THE THORN BIRDS (Wolper/Marguiles/Edward Lewis Productions, 1983) Warner Home Video
It is one of Hollywood’s minor ironies that television – considered the
insidious ‘little box’ in everyone’s living room and the movies’ arch nemesis
back in the 1950’s, has today – with the advent of home video - become the
movie maker’s best friend; also, tragically, the reason for one media existing
at the mercy and expense in artistic integrity of the other. Today’s movies do
not look or feel like ‘movies’ anymore; the masterful art direction and
stylistic elements of meticulous compositions a la Hitchcock, David Lean or
even a Sydney Pollack, replaced by pseudo-video game/music video aesthetics,
meant to anesthetize and numb our sensory capacities. Alas, such efforts do
nothing to enrich, captivate or ingrain themselves in our hearts and minds. The
result – at least two decade’s worth of disposable entertainments – or rather,
movies and TV, designed to divert and distract, but hardly to remain
ever-present as a fond memory in our collective consciousness. Just as live
theater once regarded the movies as its inferior, in the 1950’s TV became the bastard
child of the cinema, threatening to walk away with the audience – ergo, the
profits – by uncoupling this time-honored, though tenuously balanced relationship.
Had more clairvoyance than sweaty anticipation been applied to embrace television
back in the day, the studios might have held dominion over the, then as yet,
untapped new frontier. It was not to be. Moguls clung tight to their declining
empires instead, forsaking the ‘little box’ while forbidding their roster of
stars to appear on it. The eventual and inevitable implosion of the movie’s ‘star
system’ did come with an unexpected perk for TV, however. Beginning in the late
1960’s Hollywood’s mass exodus of talent, both in front of and behind the
camera, created an influx of available artisans to fill TV’s programming void: television’s
immediate cannibalization of the discarded, elevating the general stature and
importance of their product.
Midway through the 1970’s, TV put the proverbial ‘final nail’ in this
competitive ‘coffin’, shrinking the perceived chasm between the two arts
(movies and themselves) with the debut of its first miniseries, Rich Man,
Poor Man (1976). A year later, Alex
Haley’s Roots (1976) would startle conventional wisdom and swamp the
almighty Nielsen Ratings, becoming the most widely watched miniseries of all
time. Dissecting the best elements from the serialized television soap opera (a
main staple since the 1950’s), the miniseries endeavored to tell more complex,
character-driven and socially conscious stories with similar dramatic arcs as a
conventional motion picture (albeit stretched to accommodate a 5-10 hr.
teleplay); an intoxicating marriage of substance to scope and size. In essence,
the miniseries aped the big budget/big screen epics of yore, with infinitely
grander production values than the average half-hour or hour-long TV drama,
expertly scripted to accommodate the ‘cliffhanger’ and commercial breaks. So, TV
had stumped and trumped the movies yet again.
Better still, television could draw on that seemingly bottomless
wellspring of peerless talents who had already made the leap from one medium to
the other – who came to TV already with built-in names and personalities
audiences could relate to, and who knew how to downscale the
grandiosity of their larger-than-life performances – though, hardly their
presence – to suit the small screen. In between the heady 1960’s - the decade
of the road show – and the 1980’s, too many great novels had been forsaken by
the movies; viewed as too expensive to produce and too ambitiously expansive in
their narrative structure to condense into a manageable two – or even three –
hour screenplay. With the advent of the miniseries, these sprawling, often
generational, family sagas became rife for consideration. And TV, with its
built-in security of commercial sponsorship, was only too eager to exploit them
to their best advantage. In the days before even the concept of home video had
entered the public’s consciousness, and, the prevailing dominance of only three
major networks meant a limited amount of highly coveted prime time space
available, television executives took a gargantuan leap of faith and a gamble
to produce miniseries of scope and quality with increasing regularity throughout
the 1980’s; an experiment with a very handsome payoff.
From our present epoch, inundated, even over-saturated with
technological advancements to instantly stream, download, buy and/or bootleg
just about everything from world news to classic movies, we have sincerely lost
that innate spark of genuine anticipation for ‘new’ entertainment. The magic of
going to the movies is gone. Yet, so has the anticipation for ‘the fall previews’
on television pretty much evaporated as networks gradually moved away from keeping
all their proverbial ‘eggs’ in one basket, premiering new shows throughout the
year. Reflecting on the miniseries, the 1980’s were unequivocally the age of
neoteric innovation, if – and ironically – something of a throwback to the
golden age of ‘movie-making’ – effectively downsized to oblige the ‘academy’
proportions of the television screen. Here was a time unlike any other, when
the network debut and perennial reissue of celebrated motion pictures like The
Wizard of Oz (1939), It’s A Wonderful Life (1946), and, The Sound
of Music (1965) – stirred boundless enthusiasm for weeks on end, before and
after their broadcast, and the premiere of most any new show – sitcom or drama
– was heralded with all the pomp and circumstance of the second coming. What
can I tell you? You had to be there. Gratefully, I was, and fondly recall the
mass hysteria over ‘who shot J.R.?’
