Small Island
pre·cious (prshs)
adj.
1. Of high cost or worth; valuable.
2. Highly esteemed; cherished.
3. Dear; beloved.
4. Affectedly dainty or overrefined: precious mannerisms.
5. Informal Thoroughgoing; unmitigated: a precious mess.
The definition they don't include in their list is the usage of the word "precious" in the context of writing, particularly screen-writing. I've never heard anyone give an exact definition in that context, but in school, when someone would say, "don't get precious", it means don't assume that everything you write is good, don't get so attached to it that you can't see when something's not working. Or we would use it in the above context, usually to comment on something too sweet, too cliche, too perfect.
This is a stereotype about the kind of films women write, and unfortunately, Small Island really crash landed in the middle of it. The story is a good one, though it does get burdened down by cliches. The real problem is that the director used a scalpel when he should have used a hatchet, and axed the narration.
Using narration to try and carry a story wouldn't pass muster where I was trained. "Show, don't tell" is a cardinal and basic rule in screenwriting as in literature. It is appallingly clumsy, distracting, and most of all, an absolute affront to the acting profession. A good scene, where silence can carry the emotion, or a few well chosen words deliver the blow, does not need to be explained to the audience. Nothing skull fucks a scene to death like ham-handed narration, and in this particular instance, I would like to know whether it was written into the script or added afterwards, because it feels like a retrospective decision. A good director knows how to say no to a writer's vanity, and focus on making the best possible film, and a good editor knows how to say no to a director, and focus on cutting the best possible film. But somewhere someone didn't brass up and say no.
This piece had the potential to be really good, though I think it would have made a much better feature. The casting was the strongest component of this film. The writing was less subtle, and less economic than I would have preferred, but the story was solid and the characters were developed. Naomie Harris is a first class actor and her role as Hortense really carried through when it could've easily fallen by the wayside as being too spiteful, dumb or arrogant. It makes one wonder if the decision was taken to add a narration to her thoughts in order to soften her, which I think would be quite disrespectful to Harris, because she is quite capable of showing the different facets of Harris' character.
The whole cast is excellent, and within the supporting cast there's some real creme-de-la-creme of the British acting world (David Oyelowo, Ashley Walters, Benedict Cumberbatch, Karl Johnson) but it's definitely Ruth Wilson who steals the show as Queenie. For one thing, the director allows her character more room to breathe, to just exist and stare out of a window and be allowed to play the scene, without trying to using narration to force-feed her thoughts to the audience. She works the best within a very constricted story.
That said, I saw this as a matter of course in my media stalking of Benedict Cumberbatch. I wish that he'd been given a broader role, because the character of Bernard is in and out, and while there's lots of potential for some really excellent conflict and drama, the director side-steps it and goes for the cheesy "suddenly Hortense and Gilbert love each other!" without exploring any of the potential conflicts, without bringing Michael back into the story. Cumberbatch is too good an actor to waste on a one-off character, but despite a very short amount of screen time, he worked his magic by injecting as much complexity as he could into a small performance. Like Wilson, he has the gift of acting through silence, and conveying great pain and confusion with a simple look.
I always feel a little apprehensive with each new thing I watch for the express purpose of watching Benedict Cumberbatch, because I don't want to see him (or any other good actor) saddled with something that doesn't allow him to shine. I'm not just saying it as a criticism of casting him in a bit part, because the character was interesting enough to have carried an additional storyline, which I frankly think this needed. If I had seen this when it had original aired, I would've been distraught, because even a well played bit role doesn't rise above a mediocre story. But I'm not bothered now, because Benny's not bit part actor, he's not really a featured actor, he's a star. It's really fucking refreshing to see directors like Spielberg recognizing talent instead of conventionally good-looking ass kissers.
It's a good thing Benedict clarified his sexual prowess to the press, because if he hadn't, it would've been so easy for him to get pigeonholed as the shy nerd boy. He may say he regrets voicing that thought now, but it probably made a lot of ears prick up to listen to him, when otherwise he would've gone unnoticed. Though, I still think that making a statement like that makes it incumbent upon him to prove it...to me. The chocolate sauce is optional.
Had this series been a feature (or a three part) had lost the narration, and upped the stakes, I would've been hooked to the screen. It seems like the white characters were all allowed to show the best of their craft without being dragged down by the narration, which low-rents the performance of the people of colour. Which I find to be especially stupid, as all of them were superb actors, and the main theme of the story was race.
I do know this was based on a book, which I haven't yet read, but sometimes you need to do a True Blood and go a radically different direction if the book isn't working for the screen. Not all written stories make good films, and a film serves a different kind of dramatic need than a written work.
I once asked my directing teacher how he turns off his director brain when watching a film. The tendency is to want to critique, or get distracted by the technical aspects. But he gave me an answer that has pretty much allowed me to differentiate what works and what doesn't: if I'm watching something good, I don't notice anything else. I suspend belief, I watch, I'm absorbed by the story. The story has to be the first priority, then the acting. If those two hold together, it's easy to forgive crap production values. But if you screw up the story, nothing in the world can save it. If I'm watching the production values, and not the story, then the film isn't working.
As it was, Small Island jangled my nerves, because the entire time I watched I kept thinking, this could be better. There are times when a narrator is called for, when you need a Morgan Freeman, but in your head, if even Morgan Freeman can't make your narration work, then it's time to stop being precious and sacrifice your baby.