#i lately read the children on the hill which had the same conceit but was much more sympathetic

[overelegantstranger]

been reading a run of horror/thriller novels lately. i've specifically been looking for ones that aren't too intense, ones that are a bit generic or not intended to be especially earthshattering. and i've been largely enjoying it, but, for anyone else who also enjoys reading horror/supernaturaly thrillers, i just wanna stake a quick red flag over J. H. Markert's The Nightmare Man. Not gonna say "don't read". however. AM going to say two things: thought it was a first novel until i saw the six other titles at the back; was astonished at the amount of gratuitous ableism throughout. Also felt it was a bit racist and sexist but not in an overt way, in a nagging uncomfy way.

[rokutouxei]

a solitary walk

genshin impact | G | 2478 | [ ao3 ]  side hu tao/xiao | hu tao birthday fic!

every year, hu tao lives her life the way she believes it ought to be lived—loud and outright. even if reincarnation was real, and that one day we might die and then return to the earth once again, we will only ever be living this very life once. only once in these special circumstances, with these people, in this environment. it’s not because she fears death—no, it’s exactly because she knows death will come to her in the end that she lives like this.

lives treating the stone lions like they were actual cats.

lives climbing up the treacherous cliffs of huaguang stone forest to write poetry.

lives spooking others, walking late at night along wuwang hill.

hu tao knows death like the back of her hand, which is why life means so much to her. why she lives so much of it.

there is only one year a day when the anxiety is stronger than usual. when hu tao feels like living through these ideals is simply not enough. when she begins to doubt her place among the living, when no funeral pyre of inner demons can clear her head. on this day, on her birthday, it’s the long journey taking her from liyue harbor to the solitary mountains of liyue that truly takes out the storm in her heart, heavy and pounding.

when she can be between the pages of herself, among the voices of people she hopes love her.

  -

   “going out today, director hu?”

zhongli is, as he usually is at this hour, promptly sitting in the study of the wangsheng funeral parlor, likely just having finished some morning lecture to the undertakers. hu tao hums, whizzing around him as she peers at what book he’s holding. a history on rex lapis.

“no business today, maybe we need to rework our advertising strategy,” she says, straightening her back. “with you here, i get free time to take a walk and think of better marketing tricks.”

“please don’t use me as an excuse to skip work.”

“aiya, what do you think of me? that’s not what i’m doing,” she pouts. then, she points at the book in his hands. “what were you reading?”

“the undertakers were interested in something i said about the themes of death in liyue’s history, and i was merely reviewing my history,” zhongli answers, strangely more somber than usual. “it is mortal to fear death, but it is to go beyond what it means to be mortal to try to comprehend death as greater than something to be afraid of. as with rex lapis, who surely has witnessed a great many losses in his long lifespan.”

“what do you think the divine feel about death, zhongli?” hu tao asks, hands behind her back, looking up at the mysterious man who always seem to know more than he let on. “do you think it still means anything to them, when they live across so much time and space?”

“i think, director hu,” zhongli says, “that every death can still leave its mark. the archons were mortal once, after all. to not fear death does not mean to not honor its rightful weight.”

“hmmm,” hu tao nods, deep in thought. “you may be right.” then, a clock down the hall begins to toll, and she is shaken out of her reverie. “aiya, what time is it! i have to go, thank you for entertaining my question. i’ll see you tomorrow!”

hu tao is just about out of the door when he speaks again.

“director hu?”

she blinks. “yes, mister zhongli?”

he gives a smile that feels like it bears too much memory. “happy birthday.”

hu tao only beams at him, and then hops out of the door.

   -

   hu tao still remembers the disdainful stares of some of the older, more conservative people of liyue once the kids caught up to her little “hilichurl song.” something about little children chanting about death and murder in such a joyful manner did not sit right with several of the elders. this reflected poorly on hu tao, but—

did it matter?

the kids were—are—having fun, the song is catchy and she wouldn’t be conceited to say that everyone in liyue knows it at this point…

she remembers the little boy who had run up to her, who had returned fresh from a funeral rite up in wangsheng, holding her still-ashen hand saying, “you’re the big sis with the hilichurl song! teach me! teach it to me big sis!”

she remembers being that young.

she doesn’t quite feel like being this old.

the least she can do is immortalize its transcience; she’d write all the poems on death for the living if she had to.

   -

   she encounters xingqiu, who has obviously just come from his daily perusal of wanwen bookhouse, two books under his arm and another clasped between his fingers. she comes up right up before him and goes—

“xingqiu!”

he doesn’t even flinch, long used to hu tao’s little antics. he finishes reading the paragraph he is on before putting the book down, smiling at her.

“well, what is my liege doing this fine day?”

“oh, i’m off to take an adventurous little walk! what are you up to today, young master?”

the honorifics turned pet names were special little sparkles in their conversation. it had become so normal between them they no longer think about it, but the others who overhear are a little more curious.

“to put a little spice into the lives of a young exorcist and an aspiring cook, would you like to join me?”

were it any other day, hu tao would have said yes. there was nothing quite like getting off work early and messing around with chongyun and xiangling, mixing up the ingredients, activating excess yang energy. but today was not that kind of day, so she shakes her head and gives a little smile at her friend instead.

“not today, unfortunately. but soon, for sure!”

xingqiu nods. but before he leaves, he pulls out a bookmark of pressed silk flowers from behind his back, and hands it to her.

“taken fresh from the wilderness.”

“you mean yujing terrace?”

“where i got it is of no matter—” xingqiu says, stifling a laugh, “but instead what message it brings. may you find good company on this special day of yours, my liege.”

hu tao smiles, the kind that reaches her eyes, the one that so few people see, and then pushes xingqiu lightly down the road toward wanmin.

“go cause trouble!”

