Desperate Romantics

Desperate Romantics is currently invading our screen and rightfully so. There is modernity to the series that you should not expect from a period drama. But this is where it differs from all other BBC Productions because it is not an adaptation of a novel or a remake of a classic. It has no plot to follow or indeed to live up to. Therefore it seems uncomfortable and fidgety in the period its set, trying all ploys and devises to distance itself from Victorian England and instead place itself as a frolicking hyperbolic interpretation of what the brotherhood were like.

The story follows three men with three very different personalities. Millais played by Samuel Barnett offers a charmingly naïve performance as the budding genius of the group who becomes crippled by a difficult love conundrum. This endearing quality clashes perfectly with the protagonist and original cocky cad, Rossetti. His magnetic presence is epitomised with his over sexed, devilishly handsome wily ways yet he still manages to wangle himself into our affections despite that fact he arrogantly and carelessly manipulates those around him (phwoar!) Next up is William Hunt affectionate (and sometimes accurately) nicknamed “Maniac” whose oppressed religious views are melted away by seductress Annie. There is no doubt that these characters in real life would have been dramatically different yet we are quite happy dump our logic at the door and indulge in an hour of good fun. It is also somewhat refreshing to see two fantastic female performances that really do justice to their somewhat restricted role. We watch as a whore and a hat maker become pivotal in the lives of the brotherhood and the juxtaposition of Lizzy's delicate modesty and Annie's extravagant debauchery is a riveting balance.

Although we may sometimes forget it, at the heart is a serious tale of art and its place at the time, but because any form of artistic pomposity is vanished we are not bogged down with its cultural superiority or significance. Instead we glimpse at the good stuff, the gossip, the drama, the fights and the heavy drinking. There is a harmless yet deeply morish quality to the series which is coupled with jovial soundtrack which helps us to skip gleefully through. There is no bombardment of pretentious semantics as we don’t need to be told directly about the ‘composition’ or the ‘light arrangements’ of the painting as that boring shit quickly becomes irrelevant. We are without noticing however, subtly introduced to the paintings, told about the paintings and then made to disregard the painting. We are instantly made into art connoisseurs and this new title is then quickly taken away as the romping frivolity is pushed once again to the fore.

Part of its greatness is it knows full well its own stupidity. There is definitely a tongue firmly placed on the cheek throughout the series. There is colour and vitality, bizarre costumes and endless innuendo, a classy Carry On if you like. But all in all it is a truly British interpretation of some of the finest minds.

H xx