Also, the giddy excitement brewing for months after it was announced
producer, David L. Wolper had acquired the rights to Colleen McCullough’s
sweeping novel, The Thorn Birds (published in 1977). While most of the
specifics about casting and shooting this epic miniseries were kept under lock
and key, the gradual trickle down of media hype, mostly fed to the audience via
the popular show about shows - Entertainment Tonight! - slowly built
upon a singular note of distinction. The Thorn Birds (1983) was going to
be huge - spanning the globe, with scheduled shoots in Rome, Hawaii and California
(the latter, substituting for the Australian outback).
While many actors were considered for the pivotal part of Father Ralph
de Bricassart, the Catholic priest whose driving aspiration to become a viable
candidate for the papacy (though he does make it to Cardinal…not bad!) overrides
his frustrated/enduring love affair with a very young charge (and, on occasion,
even supersedes his devotion to God), Wolper’s decision to cast Richard
Chamberlain in the part seems to have been largely predicated on the insistence
of his wife. By 1983, Chamberlain had accrued an impressive resume on film and
television; playing everything from the heroic Dr. Kildare (1961-66) to
an unscrupulous engineer, responsible for the perilous and tragic blaze that
consumed the world’s tallest skyscraper in The Towering Inferno (1974). Chamberlain’s
superb portrayal as Maj. John Blackthorne in TV’s Shogun (1980) probably
won the actor extra browning points. For, here was a star – a name above the
title - who could also act, deftly handling a sustained reoccurring performance
in an ever-evolving TV drama. David L. Wolper’s decision to stockpile The
Thorn Birds with an array of A-list talents from both past and present led
him to briefly consider Audrey Hepburn for the part of Mary Carson; the role
eventually going to another Hollywood alumnus, Barbara Stanwyck after Hepburn
turned it down. The ties to classic Hollywood were also firmly invested in the
casting of Jean Simmons (as stern matriarch, Fiona ‘Fee’ Cleary), Earl Holliman
and Piper Laurie (as Meggie’s devoted friends, Luddie and Anne Mueller),
Richard Kiley (Paddy Cleary) and Christopher Plummer (as the wily Archbishop
Vittorio Contini-Verchese, whose tests of Father Ralph’s true fidelity to his
spiritual calling bring out a more primal urge stirring from within). To this
mix, Wolper gave plum acting challenges to relative newcomers, Bryan Brown (the
only legitimate Aussie in the cast, herein playing the unscrupulous, Luke
O’Neill), Ken Howard (as love interest, Rainer Hartheim), Mare Winningham (the
emotionally scarred Justine O’Neill) and Philip Anglim (as the
introspective/illegitimate son, Dane).
In the pivotal role of Meggie Cleary, the young willful lass who woos,
wins, then jealously schemes to devastate Father Ralph, but finally comes to
terms with their lost opportunities for a life together, David Wolper made the
unorthodox decision to cast Rachel Ward. The actress’ CV was threadbare to
practically nonexistent. For the early episodes, depicting Meggie as a young
girl, the part would be played by Sydney Penny, an almost clairvoyant child
star with a powerful presence somewhat unfulfilled in the transitioning over to
Ward to fill Meggie’s adult shoes. Ward’s Meggie is a turbulent young woman,
prone to bouts of moping around and driven to maleficent extremes by her fitful
worship of the sinfully handsome priest who cannot satisfy her burgeoning
sexual desires without betraying his pledge to God and thus, destroying
himself. In the fictional realm of ‘impossible romances’ The Thorn
Birds is undeniably one of the most complex, testing the boundaries of
innate human sexual attraction with an immovable impediment set against its
lovers. In a brief and almost forgotten moment from the teleplay, the
Archbishop reveals his knowledge of Ralph’s divided love. Ralph has lost a rose
given to him by Meggie after the fire on Drogheda, the flower once pressed
between the pages of a book to preserve it.
“When your rose fell to the ground, I understood at last the sadness
you always wear like a holy mantle,” the Archbishop reasons, to which Ralph
painfully confesses, “I’ve tried so hard to get her out of my heart.” “You
think I don’t know that, Ralph,” the Archbishop compassionately confides, “Our
God has given us free will and with that gift comes the burden of choice. It is
time…far past time…you took up this burden, because until you do you cannot go
on.” “But sending me back to her is like asking me to fail,” Ralph admits. “No,”
corrects the Archbishop with confidence, “It’s asking you to choose.”
In retrospect, The Thorn Birds is a story about such life
choices, so perfectly cast, so impressively mounted, and so tightly scripted by
Carmen Culver, the novel’s author, Colleen McCullough and Lee Stanley, it seems
impervious to failure. However, in its initial phase, the project was
considered risky, despite the best-selling status of McCullough’s book.