    -

  the first half of the journey is a lot less tricky. at a certain hour every day, without fail, there are wagons that begin their trip from liyue to mondstadt. hu tao usually hitches a ride on one of these all the way to wangshu inn, where she stops for lunch.

wangshu inn has become such a common culprit to their little meetings that no one gets surprised to see her anymore, smiling and waving at everyone all the way upstairs to the top floor. (sometimes she even passes by the kitchen for some almond tofu, but, ah, yanxiao doesn’t really want her using the kitchen, if for the sake of the food she makes.)

today, when she gets there, she finds aether and paimon sitting at the tables at the very bottom, waiting for their meals to be served.

“hu taaaaooooo!” paimon calls and waves, to which she waves in response, hopping up the stairs to get to them.

“if it isn’t the mighty traveler and paimon! my offer for a discount coupon for accidents is still available, if you’ve changed your mind!”

aether ignores the joke entirely—wisely—and asks, “not staying at the parlor today?”

“aiya, does that seem like such a strange occurence? is it wrong for the director of a funeral parlor to catch a break?”

“...from offering discount coupons for parlors?” paimon turns to aether. “and why so far out here of all places?”

the traveler knows. “we haven’t seen him today.”

“do not fret! the ever omniscient hu tao knows exactly where he will be,” she teases. “can i join you for lunch?”

"wait!" paimon whines. "who's he?"

hu tao orders nothing festive, just some plain snapdragon salad and some fish, but verr goldet hand-delivers a little assorted tray of desserts anyway—red bean soup, mango pudding, custard—all on a celebratory looking plate. she whispers to hu tao: “from the young gentleman.”

and aether’s eyes go wide as plates in realization, but before he can say anything, hu tao hushes him with a finger, not wanting paimon to make a big deal out of it. the traveler only chuckles, paimon neck-deep into a bowl of noodles, and mouths happy birthday while facing the director.

once lunch is over, they talk a little until their stomachs settle with the food, but then they are on each other’s ways. aether and paimon, headed up to mingyun to clear out a camp of hilichurls that have been causing trouble, as commissioned by the guild. hu tao, to qingyun peak, where the clouds can brush over her cheeks.

“are you gonna walk all the way there?”

“oh, it’ll take me just a few hours. i’ll get on any patrolling millelith carts if there are any. i’ll be fine. thank you, traveler!”

“take care, hu tao!” aether calls out. “and send my regards!”

   -

   “i knew i would find you here,” hu tao says, as she lands ever so gracefully on one of huaguang stone forest’s highest peaks. xiao sits there, cross-legged, with his eyes closed. the exhaustion from the journey sinks into her bones as soon as she sees him, as if knowing she will find rest in him—perhaps the same way the sun has sunk dark blue into the horizon.

“i’m here because i knew you’d be here,” he retorts. not even turning to face her. hu tao sinks wordlessly next to him, her hand on his lap.

she loves the way they fit together like this, two puzzle pieces magnetized to each other.

“thank you for the desserts.”

he places his hand over hers and squeezes.

xiao has never been the type for comforting words. the best he can offer is his understanding silence, the kind that makes hu tao know he can comprehend what is going on in her little, mortal mind--even when she herself is not sure where exactly her thoughts are taking her.

“i wanted to bring you almond tofu, but it would have melted on the way here.”

“you don’t need to worry about me.”

you know i’ll worry about you anyway.

worry about yourself.

i already do, why else do you think i’m here but for rescue?

here in huaguang, the breeze silences everything in her mind that speaks, so that all that remains is this: just her, just xiao, just liyue’s star-dotted night sky.

just good company.

no dead, no ghosts, no demons. just them.

they stay there until time seems like it stops existing.

the thing about xiao and hu tao’s relationship is that somehow they always find each other perfectly as one needs the other. it has always been like that from the beginning. from the very first time hu tao had gotten herself lost around mt. aocang, cornered by a family of geovishaps hell-bent on getting her for disturbing their nap; to when hu tao had found xiao slumped against a tree, bloodied with his mask on his face and near unable to breathe, her presence and stupid humor like exorcising the demons clinging onto him;

they find each other always, as if sensing death on the other, and they come to the rescue.

without even needing to call out each other’s names.

hu tao, leaning against him like deadweight, turns her hand around so they can interlock their fingers together. xiao does so wordlessly, and hu tao memorizes the warmth of him against her skin.

keeps it in the back of her mind for when he isn’t around.

they speak without speaking, passing each other the same old questions like they always do.

what if i die today?

you’re not dying today, hu tao.

what if i die tomorrow?

you’re not dying tomorrow, xiao.

who will take care of you when i am gone?

who will remember huaguang like these, starry nights with our hands clasped together?

who will i come to when i’m in need of aid, when i need someone who sees death as i do?

don’t go, it’s too early to do so.

hu tao only voices out one of many, many thoughts passed between their intertwined hands, when she says, “when death finally comes for me, thousands and thousands of years before yours, adeptus xiao…”

xiao hums.

“remember me?”

he scoffs just the littlest bit and hu tao knows he means always. “rest,” he says, as xiao turns and presses a kiss on the side of her face, tucking a pair of qingxin flowers with braided stalks behind her ear. one he’d made before she’d arrived, prepared to find her in this state.

“for sweet dreams,” he promises.

    -

  while in his arms hu tao dreams of her grandfather.

she is watching her young, 13 year old self host her grandfather’s funeral, incredibly young and small and out of place in the grandeur. her yéyé liked grandeur, and it was hu tao’s mission that day to make sure that everything about his grand goodbye went the way it was planned.

it was hard.

she was calm, and composed, and so unlike the hu tao the rest of liyue knew that day. she was solemn during the entire ceremony, not a twinge of a smile or a frown on her face, just calm and detached like it wasn’t her grandfather she was preparing to set off. like his hat wasn’t sitting on her desk at home drenched in her tears.

the present, older hu tao looks on to spot the little signs of breaking left unnoticed by everyone else, like the little ticks at the corner of her mouth, her hypercontrolled breathing, the way she squeezes the staff she’s inherited specifically for this day, under her grandfather’s request.

and while the younger hu tao does not catch him, the older hu tao spots her grandfather among the trees, standing there with his hat still on, in his usual garb, the kind that reminds her of chanting poetry in the afternoon and—

—he smiles.

at younger hu tao, then, eventually, at her, older, smarter, more mature hu tao, as if saying:

thank you.

you’ve done so well.

before he disappears into a fog of light.

hu tao does not feel the need to follow.

