I feel bad about the late Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. I feel bad about it because it is a masterpiece, and once well-poised to become a beloved classic; yet was irrevocably eclipsed by J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter as the modern light fantasy. Oh, Discworld remains well-liked and well-respected enough, and it has its devoted fans; but it is unavoidable that more people will know Lord Voldemort than known Lord Vetinari. And I believe that twenty years ago this wasn't that obvious.
Fanmade pastiche wherein the two rival fantasies come crashing into each other…
and perhaps it's telling that this is the only one I could find.
I feel bad about this because Discworld is very much the superior series in my opinion. Of course, it has the advantage of just having more books to its name — something which, as of late, Rowling has been working overtime on correcting. Don't get me wrong, I like Harry Potter fine, and if nothing else its bustling fanfiction community is something strange, something unique and fascinating and wonderful, which Discworld couldn't really have sparked in quite the same way. But as far as the books themselves are concerned, I find that what I like most about Potter, Discworld does too, and usually better.
Speak truthfully, which of these looks like the proper
Librarian for a whimsical school of magic?
For example, the inventive quaintness of the Wizarding World in Rowling's universe is probably the most entertaining thing about it, but whenever Pratchett tries his hand at the same, he surpasses most of Rowling's already creative output; for example, "cameras" that work through a hyperactice artistic-minded imp caught inside the box, who sketches out a picutre in a few seconds, would fit the tone of either series, but in point of fact Pratchett was the one to think it up. Similarly, both series have a great school of sorcery with colorful wizards on its staff, and a particularly memorable one (equal parts silly and awesome) as its Headmaster/Archchancellor — but Hogwarts's librarian is a stern, unhelpful woman who hushes people; the Unseen University's librarian is a conceited orangutan. Both schools also have a sentient wizard's hat, but Rowling's does little more than serve as a plot device, and occasionally sing a song, before disappearing from the plot for the rest of the novels; Pratchett's, after resting on many a headmaster head, has grown fond of power and becomes an antagonist in his own right.
Alright, so what does Harry Potter have that Discworld lacked? The most obvious is that the Potter books star children (later teenagers), allowing a young audience to better connect with them; it's easier for a 13-year-old to imagine themselves as Harry or Hermione than as Rincewind. More generally, it has a more focused story with a steady cast of characters, as the varied POVs of Pratchett's books, though they are otherwise a strength, make it possible to enjoy a few books but loathe another set due to lacking any hint of one's "faves" — or, even, starring one of the most-despised characters. The Pratchett way of doing the Harry Potter plot would no doubt have included a novel starring Hagrid, or Snape, or Luna Lovegood; but those characters are divisive, and while all Potterheads tolerate them in small doses at least, books starring any of them instead of the main trio might have turned away large swathes of the audience.
But, after this belabored introduction, let us wonder if some — not all, but some of Potter's success can't be laid at the feet of the eight-movie series started in 2002 under the helm of Chris Columbus, and completed in 2011 by David Yates. I'll probably talk about said series some other day; it's not without some serious flaws. But it was grand fantasy spectacle that probably did as much as Lucas's Star Wars and Jackson's Lord of the Rings to make fantasy films as “mainstream” as they are today, gathered most of the big names of British acting (John Hurt! Maggie Smith! Ralph Fiennes!), and were generally a smash hit.
By contrast, when Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone came out, the extent of its cinematic translations was this:
Oh, Cosgrove Hall, whatever happened to you? The 1970's Danger Mouse and Count Duckula… had their flaws, but they were no worse than anything else on the air; a little cheap, but okay. But the 1990's, from my experience, brought a downwards trend for Cosgrove, and despite solid voice acting (notably bringing in the excellent Christopher Lee as Pratchett's endearing — yes, I said it, endearing — take on the Grim Reaper), the two animated Discworld series were disasters by most standards. The pacing was all over the place, the animation was jerky and uncertainly-colorized, the sound design haphazard, and the character models unappealing.
Funny enough, Disney once wanted to make an animated feature out of one of the most iconic, if not the most iconic, Pratchett novel, Mort. But… this ain't that.
The dearth of good film adaptations may not have been Discworld's only disadvantage, but I think it must have been the one that sealed its doom before the onslaught of the Potter films.
If watching Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas left you frustrated
that we got to see so very little of Jack Skellington as Santa Claus — only the beginning
and the aftermath — then Hogfather is the movie for you.
