‘Well gentlemen, the war is over. What do you think they’ll do with us now?’ – Wellington
We opened this week in the midst (and, indeed, mist – it was something of a pea souper, guv) of the Battle of Waterloo, Strange reaching for the sky like a bedraggled Bono. He showed he’s really got this improv battle magic down at the bloody swedging match at the Chateau of Hougoumont, summoning all manner of spells off the cuff and finding himself at one with the elements of water, fire, mud and shrubbery.
Keeping the action confined to a courtyard was certainly a clever way to ensure the battle sequences didn’t spiral into Lord of the Rings budget territory. It was brief, too, which can’t have been harmful to director Toby Haynes’s bottom line, but still a rather rousing and frantic business.
Strange definitively answered Wellington’s question from episode three, “Could a magician kill a man by magic?” He originally replied that “a magician might, but a gentleman never could”. Having snapped that French fellow with his big muddy hand spell, it would appear that a part of Strange is now gone forever, his thousand yard ‘Nam stare from the window at Ashfair and his tremors being most telling.
This is dealt with slightly differently in the book, where his attacker is sabred by a passing man of the Royal Scots Greys instead, while Strange debates inwardly whether to snuff out his life after having “drawn out his soul” with a spell by Stokesey. But, as a dramatic addition, it worked, adding to the mood of Strange’s PTSD. On the whole, I could have stomached a little more violence to make the battle a more hard-hitting affair, if I’m honest. It’s gone 9pm, after all. Maybe I’ve been desensitised by Game of Thrones, but it did feel a tiny bit pedestrian. I could have done with a bit more Wellington, too.
‘Your husband has bargained you away, madam’ – Thistledown
But this week was, as the title suggests, all about Arabella. Thistledown’s devious plot with the moss-oak worked a treat, the facsimile of Strange’s wife tricking him into renouncing his marriage after she goes wandering barefoot like Kate Bush on the wuthering heights around Ashfair while the real Arabella is whisked away by Stephen Black. (We’re all terribly disappointed in you, Stephen.) This was executed in impressively dramatic style, and I enjoyed the exchange as Arabella arrived at her new home, Lost Hope.
Thistledown: “He has sold you to me in exchange for a piece of wood. You are to be mine for all time, and never leave … I do not offer anything that would not be exquisitely agreeable to you.”
Arabella: “My husband will hear of this.”
Thistledown: “There is no husband, not any more.”
“Oh, you’re my wife now / Hello, Dave / Would you like to buy some pegs, Dave” and so on: yep, Thistledown has gone the full Lazarou. Once again, Charlotte Riley showed that she’s a class act, with a bewildered and clammy performance as the moss-oak Arabella.
‘There is to be no funeral … I going to bring her back to life … It’s perfectly possible. I did something of a rough sort in Spain’ – Strange
The death of Arabella – well, the Arabella from the moss-oak – forced Strange into a state of denial, and it was pitched excellently by Bertie Carvel, who, I hope, has thoroughly embodied Strange for the bookreaders among us. Things took a bleak turn as he splattered her face with his own blood, hoping to invigorate her corpse as he did those Neapolitans in the windmill on the Peninsula.
His final acceptance of her death, at the behest of her brother, was a tear-jerker.
‘I do not believe Lady Pole’s stories are nonsense’ – Honeyfoot
Honeyfoot cracking the enigma code of Lady Pole’s bletherings was a turn up. Turns out she’s telling tales of Faerie, and Honeyfoot reckons he can decipher them. Good for him. One character troubling me, though, is Stephen Black. I recall being far warmer towards him when I was reading the book. The series seems to play him as a deceitful and spineless coward, notably this week when he steals away Arabella at the Gentleman’s behest and then tries to persuade Lady Pole against her brave defiance. At best, his redeeming features seem pitifully few.
‘Can we talk without the servants present?’ – Lascelles
Becoming more odious by the moment, Lascelles (John Heffernan is nailing this) is now the svengali behind Norrell, and the moment that he dismissed Childermass from the room – as Strange’s offer to recant all magical doings in return for the magic which brought back Lady Pole was mulled – was the moment that Norrell finally chose sides. I’m sure I was not alone in hoping that Childermass would deliver a sturdy knee to Lascelle’s groin on his way out, or at the very least a forceful poke in the eye. Ever impressive, Marsan’s Norrell, now lost in Salieri-esque hatred of Strange and his book – and faced with losing Lascelle’s “friendship” – has abandoned any remaining shred of goodness. The barbed exchanges between Childermass and Lascelles were a delight.
‘Mr Norrell and I are not done with each other yet’ – Childermass
I was already of the opinion that Childermass is probably the finest man of the age, and then he goes and becomes the very defender of magical democracy. His Granita-style deal with Strange showed the measure of the man.
Strange: “Is it not time, Childermass, that you left Gilbert Norrell’s service and came to me? Then there’d be none of this servant nonsense. You’d be my pupil and assistant.”
Childermass: “I think I would make a very bad pupil ... I do not know how it will end with you and Norrell. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You fail and Norrell wins, I shall leave his service. I’ll take up your cause, and there will still be two magicians in England, two opinions upon magic. But if he should fail and you win, I’ll do the same against you. Good enough?”
I wanted to punch the air. The thought of a Strange/Childermass alliance is a deeply satisfying one.
Other matters of note
The Vinculus effect
It’s a rather brilliant thing that Vinculus’s unhinged countryside rantings appear to be contributing to the Johannites (derived from the Latin for John, as in John Uskglass) in the north smashing up the machines and pledging allegiance to the Raven King. Not such a demented hedge monkey after all, then. Hoping for more of his lunacy next week.
Syrup of the Week ...
... Goes to publishing magnate John Murray, introduced rather wonderfully this week by an ample-looking John Sessions. It was part judicial wig, part Grayson Perry, and most pleasing, too.
Childermass spin-off, anyone?
If a Better Call Childermass spin-off isn’t being worked on already, I’m doing it. Perhaps an origin story, lifting the lid on his life as rapscallion pickpocket. I’d devour it. And so would you.