   -

   hu tao wakes up in her room in wangsheng funeral parlor smiling, feeling the clouds still on her face, qingxin still in her hair.

[aion-rsa]

Rome: The Long Road of the Original HBO Epic

https://ift.tt/36frbPD

It was the biggest show ever produced when it premiered on HBO. Filming in exotic international locations and on sets that went on for blocks, it was an epic spectacle that many whispered couldn’t be done on television. Not with its hundreds of extras in lavish costumes, and not with its cast of more than a dozen major characters. Yet HBO gambled big with a budget that exceeded $100 million on its first season.

These details might be mistaken by many as the genesis of Game of Thrones. But before HBO’s song of ice and fire, this was also the origin of the first actual modern TV epic. It was the story of Rome.

In its debut, Rome was even more gargantuan in scale and opulent in design than Thrones’ first few years. Filmed at the legendary facilities of Cinecittà Studios in the actual Rome, HBO and showrunner Bruno Heller oversaw a vast recreation of antiquity during the life and times of Julius Caesar. From the austere grandeur of the pre-imperial Roman Forum to the eventual seediness of the gangs on the Aventine Hill, the final days of the Roman republic were reimagined in sweaty, shocking, and spectacularly expensive detail.

“We used the most modern scholarship, which suggests that all the sculptures were painted,” Heller says over Zoom as we reminisce about Rome and its Cinecittà extravagance 15 years after the series’ 2005 premiere. Every morning Heller would  be up at 4am, arriving early on set and getting lost in the art direction’s colors. “Walking out there at dawn into the Forum and seeing this world created, it was just magical. It gives me goosebumps now thinking about it, seeing a hundred [Gaul] tribesmen on horseback with great furry helmets charging down a hillside yelling, that sort of thing. No one makes things like that anymore. Even something like Game of Thrones would use CGI for the kind of things that we were doing for real.”

Actor Kevin McKidd, who played one half of Rome’s soul, the honorable to a fault Lucius Vorenus, expresses similar awe when he thinks back at what they accomplished.

“I mean listen, none of these budgets were small, but I think Game of Thrones ended up being smaller than ours,” McKidd correctly points out. Whereas Rome was budgeted at $100 million when it premiered, Game of Thrones debuted with a more reasonable starting price tag of $60 million. Says McKidd, “Ours, it was the first time anybody had tried this, so we just had to spend the money. And I think they figured out, it seems, ways to do it smarter or for less… because our show came out of the gate just huge and bawdy and big, and unapologetic.”

Heller is even more succinct in describing Rome’s making.

“Most films, and even TV, is planning for battle,” Heller says. “Planning for a big TV series like [Rome] is like planning for war, for a campaign. It’s invading Russia.” He pauses, “You have to think about the retreat, as well.”

This was Rome’s war: brief, bloody, and beautiful.

‘Very Unlikely to Be Made’

When HBO first hired Heller to take a crack at a Rome treatment, he didn’t think for a minute it would get made. In the early 2000s, HBO was a different place than it is now. The Sopranos and Sex and the City of course turned the premium cable network into the leader of the prestige cable revolution—or harbinger of peak TV as it would later be called—and the network had its eye on bigger and more dazzling projects. In 2001 HBO even released the most expensive miniseries ever up to that point with Band of Brothers. But that World War II-set series also had the names Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks attached as producers. The network still relied on bankability.

So when Heller took a meeting about Rome, he was acutely aware he’d be unable to lend that same prestige to a sword and sandals epic. He’d written some scripts before at HBO and admired the vision of then-HBO chairman Chris Albrecht and Carolyn Strauss, then-president of HBO’s entertainment division. But he was being called in to discuss a show based on a preexisting miniseries pitch by John Milius and William J. MacDonald—a pitch the network was already wary toward.

“It’s one of those projects that’s really going for broke and very unlikely to be made, [given] the budget that was required,” Heller recalls of HBO’s attitude toward Milius and his vision. “They were paying me to write a script to take it at least to a respectable point at which time they can say, ‘Okay, thank you.’”

Citing himself as “cheap” at the time, Heller recognized it was easier to pay a young writer for a treatment than a whole production crew for a pilot. So he used the opportunity as an excuse to immerse himself in Roman history and lore. This began via conversations with his co-creators Milius and MacDonald. Their central conceit already had in place the three characters of young Octavian, the boy who would be Augustus, first Emperor of Rome, as well as Roman centurions Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus.

In history, as with the series, Pullo and Vorenus were the only Roman soldiers who Julius Caesar mentioned by name in his journals. But other than being Roman centurions in the 13th Legion, not much else is known of the men. And Heller took his first major liberty when he lit on the idea of changing Pullo from a centurion to a coarse, insubordinate soldier beneath Vorenus’ command.

It was a savvy move that mapped the heart of the Rome series. Whereas most other fictions about this oft-dramatized era in history focused on the lives of the legendary patricians—be it Caesar and Octavian, or Marc Antony and Cleopatra—Rome would maintain all those characters and the lower tiers in daily Roman life. Through the introduction of Pullo and Vorenus, and their contentious friendship, the fall of the Roman republic suddenly becomes an upstairs/downstairs dramedy.