In 2006 however, Discworld kicked back, with the outstanding television film Hogfather. Proving the benefits of having movies below your belt for recognition, it is this film which definitively made me a Discworld fan, for all that I'd heard of it before. Unfortunately, it was too little too late insofar as seriously competing with Potter went (though Hogfather remains a wonderful piece of cinema, and I hear watching it year on Christmas has become tradition for many), and even more unfortunately, the next film produced in the ad-hoc television Discworld trilogy, The Colour of Magic (2008), was more of a miss than a hit. Not that it had any significant flaw in comparison to Hogfather; in terms of casting, it snatched Tim Curry as its main antagonist, and Christopher Lee returned as the voice of the Grim Reaper after Ian Richardson's interim in Hogfather. But somehow, none of it gelled together in quite the same magical way it had in Hogfather. Perhaps The Colour of Magic was simply an inherently less cinematic book.
Yeah, yeah, whatever.
Whatever the reason for it, The Colour of Magic's lukewarm reception killed the Sky One Discworld films in their infancy, though there have been unusually persistent rumors of more films on the way for nearly a decade now. But not before they finished one last film to wrap up their anthology trilogy: Going Postal, in 2010.
Going Postal is fantastic. Hogfather may have more charm to it, and I personally prefer it, but there is a very fair argument to be made that it's the best of the three, purely as a movie.
Jon Jones's direction is not what I would call genius, but it is a work of outstanding craftsmanship, conveying the tone of each scene perfectly and telling a streamlined story, one that would be unlikely to confuse even a casual viewer with little to no knowledge of Discworld's universe (this is the one deciding way in which it surpasses Hogfather, which sort of assumes you know who Albert, Susan and Ridcully are from the get-go).
That story is this: lifelong conman Moist von Lipwig is roped by mastermind dictator-from-the-shadows Lord Vetinari into reopening the derelict post office of the City of Ankh-Morpokh, closed down years prior due to the overwhelming success of the 'Clacks' Network (a loose fantasy equivalent of telegraphy). His charisma and know-how soon allow him to do so, and he even revolutionalizes how the post works, by inventing stamps through a series of fortuitous coincidences that are everything great about Discworld. While doing so, he falls in love with Adora Dearheart (the Love Interest, and not at all as cutesy as her name sounds, do give Pratchett a little credit), the daughter of the Clacks' real inventor; makes friends with a golem called Mr Pump, initially his parole office, and in the end more of a volunteer assistant postman; and draws the hire of Mr Gilt, the current owner of the Clacks Network who has had every single Postmaster before Lipwig assassinated. Things end, as they must in such a plot, with a grand public bet and a race. Gilt's misdeeds are outed, Lipwig is forgiven both by the law and by Adora, happy ever after.
The effects are… as good as they could be with a television budget (mark that a 2000's British television budget, let alone a 2010's British television budget, is not even remotely similar to what was known as a “television budget” in the 1960's or even 1980's; I know 1970's blockbusters that wish they'd had the money for a dozen monster costumes and location shooting in Budapest). The Golems have a great design and the sound design, voice acting (from Nicholas Farrell) and direction do all they can, even if their lips just can't move right. The Count Orlock wannabe whom everyone insists is a “banshee” (Pratchett can play annoyingly fast-and-loose with folklore; in Discworld, a werewolf counts as “undead”; but this is nothing Rowling hasn't done — looking at you, Boggarts) looks perhaps a little phonier, especially when trying to convince you that it can fly, but it's not like it's that major a part of the film. The Clacks at least look great, as do the haunted letters in most — though not all — scenes where they torment Lipwig in his dreams.
As for the cast, it is simply stellar. I've seen accusations thrown around at Richard Coyle's Lipwig is not likeable enough, but I find him entirely convincing as the sleazy, charismatic conman, and yet equally capable of selling his later redemption and heroism. You're not supposed to like Lipwig much at the beginning of the film; you'll only have a point if you still don't like him by the end.
Pretty much everyone agrees that Claire Foy as Adora Dearheart — you might know her from Being Human — is perfect casting, and, yes, it is. Of course, Adora isn't the most original character in the story to begin with. But Foy sells her utterly, from the broader comedic “I'm going to shoot you with my crossbow if you call me adorable one more time, Mr I-think-I'm-clever-andfunny” aspect to the more tragic “I watched my father die in disgrace” beneath.
