Little Dorrit, part 2
I feel as if my icons are a bit backwards on these Little Dorrit posts: in the first installment, the action and even the emotional impact seem tipped slightly more toward Arthur Clennam than Amy Dorrit, but in the second installment, Amy's emotional life comes very much to the fore.
I really liked last night's installment, though I'm not sure I have much to say about it today. Claire Foy was very impressive; she played that further emphasis on Amy's emotional life beautifully, I think. (Her face is also very evocative, too, pale and pointed, with eloquent eyes. There's that moment when you can see everything she'd like to say, to burst out in indignation as she's done with her brother Tip, but of course her habitual concern for her father won't let her do it. So she just goes back to polishing his shoe, while he berates her for only thinking of herself.)
The scene with her and Arthur, when he's talking to her about John Chivery's proposal, made me realize what (or part of what) it is I like about Amy Dorrit in this adaptation; she's in the same narrative position as Elinor Dashwood: carrying a secret she can't share with anyone else, while everyone else dismisses her feelings and takes advantage of her unconscionably. (I would kind of like to punch Mr. Dorrit in the face.) And the story she told Maggy broke my heart--of course it would come down to fairy tales, in this world full of lost and lonely children.
But Arthur remains a dear, of course; I love Matthew Macfadyen's little facial expressions, the way it seems to take his face half a beat to register what he's been told, even as he's responding to it. And of course I love that he's so solicitous of Amy, so careful about her feelings, when unbeknownst to him he's blundering all over them.
I really liked last night's installment, though I'm not sure I have much to say about it today. Claire Foy was very impressive; she played that further emphasis on Amy's emotional life beautifully, I think. (Her face is also very evocative, too, pale and pointed, with eloquent eyes. There's that moment when you can see everything she'd like to say, to burst out in indignation as she's done with her brother Tip, but of course her habitual concern for her father won't let her do it. So she just goes back to polishing his shoe, while he berates her for only thinking of herself.)
The scene with her and Arthur, when he's talking to her about John Chivery's proposal, made me realize what (or part of what) it is I like about Amy Dorrit in this adaptation; she's in the same narrative position as Elinor Dashwood: carrying a secret she can't share with anyone else, while everyone else dismisses her feelings and takes advantage of her unconscionably. (I would kind of like to punch Mr. Dorrit in the face.) And the story she told Maggy broke my heart--of course it would come down to fairy tales, in this world full of lost and lonely children.
But Arthur remains a dear, of course; I love Matthew Macfadyen's little facial expressions, the way it seems to take his face half a beat to register what he's been told, even as he's responding to it. And of course I love that he's so solicitous of Amy, so careful about her feelings, when unbeknownst to him he's blundering all over them.