Says Heller, “The model that first sparked me on ‘oh, this is how to play it’ was [Tom Stoppard’s] Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, because the larger story is so well known, like Hamlet, that it’s hard to tell that story. The downstairs story has to be more compelling than the upstairs story, because the upstairs story, a little like Batman, is a given. It’s a myth. Everyone knows what happens.”

It also allowed Heller to dive into modern research.

“There was a lot of very recent scholarship at that time that transformed people’s sense of what Roman [history] was,” Heller explains. “There was much more about the everyday life of Roman people, about how people would have lived in apartment blocks in the insular working class life, and looking at it from that modern perspective.”

Reflecting on the dirtiness and filth that would be in the Roman Forum, the showrunner adds, “It’s lucky that practically every previous representation of Rome on any scale kind of went for the grand imperial late Edward Gibbon velvet drapes and marble columns. Even Gladiator went for that. Whereas, in fact, it looked much more like Calcutta or Bombay, and smelled like that.”

This also provided the writer the chance to explore Roman culture and custom with a greater push for authenticity than many Hollywood films of yore. For example, Heller attempted to learn how to read Latin at least as well as the uneducated Pullo—though he says he only got about as far as being able to recognize “oh that’s a pub” if he were walking the streets. More successfully he came to understand his vision of the Pagan working class mentality when he wrote a scene of Pullo praying to Portunus, the Roman god of locks and keys.

It all informed an extravagant treatment for a series he’d end up writing half the episodes of (and he tells us all 22 installments of the show passed through his typewriter before shooting). Yet, at least per the co-creator, what got Rome greenlit was as much his innovations as the developments of an entirely different epic series at HBO.

“[Chris Albrecht] was looking for something that had to be big and that they had to put money behind,” Heller says. “I think it was going to be Mel Gibson doing Alexander.” Indeed, at the same time HBO was developing Rome, the network was also working with the then-beloved Oscar winning director behind Braveheart for a 10-part series on Macedonian conquest.

“Then it turned out that Mel Gibson was going to do Alexander but he wouldn’t be Alexander,” Heller says. “[But] they didn’t want to be in business with Mel Gibson as a director-producer without Mel Gibson as [the star].”

As Gibson’s project imploded, Rome’s prospects would rise, sans any stars. Clearly things in the entertainment industry were about to change.

A Bottle of Tequila in the Roman Forum

When speaking with McKidd over Zoom, the actor’s affection for Rome is profound. Not 20 feet from his screen rests Lucius Vorenus’ sword, which he safely keeps in his own home. Similarly, within the actor’s mind resides nothing but warm memories. He reminisces about seeing his children spend summers growing up around the actual ruins of the Roman Forum and Colosseum during production; and he savors still the long nights at Cinecittà with British theater legends like Kenneth Cranham, a fellow Scotsman who played Pompey Magnus.

“It was an incredibly social time,” says McKidd. “It was almost like summer camp for British actors. We all got to live there; we went out for long dinners every night and we’d speak to Kenneth and all the older actors, who told us such amazing stories about all their time in the theater.”

But one relationship, perhaps the most significant of the entire series, was that shared by McKidd and his co-star Ray Stevenson, aka Titus Pullo. While there were of course other vital parts to the series, from worldly Ciarián Hinds as Caesar to Tobias Menzies’ despairingly well-intentioned Brutus—and one must never overlook Polly Walker’s Machiavellian Atia of the Julii (Heller’s favorite character)—the heart and soul of the series belongs to Pullo and Vorenus, the odd couple of 48 BCE.

Off-screen McKidd and Stevenson had known each other for years through mutual friends, but it wasn’t until they were in the final round of chemistry auditions in a Covent Garden hotel that they began a significant lifelong friendship. But then, it was a late epiphany to cast the red-haired and fiery McKidd as the straight-laced Vorenus.

For the actor, the process began early when he bumped into Heller, as well as executive producer Anne Thomopoulos and director Michael Apted, while in Romania. At the time, McKidd was there filming the TV movie Gunpowder, Treason & Plot (2004), as it was cheaper to shoot a period piece about 16th century Scottish court intrigue in eastern Europe than actual Scotland. The Rome team was entertaining a similar idea.

“I’m strutting around in my thigh-high leather boots and period costume, and we’re riding horses and swinging swords, and all that stuff and having a great old time,” says McKidd. “And I hear these American voices in the corridor, so I come out, and here is this guy called Bruno Heller.” They immediately got to chatting about the Danny Boyle movie McKidd did, Trainspotting (1996), and about this new TV series focused on ancient Rome. McKidd quickly prepared with his current director a film reel of himself riding horses.

Yet when HBO finally sent him a script, the producers didn’t want him for the Vorenus role; they saw him as Pullo.

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On the casting process, McKidd remembers, “I said to them, ‘I’d love to come in and read, but I would really much rather read for the part of Lucius Vorenus.’ And they were like, ‘No, we really see you as maybe Pullo, can you read for Pullo?’ So I said, ‘Okay.’ So I came in and I read for Pullo. And they’re like, ‘Okay.’ Then a week goes by, and they call and they say, ‘We really love you, but maybe can you come in and read for Marc Antony?’”

So it continued until McKidd begged to get a screen test for Vorenus. It even took so long he initially considered turning the series down in favor of indie projects he was already committing to. That was at least a thought he had on the set of Ridley Scott’s Kingdom of Heaven (2005) until word got around at the pub to co-star Liam Neeson.

“I came down to the bar and Liam was pointing his finger at me and he was like, ‘You, I need to have a word with you outside,’” McKidd says. “And I was like, ‘Ah shit.’” Out in a snow-covered Spanish countryside, Neeson commanded, “Go to a phone booth, find a phone right now. Call your agent and hope and pray they haven’t offered that part to somebody else.”

They had not, and soon enough McKidd was flying alongside Stevenson to the actual city of Rome.

