Movie review: The Shadow in the North

What with beautiful Victorian dresses, the attractive and talented J.J. Fields and Billie Piper in leading roles, and a mystery plot filled with gritty London alleyways and looming villains of all types, one would expect that The Shadow in the North, the BBC adaptation of Philip Pullman's novel and the sequel to the 2006 adaptation of The Ruby in the Smoke, to be engaging and fantastic in a beautifully historic fashion.

Dear Reader, one would be wrong.

One almost, in fact, doesn't know where one might begin to mention where one would be wrong.

Though rushed and semi-insensible, the plot is a fairly direct adaptation of the novel. Sally Lockhart, several years after the events of The Ruby in the Smoke (where she solved the mystery of several murders, including that of her father, and of the mystical Indian ruby behind them all) is working as an accountant in 1870s London, while avoiding marriage to her friend Fred Garland, a photographer and her partner in any mystery(along with another friend, Jim, who completes their trio.) When approached by a client who has lost her life's savings in a bad investment and has suspicions of corporate fraud, Sally, Jim, and Fred become involved in an investigation that will lead them to spiritualists and magicians, the cream of society and the dirty criminal element, patent offices and parties, and more tragedy than they ever imagined. And that's even before they discover a weapon of such diabolical intent that someone would be willing to kill them all, just to keep them from exposing his creation.

All in all, some very good ingredients for a splendidly suspenseful time. Except we find ourselves cheated from suspense as the director rushes through all threats from the bad guys to our heroes, dumping us off the edge of our seats to let us get a better view of their bruises afterwards. Instead of truly building the mystery, the movie rushes around to briefly touch on each of the minor characters, only to leave us without sufficient explanation of who they are, or why they merit any place in the movie beyond providing a fraction of a clue to advance the mostly-indecipherable plot- or, in fact, being memorable enough for me to recall their names the second after they leave the screen. While novel adaptations frequently change characters' relation to plot points adversely, a little compression could not possibly have hurt any more than this scattered mess did.

Possibly the most appalling thing about this movie, however, was the dearth of historical accuracy. The BBC's determinedly colorblind casting meant that a high degree of racial diversity was found at all levels of society, with none of the characters appearing to notice the differences between themselves. Not unless sexism counts- one of Sally's prime motivations is her desire to prove that women can be just as good as men at running a business or solving a problem, and frequently has to prove herself. But that is there for plot propulsion; the fact that outright racism isn't an issue in this book does not necessarily equate to all nationalities being represented at a society ball- the imperialistic politics of the time would have strictly forbid such a thing.

All of this historical fallacy seemed mostly excusable while I was watching it. After all, it might be just barely possible that an Indian man could be a clerk at the Patent Office. There might be mysterious, politics-circumventing reasons to explain how he came to be there. Maybe.

But the last shreds of the suspension of my belief were flung to the wind when a Rastafarian gentleman showed up (with no explanation for why his character should be a Rastafarian,) and I knew the movie would, in all likelihood, not get better.

As the movie spins towards its despondent and further credulity-stretching end, much of the cinematography and editing turns into a series of close face shots and extreme high establishing shots, as if to say, "Look! We have people looking Serious and Intense. We also have Victorian baubles! PAY ATTENTION TO NOTHING ELSE. Like, say, plot or historicity."

The movie ends on an ostensibly cheerful note, as Sally again violates a certain strong social more and nobody says a word, thus proving that mentioning Victorian society as it was (past the pretty dresses and decor) is unnecessary, except as it serves to fabricate character depth. Because I have a special interest in nineteenth-century Britain and am therefore rather picky about its representations, I found this film to be far less enjoyable than I expected. Perhaps someone less interested in the past would find this movie to be a good time, but frankly, if I want to see Billie Piper in the late nineteenth century, I'll just watch "The Unquiet Dead" and "Tooth and Claw" episodes of Doctor Who, where she's definitely a lot more fun.