the final film half works yet is beset by strange casting choices – actors playing Russians sporting a variety of English dialects in Stalin, various BAME actors playing roles that aren’t always entirely believable in terms of their ethnicity in Copperfield. That includes the film’s lead Dev Patel, who plays David convincingly as a wide-eyed innocent.

There’s a great deal of racism around in the 21st Century: it’s hard to believe there wasn’t considerably more in the 19th when few were trying to address those issues, yet no-one seems to notice Patel’s obvious ethnic background. When he’s sent to live with the family of his mother’s kindly housekeeper Clara Peggotty (Daisy May Cooper), she and her husband have adopted a number of orphans, one of whom, Ham (Anthony Welsh), is black, which could make sense. Later, however, when the mother of David’s privileged, white, secondary school friend James Steerforth (Aneurin Barnard) is played by the black actress Nikki Amuka-Bird, the ethnic casting is distinctly unbelievable. Pursuing the colour blind casting still further, Ianucci casts Chinese British actor Benedict Wong as Wickfield, the financier ultimately ruined by alcoholism and another terrific black actress, Rosalind Eleazar, as his daughter Agnes.

On one level, colour blind casting sounds great and if you view the whole thing as a satire not based on any specific, historical place and time then it’s not a problem. Sadly, Dickens is very much a man writing about the 19th century and even though all the actors are fine in terms of performance, the BAME casting sometimes doesn’t work. I’m not saying the entire cast should be white – there were certainly some BAME people around – but I’m calling for an attempt at historical accuracy, a practice which should take precedence over the accidental pursuit of a politically correct fantasyland that never was.

Outside of the ethnic controversy, Ianucci proves highly adept at casting Dickens’ characters. Dev Patel carries the film well and other highlights include Hugh Laurie’s Mr Dick, a sweet if mentally ill man who believes Charles I to have deposited his thoughts in his (Mr. Dick’s) head and Ben Wishaw’s suitably ingratiating social climber Uriah Heep. Tilda Swinton doesn’t appear particularly stretched in the role of David’s controlling and donkey-hating aunt Betsey Trotwood.

Dickens wanted to highlight the problem of want in Victorian society and the film represents this aspect of his writing well. The constant hounding of Micawber (Peter Capaldi) for his debts results in one memorable scene where his baby in its pram is suddenly moving down the hall as the bailiffs grab under the front door and pull the hall carpet out underneath it. Equally impressive are the scenes of David working as a child in a bottle factory where the machines are too tall for him to operate properly.

Elsewhere however, as with Stalin, one struggles to remember that Ianucci is the comic genius behind television’s political comedy series The Thick Of It (2005-2012) and its superb feature film spin-off In The Loop (2009, in both of which Peter Capaldi so brilliantly played ruthless and foul-mouthed spin doctor Malcolm Tucker). Maybe he’s better at portraying contemporary rather than period stories. That said, if his Copperfield never quite scales the genuinely funny comedic heights of The Thick Of It, or even reaches the foothills, it at least gets Dickens’ remarkable characters onto the screen and is not without its moments.

The Personal History Of David Copperfield is out in the UK on Friday, January 24th. On VoD in June.

The Death of Stalin

The British and the French have joined efforts! Not a headline you’d come across very often nowadays, is it? But it has happened. It must be for a good cause, mustn’t it? Did they get together in the fight against LGBT hatred? Or are they making a joint statement against xenophobia? Perhaps they got together in order to slam the Pussy-Grabber-in-Chief across the pond? But no. Instead the two countries joined efforts in order to mock and slander the Russians, creating an international co-production just so full of ignorance and prejudices that it’s hardly bearable to watch.

I’m not an unconditional russophile. I have severe reservations about the country and its history isn’t without very serious oppression. Films exposing the horrors of Stalin’s regime are very necessary. I recently wrote about the outstanding Estonian In the Crosswinds (Martti Helde, 2015), which reveals that Stalin removed 40,000 people from the tiny Baltic nation into forced labour camps and exile in Siberia. But The Death of Stalin isn’t a a denunciation film. It’s simply an exercise of bad taste (and not the type of bad taste that we like at DMovies).

Adapted from a French graphic novel, The Death of Stalin is not a mockery of Stalin. In fact, the Soviet tyrant hardly appears in the movie. He dies in the very beginning. The Death of Stalin is a mockery of every Russian: every single character here is portrayed as imbecile, selfish and incompetent. The film, launched to coincide with the 100th anniversary of the Russian Revolution, is a profoundly inaccurate, disrespectful and insensitive representation of the largest nation on Earth. It’s the testament that anti-Russian sentiment, resentment and propaganda are well alive in Western Europe almost three decades after the end of the Cold War.

The movie revolves more or less around the immediate aftermath of Stalin’s death (played by Adrian McLoufghlin), as his body lies in a pool of urine and his associates squabble endlessly over what to do with it. His successors Georgy Malenkov and Nikita Krushchev are played by Jeffrey Tambor and Steve Buscemi, respectively. Michael Palin plays his protégé Vyacheslav Molotov, while Andrea Riseborough and Rupert Friend play his children Svetlana and Vasily. A wealth of actors whose combined market value is probably enough to buy you a whole village in the South of France, somewhere near Nice.

Everything about the film is very un-Russian. Not only everyone speaks English and even the signs are in the language of Shakespeare, plus also the actors don’t look particularly Russian. The round Slavonic faces are fairly absent. The body language isn’t Russian, either. Russian are mostly stern and stoic, not the goofy scoundrels created by the Scottish satirist Armando Iannucci, who directed the film. The f-word is used abundantly throughout, as are jokes about “kicking the arse” and “sticking a crucifix…”, yes the very same orifice. How witty.

Blimey, but this is a comedy, isn’t it? This is a mockery and so it’s intended to be barbaric and exaggerated, right? Well, comedy is not a carte blanche for bigotry. There are limits of what’s acceptable. We have grown to dismiss blackface and exaggerated representations of homosexuals as a no-go. The humour of The Death of Stalin is plainly founded on xenophobia and prejudices, and so it belongs in a very similar category. This is not black humour, this is blackface. Laughing at someone dead on a pool of piss is neither funny nor subversive. It’s simply silly and vulgar. Despite the presence of Michael Palin, The Death of Stalin simply isn’t The Life of Brian (Terry Jones, 1979).

By comparison, how would people in the UK feel about a film mocking Churchill? My comparison is neither frivolous nor untimely. Firstly, Churchill and Stalin ruled at roughly the same time. And a film about Churchill was made earlier this year, which did little but to celebrate the resilience of the British leader. Plus another one is being released in a couple of months, and it looks like it’s going to be just as celebratory of the “greatest British person ever”. Can you imagine if either of these films laughed at Churchill’s dead body, his alcoholism, his racism or his gassing of people in Mesopotamia? It would cause an outrage. Well, I think that people in glasshouses shouldn’t throw stones. That’s why I recommend that you don’t watch The Death of Stalin. That is, unless you simply love to hate Russia, and have no interest in their culture.

Cinema isn’t alone in its biased portrayal of Russian history. The BBC documentary Russia 1917: Countdown to the Revolution paints Soviet leaders and foible and hesitant, and it even questions whether the Russian Revolution – as grassroots as a revolution can be – was in fact a coup d’état. You can watch it (or not) by clicking here.

The Death of Stalin is showing in cinemas across the UK on Friday October 20th. It’s out on all major VoD platforms in April 2018. On Netflix on Wednesday, April 28th (2021).