“I remember me and Ray going to Rome in the spring… with Michael Apted, walking around this back lot at Cinecittà, and it was all just scaffolding at that time, there was no frontage. I remember Michael turned to me and Ray and said, basically, we can’t fuck this up, because it was so huge. It was so beyond anything that any of us had ever seen.”

With red paint chipping across weathered doors, and mules grazing in the squares, a Roman Forum unlike any other came alive in the same space where Martin Scorsese just filmed Gangs of New York. The sense of size and scale was overwhelming, as was the pressure on Stevenson and McKidd to anchor it. Fifteen years later, McKidd is candid about how that tension shaped each man and, in the actor’s mind, the series.

During the last day of production on the first season, after shooting had wrapped and festivities began, McKidd and Stevenson found themselves sharing a quiet set of stairs leading up to their Roman senate. Between them was a bottle of tequila. Off in the distance, the faint sound of wrap party debauchery was rising to a muffled roar, yet the central stars of Rome were keeping their own company and having a long overdue conversation.

“I don’t think Ray would be mad at me for telling this story because we’re still close friends and I love him dearly,” McKidd says with a measured tone. “Initially, he and I clashed. We just had very different styles. Ray’s this big larger than life personality, and as Bruno would say, I’m much more this ‘Presbyterian,’ or you could say a little more controlling… and we ended up at loggerheads a lot, and fighting, and being difficult in the first season.”

Yet as McKidd is quick to point out, this translated to perfect chemistry on the screen, as Pullo and Vorenus were often “at loggerheads” during the first season, which culminated with Vorenus’ life imploding on the same day as Caesar’s assassination. Meanwhile Pullo found some semblance of peace. But here in the twilight of a recreated Roman Forum, the season was getting a much needed post-script.

“The wrap party is going on somewhere, and we can hear the music,” McKidd says, “and he and I just sat out there sharing the bottle of tequila. And we had it out, you know? Because we both had been holding stuff in for the season about things that annoyed each other… We got all of it off our chest and we ended up just having a huge hug, and we threw this bottle, this [now] empty bottle of tequila, into the middle of the Forum. We made a pact with each other that from that point on we were going to be the closest of friends, and we still are.”

In many ways, it mirrored the coming dynamic between Pullo and Vorenus in season 2, which McKidd likewise recognizes.

“Our bond was unbreakable in the second season,” he says. “You see that chemistry shift and move, and morph throughout the two seasons, and it pretty much tracks Ray and my relationship.” And it would prove indispensable that second year, especially as both characters, like their actors, were forced to close ranks and face that the end was nigh.

The Cost of Doing Business Like the Romans Do

Founded in 1937 by Benito Mussolini, the international renown of Rome’s Cinecittà Studios has long superseded its less than auspicious beginnings. Celebrated as the home to a highly skilled community of filmmaking artisans, Cinecittà’s name is inseparable with legendary filmmakers like Federico Fellini, Roberto Rossellini, and Sergio Leone. And it’s been the site of landmark Hollywood productions, such as Roman Holiday (1953), Ben-Hur (1959), and even the notorious Cleopatra (1963). Yet as Heller points out, no American production has been back to Cinecittà since Rome.

Says the creator, “It’s Italy, I love it, and it’s part of the culture, but you were there to be picked over and for them to, in completely formal and legitimately legal ways, take as much money out of the production as possible.” He pauses to smile and choose his next words carefully about the difference between shooting a movie and TV series in that environment.

“With a series, you’re making long-term relationships,” he continues. “It’s like a marriage. A movie is a one-night stand. You can be a bastard to everyone on a movie and you’re never going to see them again. So the result is more important than the relationships. In a TV series, the relationships are more important, in the end. It’s pointless having a successful first season of a show and then you can’t do the second season because no one will work together.”

This is not to say the only reason Rome was prematurely cancelled had to do with frustrations over the cost of doing business in Rome—McKidd also cites, for example, Rome eating up too much of HBO’s production budget from other projects in 2006. Nonetheless, reports of high-finance rigamarole even reached the cast.

Says McKidd, “I heard enough to know [about] the scaffolding. I don’t know how many tons of scaffolding was used to build that set, but I remember one of the earlier conversations was, ‘We need to buy this much scaffolding.’ And the people at Cinecittà were like, ‘You can’t buy that much scaffolding, but you can rent it from my brother.’”

Both Heller and McKidd insist there was no criminality or dishonesty about this, and it was simply the way things are done. But for the creator, word was executives high above his pay grade were disturbed by the Byzantine labyrinth of Italian politics. So much so it became contagious throughout Hollywood.

“At one stage, the Italian government issued arrest warrants or provisional arrest warrants for all the fiduciary producers of the show,” Heller recalls. “And that’s a sort of a standard Italian business practice, but when buttoned-down straight-laced lawyers from New York are flying out to Rome and discovering that this is [how business is done], people were spooked.”

It was also just a contributing factor to Rome’s untimely cancellation, which occurred during the pre-production process of season 2—and before the series’ popularity would explode with the international DVD sales and second season launch.

Heller was so far into writing the second season that they were in prep, gearing up to film the second season premiere, when he got the call it was over. The havoc this wreaked on Rome’s remaining 10 episodes, with one of them ready to shoot, was immediate.

When the first season concluded, Gaius Julius Caesar was dead, Vorenus had lost the love of his life, and Rome was headed toward civil war. The second season was always meant to be the fallout of that war, with a study in the brief and doomed alliance of Marc Antony (James Purefoy) and young Octavian (Max Pirkis), as well as the woman between them, Octavian’s mother and Antony’s lover, Atia. All of that, plus the death of Brutus and the other conspirators, would still occur in season 2… but so would Antony’s flight to Egypt and the eventual civil war between a now adult Octavian (Simon Woods) and Antony and Cleopatra (Lyndsey Marshal).

