Historical fiction mystery writer CJ Sansom died just four days before the TV adaptation of his bestselling books premiered. It is impossible even to speculate what he might have thought of Disney’s creation—the man was startlingly private despite his literary fame—but as a devoted fan of the books, my feelings about the show are mixed. Lukewarm reviews have called it the ‘Disneyfication’ of the Shardlake series—but that’s not quite right. It’s more like the goofy types of re-enactment bits you used to get in nineties historical documentaries. Mediocre sound designers have been given free reign; cloaked figures flee down dark corridors, accompanied by unnecessary ghosty-swooshing sounds. One pot shatters with the kind of stock sound clip one might download for the local am-dram production (and I have). Heavy doors clang shut rather too heavily, making a metal clatter instead of a wood one. These incongruities are difficult to describe, but impossible not to notice if your husband turns the volume up as high as mine does. Some of the casting choices are questionable. Sean Bean is a forceful presence in other productions, but not here. Here, his Cromwell is about as threatening as ancient Theoden in The Two Towers before he de-ages. Sean Bean hardly even stands up. He just shouts from his winged chair, too winded with impotent rage to do anything else. Compare this with Mark Rylance’s Cromwell in Wolf Hall, who is almost never seen sitting down. He lurks in the back of the room or the corner by the window, watching, waiting—deciding. He doesn’t shout. Yet you know behind his poise and restrained expression is a mind in constant political machination. Thankfully the usually charismatic Sean Bean is not in Shardlake much at all. I was surprised by the casting of Arthur Hughes as CJ Sansom’s beloved Matthew Shardlake, simply because Hughes looks so young. But Hughes—whose real-life disability is apparent on screen—suits very well. That’s another thing that comes across well in the TV series; how much Shardlake’s hunchback pains him, both physically and socially. People curse at him, laugh at him, underestimate him, because of his deformity. He also in pain all the time, and wears a back brace under his clothes to help keep him upright. He bears the indignities quietly.
Shardlake is a zealous but warm-hearted barrister working as a commissioner for Cromwell, who is looking for any excuse to close the monasteries. He finds a good one at Scarnsea, where a commissioner has been murdered. Scarnsea is a remote abbey set in a sprawling marshland. In the book this setting is local to me—the wet flatlands along the eastern side of Sussex. In the TV series, the setting is distinctly Transylvanian, as my husband pointed out—and he is right. The film location is indeed a Transylvanian castle. It is gorgeous. Pointed, gabled roofs on brown stone towers, sheer outer walls higher than any hill in Sussex—this is a heightened, atmospheric version of Scarnsea Abbey. But it certainly isn’t England. Perhaps that doesn’t matter. But for a book series as devoted to real historical events, maybe it matters a bit. After all, Scarnsea Abbey itself is a major player in the mystery.
The first book Dissolution, on which the Disney show is based, is a classic locked room (or locked castle) mystery. A commissioner of the king has been found murdered in the abbey kitchen. The monks blame an outsider, but Shardlake quickly deduces that it had to be an inside job. There was only one way into and out of the kitchen, and no sign of the culprit. The key to unravelling the mystery lies in this locked room setting, and several other plot points hinge on it. But by the end, this important factor seems to have gone out the window. Once the murderer is unmasked (he/she) disappears and no one seems that bothered about finding (him/her). There are other plot holes and loose ends—for example, the fate of one of Cromwell’s original commissioners sent to the abbey, who attempts to leave before the mystery is solved. There doesn’t seem to be a strong reason for his fate, either for the plot or the characters’ development. Maybe they just wanted him off the scene.
The show’s strong point is Jack Barak, played by the dashing Anthony Boyle. Barak is another of Cromwell’s men, dressed in rich burgundy velvet and puffed sleeves and breeches (is he compensating for something?). ‘Sir, there’s codpiece at the door,’ says Joan, Shardlake’s housekeeper, when Barak comes to call. ‘Is a man attached to it?’ asks Shardlake. This is his first impression of Barak—puffed up, cocky and possibly an obstruction to solving the mystery. But his first impression is wrong. The (sole) joy of the TV series is watching Hughes’ and Boyle’s changing relationship, which grows from dislike and mistrust to quiet admiration, to a kind of friendship. This despite the fact that they fancy the same girl. When she chooses the younger, handsomer Barak, Shardlake is only bitter for a short time. The two lead characters are perhaps the only thing Disney got right. There is a poignant moment at the beginning when Shardlake reflects on the life he wanted to live when he was a boy. ‘I believe I have a vocation, sir,’ he tells a priest in a memory. ‘God made us in his own image,’ the priest replies. ‘Look at yourself, Matthew.’ Even God rejects him because of his deformity—but Shardlake goes on to become one of Cromwell’s most valued commissioners. Arthur Hughes does him justice. A pity the same can’t be said for the rest of the show.