Andrew Sachs as Postman Groat is an utter delight, all the more so because so far as I know Sachs hasn't done much of anything noteworthy since Fawlty Towers (lots of miscellaneous, perfectly honorable roles, many of them in audioplays; but nothing that had reached me), and it's delightful to see that he's still got it. Groat is easily the funniest thing in the movie. He is flanked by Ian Bonar as youthful obsessive-pin-collector-turned-obsessive-stamp-collector Stanley, whose performance is… well, I can best describe it as what Johnny Depp is usually trying to do, except done right for once.
On the opposite side of the moral spectrum, loathsome Mr Gilt is certainly a surprise to see from David Suchet, who, of course, made a name for himself playing notoriously mild-mannered Hercule Poirot in the character's definitive television incarnation. I won't lie: it took a while for me to see Gilt as anything but Poirot playacting beneath a false beard and a wig. But by the beginning of Part 2, a combination of Suchet's acting and Pratchett's wirting finally managed to break past that reluctance. Now, Mr Gilt is not a wholly great villain, and he's certainly a notch below Suchet's other guest-star role as a villain in a popular British franchise, the Lodger in the Doctor Who episode Knock Knock. Nevertheless, he's a lot of fun to watch, and suitably scummy and grotesque. It surprises me that anyone could do cliché villain better than Tim Curry, but I think I like Gilt more than I liked Curry's Trymon in Colour of Magic.
Finally, this review wouldn't be complete without appropriate praise to Charles Dance's turn as Lord Vetinari, taking over from Jeremy Irons, who played Vetinari in Colour of Magic. Now, Pratchett's personal choice of a screen Vetinari was, I am told, Alan Rickman; but again due to Potter, this was never going to happen past 2002. Whether he liked it or not, Rickman could never have stepped on another fantasy set as a mysterious well-spoken man working in dark ways for the greater good, without everybody just going "SNAPE! SNAPE! SNAPE!" and not listening to him.
As for Irons, he is a good actor (The Lion King proved he can play fantastic villains long ago, and it is a matter of public record that his villainous Mage Profion was the only thing of any positive value in the godawful 2000 Dungeons and Dragons film). He was fine in Colour; unfortunately little more than fine, but fine.
However, Charles Dance (never mind his off-book fair hair) Charles Dance is Vetinari, the disillusioned mastermind who keeps Ankh-Morpokh running smoothly through whatever means necessary, for reasons that are as mysterious as they are all his own — Vetinari, who is refined without being arrogant, unfathomably ruthless without being villainous, a chessmaster without being yet another monologuing Moriarty clone, who toys with those lesser than he with a wry smile yet without deriving any real mirth from it. Every Vetinari scene in Going Postal is the thrill of one of the most fully-realized translation of a literary fantasy character onto the screen, one
As an adaptation, Going Postal was more pragmatic than faithful, mostly to its advantage, though I'm sure some of the changes (Wikipedia has a whole list) will be disliked by people who hold the novel particularly dear to their heart. I am certainly of the opinion that making Lipwig inadvertently responsible for Mr Dearheart's ruin, for one thing, added a lot to both Lipwig and Adora's arc in the film; and Horsefry's altered method of death serves to make Gilt look even more detestable. If there are two changes one must bemoan, they are these: first, the replacement of the space-time warp (a delightfully Pratchettian bit of worldbuilding) with simply more assassinations by Mr Gilt's assassin, for all that it makes the plot tidier and allows said assassin to deliver the indubitably-awesome line “I am the Curse!”. Second, the disappearance of Death, who had a minor role in the book; his absence isn't missed per se, but to know that we had a window for another Richardson or Lee performance as Death, and that we missed it, is rather infuriating. Still, Going Postal always preserves the spirit of the novel, and that is what matters most.
I could not recommend its vision more strongly, perhaps preceded with that of Hogfather. (If you liked both of these, you are free to then check out Colour, but do temper your expecations.) Even people not familiar with the novels should be more than able to get a kick out of this little gem.
Post-Scriptum:
Does anyone know why Ridcully was recast from Joss Ackland to Timothy West? I guess it's sort of amusing that Ridcully has now been recast without explanation in-between films, just like his Harry Potter counterpart Dumbledore, but I doubt that was intentional. (Incidentally, for my money, the Ackland/West recasting is much smoother than Harris/Gambon.)