“I had to reconceive the second season basically from scratch,” Heller says with lingering exasperation. “Because when you take out that much history, the jump between the death of Caesar and Marc Antony taking over, and his death in Egypt, it was a huge amount of quite obscure but great, scandalous, fascinating, eventful history.” Most of it had to be jettisoned, too, between Brutus’ death and Antony declaring in his will that Caesar and Cleopatra’s son is Caesar’s true heir.

Some critics and fans were disappointed with the visibly breakneck pace of the second season. Others found it an exciting retelling of that period. One of Rome’s stars seems to be in the middle.

“I think the second season was successful in some ways, but it also feels, in my mind, a little rushed,” McKidd confesses. “And I think Bruno would say that too. Just because so much story was crushed and sort of concentrated down into season 2. I love [it], but I definitely felt like it was a lot condensed in.” 

And yet, McKidd and Heller both seem to lean more toward a satisfaction with it. In fact, the producer even suggests the ending with the ascension of Octavian to imperial status (he takes the title “First Citizen”) was the perfect grace note. While it’s well known among fans the series had a five-season bible with Cleopatra and Antony’s deaths originally marking the end of season 4, and season 5 following Vorenus and Pullo going to Palestine in time for the birth of Christ, that was never Heller’s favorite part. 

“That was one of the elements that Milius was fascinated by that I had no interest in whatsoever, frankly, trying to tie it in to the birth of Christ. Because, at the time, it meant nothing. It would have to be a completely different story. Put it another way, no Romans were worried or thinking about the coming of the Messiah.”

It was a Christmas story Heller didn’t want to tell. Even so, he had some interesting ideas already in place, including a vision of the ancient Holy Lands being closer to Monty Python’s Life of Brian than Ben-Hur.

“Palestine was in ferment at the time, and messiahs were popping up all over the place,” Heller says. “Judaism, at that point, was in a moment very much like Islam at the moment, full of passion and ferment and faith, and dreams of martyrdom.”

Like much else with Rome, it feels like a fascinating opportunity left unfulfilled, but one that the creator is glad to leave unexplored.

All Roads Lead to Rome’s Legacy

Rome shined briefly but brightly on premium cable. Premiering in the fall of 2005, it was gone by spring ’07. But even shortly after its cancellation, there were some small whispers of regret because of the show’s DVD sales; whispers that continue to be heard by stars of the series. McKidd says if you asked HBO in 2020, some would likely wince again at cancelling it, as he heard they did by the time season 2 aired. But “they couldn’t go back on that, or felt they couldn’t.”

But if it burned off like a Roman candle—with fire and thunder in its wake—the show still provided a roadmap for how to produce a massive spectacle as a television series.

“I think a lot of the producers that aren’t the ones that you hear about mostly, like Frank Doelger…  were all pivotal on Rome and went directly into Game of Thrones,” McKidd says. “Frank Doelger was one of the main producers, and he very much was the guy who whipped our show into shape and we learned a lot of lessons. So yeah, I think very directly, those people went into Game of Thrones and had learned a lot about how to do this kind of level [of production.]”

Heller likewise marvels at how HBO learned from Rome’s problems with its initially more affordable and tighter fantasy epic.

“The way they divided crews up in Game of Thrones, it was clever because there was always a general staff of central command, but they had more than one general, and they didn’t lose control of the generals,” Heller says.

And just as Rome carved a path for the modern era of epic television shows, Game of Thrones has now created a space for more diverse TV epics like Netflix’s The Witcher and Amazon’s upcoming Lord of the Rings series.

“[We were] ahead of the curve in the sense that it was too early,” Heller says. “But it’s not so much the audience [changed], as it is the appetite and the ability of networks and studios to make things of that size and to promote them and to market them, and to have faith and the courage to back them up.”

This series walked so that Peak TV could run. It’s a formidable legacy, and one that proves all roads in blockbuster television really do lead back to Rome.

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[jisforjudi]

'Queen Victoria always liked sex...' Judi Dench and Stephen Frears on making Victoria and Abdul

 Jessamy Calkin

2 SEPTEMBER 2017 • 6:00AM

It was a story that was crying out for a film. Queen Victoria, old, fat, bored, widowed and still grieving, had pretty much given up and was slowly eating herself to death. Her dissolute son Bertie was impatient to get rid of her so he could be crowned Edward VII.

It was 1887, her Golden Jubilee year, and she was bracing herself for the onslaught of tributes and fealty from overseas royalty. Britain had ruled India for the past 29 years and as a gift she was sent two Indian servants, Mohammed Buksh and Abdul Karim. Karim, a clerk at the prison in Agra, was 24. He came over for a couple of months and stayed for a decade.

Initially his duties were as a servant, but after less than a year he had become the ‘Munshi’, the Queen’s teacher (she learnt Hindustani from him) and official Indian clerk. Victoria was Empress of India and fascinated by the country, but had never been there. She became besotted with Abdul: there were daily lessons, a salary increase, portraits commissioned and he introduced her to curry, which became a staple on royal menus.

As her infatuation increased, her family and the Royal household grew increasingly resentful. Racism was fairly endemic at the time, and Karim had started to get a bit uppity. The Queen put him in charge of the Indian servants, gave him his own cottage, shipped his wife and mother-in-law over from India, put him in his own carriage on the royal train, and his father – a medical assistant in the Agra jail – was awarded a knighthood.

Abdul was devoted to her, but hierarchy was everything in those days. There was a rebellion in the Royal household and a stand-off with the Queen. (Even her beloved John Brown, despite his closeness to Victoria, had always remained  a servant.)

It was a narrative with a lot of charm but it was bound to end badly. And it did. After Victoria’s death, Karim’s house was raided by Bertie and almost all of the many hundreds of letters from Victoria were destroyed. Karim was packed off back to India, where his health declined and he died eight years later, aged 46.

But no one thought to destroy the Queen’s Hindustani journals, a product of her daily lessons with the Munshi. And when writer Shrabani Basu was researching a book about curry she became curious about its prevalence in the Victorian household, and equally curious about the portraits of the striking Indian courtier in the Durbar Wing at Osborne House.

She discovered that 13 volumes of the Queen’s Hindustani journals were kept in the archives at Windsor Castle, and asked to see them. Then, in Agra, she came upon Abdul Karim’s tomb and tracked down his relatives – which led to the inevitable trunk containing his journals, and a whole new light was thrown on the relationship.

When producer Beeban Kidron heard about Basu’s book on the radio, she couldn’t believe her luck. Cross Street Films, the production company she runs with husband Lee Hall (who wrote Billy Elliot), pitched for the rights and won. ‘We wanted to do it from the point of view of Abdul, the stranger looking at the strangeness of court. And to be funny and accessible,’ says Kidron.

Cross Street teamed up with other production companies, including Working Title, to produce the film. Hall wrote the script and Stephen Frears was asked to direct. ‘He’s brave and irreverent,’ explains Kidron. ‘And I felt he would get the humorous, fable-like take on the subject.’

And Frears, everyone hoped, might bring in Judi Dench to play Victoria. ‘Nobody else made sense,’ he says. They had worked together on Philomena (2013), and Dench had famously played Victoria in John Madden’s Mrs Brown, the 1997 film about her relationship with the Scottish servant (played by Billy Connolly). So it was a nice conceit that, 20 years later, Dench might play her again.

Did her heart sink or leap at the idea? It cautiously leapt, Dame Judi Dench tells me on the phone. For several reasons.  ‘I have sometimes been back to re-examine something, but not in film, only in Shakespeare. But I did think Lee’s screenplay was really very good indeed, and I can’t resist Stephen Frears.’ She was riveted by the story, and had already done the homework in her last foray as Victoria.

She cites a particular scene, when, to the consternation of the Royal household, Victoria took Abdul to a remote little house called Glas Allt Shiel, on the Balmoral estate, where she used to retreat with Brown, and to which she said she would never return after he died. ‘They don’t understand anything, those stupid aristocratic fools,’ she says of her family in the film. ‘Toadying around. Jockeying for position… They couldn’t bear me bringing dear John Brown here. Yet I was happier here than anywhere in the entire world. Oh, I miss him, Abdul. And Albert… I am so lonely. Everyone I’ve really loved has died and I just go on and on.

‘No one really knows what it’s like to be Queen. I’m hated by millions of people all over the world. I have had nine children, all vain, and jealous and at loggerheads with each other. And Bertie’s a complete embarrassment. And look at me! A fat, lame, impotent, silly old woman. What is the point, Abdul?’

‘It must have been glorious to have somebody to talk to,’ says Dench now. ‘Somebody to learn from, and to exchange ideas with. And she was proprietorial with him; he kind of belonged to her – I’m sure that just having somebody to relax with must have been wonderful for anyone in that position.’

Abdul is played by Bollywood star Ali Fazal, alongside a stellar theatrical cast: Tim Piggott-Smith, Michael Gambon, Olivia Williams, Paul Higgins, Eddie Izzard – there is even an appearance from Simon Callow as Puccini.

Kidron and Frears headed to India to find Fazal. After the audition, Frears said, ‘I can see Queen Victoria being quite taken with him…’, and Fazal came to the UK for a screen test, his first time in the country. Frears instructed him to watch Peter Sellers in Being There as a reference.

‘I remember reading Victoria’s letters,’ says Fazal on the phone from India, ‘the ones that survived, and being unable to describe their relationship – was it love? Was it intimacy? Was it friendship, or maternal? There were letters she signed as “your loving mother”, or she would say, “I miss my friend,” and on one occasion, “Hold me tight.” Those are strong words for a monarch.’

There was no evidence that their relationship was sexual, but there was a romantic element to it. According to Frears, Victoria liked to be held: ‘Brown would lift her down from the horse and put his arms around her, and she liked that very much.

‘Anyway, she always liked sex. It was just the children she couldn’t stand.’

For all that Abdul was devoted to her, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a chancer as well. ‘What appealed to him was the intellectual stimulation they shared,’ says Fazal.

‘But there was a manipulative side to him too, and I still believe he was an opportunist, though I think it was called for to be an opportunist in a world that was not yours, in a country that was not yours. You’re going to have to climb up the ladder with constant obstacles and people against you, and it requires a lot of balls to do that; you have to be a bit street-smart.’

One of the best things about the film is the glorious sets. The court routine would be for the Queen and the Royal household to spend the late summer in Scotland, at Balmoral, then return to Windsor for the autumn, and move to Osborne House on the Isle of Wight for the winter and Christmas, then back to Windsor in February.

In the spring there would be a European sojourn – Florence, say, or Nice. The film was shot in India and the UK. Windsor and Balmoral were recreated at Greenwich, Belvoir Castle and Knebworth, but the biggest coup occurred when the film-makers were granted permission to film at Osborne House, which has never happened before.

This was the Queen’s seaside holiday home, which she and Albert acquired in 1840 (and which was given to the nation by Bertie upon her death in 1901), an Italianate house with wonderful gardens. It added a whole new dimension to the film, and the actors were elated to be there.

‘It was glorious to be sitting at a desk and looking out of a window at the same view Victoria would have seen 100 years ago,’ says Dench. ‘Walking down those corridors and glancing about, you think, well the paint might have changed – but it was still really exciting.’

During filming, visitors to the house were treated to an occasional glimpse of Queen Victoria, or Bertie, which must have been surreal. They must have thought they had stumbled across a historical re-enactment, or an amateur pageant, except the actors were Judi Dench and Eddie Izzard, who had nipped down to the Durbar Room in full costume just to have a look.

Paul Higgins, who plays the Queen’s doctor, Sir James Reid, was the only cast member with a build slight enough to wear real Victorian clothing. He relished walking to the set from his hotel every day, taking the old chain ferry and striding up the hill to the unit base in the grounds of Osborne House.

‘I always walked to the house in Victorian clothes much like Reid would have worn, over lawns that he would have walked over as he chatted to the gardeners – he was very interested in gardening. It was such a great way to get into character.’

Alan Macdonald, who worked with Frears on The Queen and several other of his films, was the production designer. ‘Osborne House would have been the most difficult location to recreate because it’s based on an Italian villa, and within it they created a sort of new fashion, which is a departure from the ornate heaviness and subdued nature of Victoriana wallpapers and textiles.

Windsor Castle and Balmoral were tricky enough, but Osborne House is a whole other world that hasn’t really been seen on screen before – the colours are like Neapolitan ice creams and sorbets, and it was all about letting in light.’

A designer’s job, says Macdonald, is to reinforce the narrative tone of the film. ‘It’s not just creating rooms. Finding the location is a challenge, as is finding the furniture, or building a garden in Hampshire – but the real challenge is in creating this sort of jigsaw puzzle, putting all these pieces together, and reflecting some kind of psychological aspect of the story.’

English Heritage was happy to comply, because of the obvious benefits it will reap from tourism. But there were restrictions. ‘We had people from English Heritage saying, “Don’t step there; no, don’t sit there…”’ says Dench. ‘And if you wanted to move your glass slightly to the left, someone would have to put gloves on and move it for you.’

Some of the furniture was very delicate, says Macdonald. Too delicate to sit on. ‘So you might have a scene where 20 people are meant to be sitting in a room but only three people can sit down. So there’s a bit, for example, where Olivia Williams [Lady Churchill, Lady of the Bedchamber and friend to the Queen] looks as if she’s sitting on a chair but, in fact, it’s a sort of crate.’

One of Macdonald’s favourite moments was during an outdoor tea-party scene in Scotland (filmed in a glen where some of The Queen was also shot), in which the Queen and senior members of her household were having a miserable formal picnic at a table buffeted by the wind. A car pulled up during the filming, the door opened and a high-heeled boot poked out. Eddie Izzard.

He wasn’t required on set that day but, says Izzard, he likes to be where the action is. ‘Film is my first love and it was one of the first scenes we shot, and I just wanted to be there – so I drove myself up.’ It was a cold windy day and Izzard lay down in the heather to keep warm.

He looks like Bertie. How did his casting come about? It was the casting director who suggested him, and Frears went to watch him do stand-up. ‘My character’s interesting – very damaged by his upbringing, and his mother blamed him for the death of Albert. But he was the only one who could tell her to f— off really.’

Bertie was one of Karim’s chief detractors. ‘Victoria was on her way out; she’s eating herself to death – she’s going to go in the next couple of years and the throne will be Bertie’s,’ says Izzard. ‘And then suddenly she gets a whole new lease of life; she’s got something to live for. So you can see that Bertie would be pissed off.’

Izzard gained 26lb to play the part, and was given a beard and a cane. He relished working with Frears and was already a friend of Dench, who often goes to see his stand-up shows. Accordingly, he arranged a show to take place in the Isle of Wight during filming, to entertain all the other actors and raise money for charity.

‘It keeps me match fit, and we all had this great sense of community – we’re on the Isle of Wight for a month – so I thought it would be fun for the locals too. It’s like the circus coming to town for one day. Where I grew up, in Bexhill-on-Sea, the circus never came to town. So if I can ever make the circus come to town, that’s such a good thing to do.’

Dench attended this event, and it was if the Queen herself had arrived, says Macdonald. ‘She is perceived as regal, but she’s so warm and open and amusing and irreverent – not grand at all.’

It sounds like a very entertaining film to work on. The principal members of the cast stayed in a small hotel with 12 rooms. There was much playing of Scrabble and other games. And Dench made them all watch University Challenge.

Frears stayed elsewhere. ‘I went to a holiday camp, which I rather preferred, but I could hear their whoops of laughter while I was there. Judi is very good at all that – she’s Brown Owl. She looks after everybody.’

Dr Reid was a key character. He was in permanent attendance to the Queen, seeing her several times a day, and became her trusted companion. He was a Scot who hated Scotland. Higgins read his biography, Ask Sir James, in order to prepare for the role. ‘Apparently he was an exceptional doctor. Unlike some of her other doctors, he really kept up to date. Victoria gave him time off to travel to London and visit hospitals and keep in touch with technology and learning.

‘She came to rely on him and trust him, except when he told her not to eat so much and so quickly. She had a gargantuan appetite.’ (In one scene, Dench had to munch her way through 27 boiled eggs. Everyone was very impressed by this.)

Queen Victoria died in Reid’s arms on 22 January, 1901, at Osborne House. She was 81. ‘She was a monster, but she was also rather brilliant,’ says Frears. ‘I admire her more and more.’

‘I grew up being very sceptical of Victoria,’ says Lee Hall, ‘but when I read more about her, I found she was a much more interesting character than I had assumed and I really fell in love with her. She was more broad-minded than all the people around her.’

After her death, the Munshi was allowed to spend a moment alone with the Queen as she lay in her coffin. Then, on the orders of the King, came the raid on his house and the destruction of the Queen’s letters. He returned to India, and the land that Victoria had given him in Agra, a wealthy and titled man, and according to Basu, spent his last days sitting by the statue of Queen Victoria and watching the sun set over the Taj Mahal.

www.telegraph.co.uk/films/2017/09/02/queen-victoria-always-liked-sex-judi-dench-stephen-frears-making/#comments

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the part that worries me is the sentence One of the best things about the film is the glorious sets.  Makes me think it’s going to be a stinker