McCullough would later disown the miniseries in its entirety, rather
unflattering, calling it “instant vomit”. In preparing the project,
David Wolper ran into several complications early on; first, with Richard
Chamberlain – who felt his character – as written - was not nearly strong
enough to carry the weight of the story. Wolper would eventually reach a truce
with Chamberlain, affording him certain latitude to vocalize the character in
his own way, while adhering to the screenplay verbatim. As for the part of
Meggie, Wolper found himself inundated with offers from some of Hollywood’s
most prominent stars, desperate to at least read for the part. Rachel Ward, Olivia
Newton John, Michelle Pfeiffer and Jane Seymour all auditioned. Ultimately, it
was Ward’s vulnerability that convinced Wolper he had found his Meggie. But
Ward would remain slightly terrorized by the experience of making and promoting
this miniseries. Of all the actors assembled for the first run-through of the
script, no one could match Barbara Stanwyck for peerless perfection. “Everything
you’ve heard about her is true,” Richard Chamberlain would later reminisce,
“Total professional. She knew all her lines…even all her looks on the first
run through, saying to the camera man, you’ll catch this look, won’t you?
Amazing!” Stanwyck’s influence was
not limited to the part; playing matchmaker off camera for Rachel Ward and
Bryan Brown, the latter to whom she took an immediate liking and encouraged
Ward to romantically pursue, lest Brown stray into some other young woman’s
clutches. Evidently, this was good advice on Stanwyck’s part. Ward and Brown fell
deeply in love on the set. And while their fictional counterparts were to
stray, in real life, the couple were marrying shortly after production wrapped,
and, twenty-five years later – have remained one of Hollywood’s most enduring,
happily-married couples.
Wolper’s other inspiration came in hiring Daryl Duke to direct The
Thorn Birds; the craggy Canadian completely absorbed in the material. Moreover,
Duke understood and appreciated actors – particularly, their innate
insecurities – able to coddle, coax and refine their performances. He proved an
undeniable guiding presence on the set, and, with a keen eye and visual flair
for lushly romantic storytelling. Alas, such meticulous attention to detail
proved exceptionally costly. The Thorn Birds went way over budget.
Roughly midway through the shoot, co-producers David Wolper and Stan Margulies
briefly contemplated firing Duke for these lavish expenditures. Mercifully, they
were unable to bring themselves to do it. It is important to delineate Duke was
not profligate in his spending. He did not waste production moneys or
dillydally with intrusive delays, never to be seen on the screen. Rather, his
focus was so much on the actors, on evolving their contributions to augment his
own purposeful camera movements and setups, these delays were chiefly in
service to the story, and, not only to maintaining harmony on the set, but
achieving the highest levels of stylistic quality for the entire
production. The proof is in the finished
product. The Thorn Birds is visually arresting; by far, one of the most
exquisitely photographed television events of its vintage. Its style holds up
remarkably well even under today’s scrutiny. Alas, David Wolper’s initial verve
to shoot at least a portion of the production in its native Australia proved
unwieldy; Robert MacKichan’s production design reconstructing the sprawling Carson
estate, Drogheda, with its ranch house, outdoor sump and barns built full scale
on acreage in Simi Valley, California, complete with imported foliage, vintage
automobiles and even a solitary kangaroo, who managed to succumb to sunstroke
on his first day’s call from the stifling 110 degree heat.
Wolper’s final bit of kismet was getting composer, Henry Mancini to write
the music. Mancini’s artistry is often trademarked by a timeless adherence to
the swinging sixties’ resurgence of jazz. For The Thorn Birds, however,
Mancini completely eschews his own pop influences. The main title and ‘Meggie’s
theme’, as example, go well beyond mere quality; capturing the period
romanticism as few compositions written for television before or since have,
while lending itself to variations either meant to evoke elevated levels of joy
and/or sadness, depending on the scene. Meggie’s theme in particular is
a lithe concerto for flute, adding to the character’s inner fortitude with an
occasional bombast by a full orchestral accompaniment. As a miniseries, The Thorn Birds initially
departs from Colleen McCullough’s novel. The book has a lengthy prologue set in
New Zealand, beginning with Meghann ‘Meggie’ Cleary’s fourth birthday. The
family’s patriarch, Padriac ‘Paddy’ Cleary is a gruff, though hard-working
laborer; his wife, Fiona (‘Fee’) a one-time aristocrat disowned by her own
family for having married ‘beneath her station’. What is later revealed, in
both the book and the miniseries is that Fiona was impregnated by another man –
undisclosed in either the novel or its TV incarnation: her bastard child, Frank
(John Friedrich) reared by Paddy as his own, even though he begrudgingly
acknowledges the stubborn-willed scrapper bears an uncanny resemblance – both
physically and in temperament – to Fee’s former lover.
All this is backstory of a kind, most of it skillfully woven into various
subplots and parceled out for maximum dramatic effect much later on. The
miniseries begins five years later, the Clearys summoned by their infinitely
richer relation, Mary Carson, from their native New Zealand to Australia after
Paddy’s ranch has failed. Mary intends to make the Clearys her benefactors
after her passing. The wealthy widow is a stern, business-minded woman, driven
to distraction in her casual flirtations with Father Ralph de Bricassart.
Mary’s fortunes are a temptation to Ralph. What a cap Drogheta would be to his
elevation within the Catholic Church. Nevertheless, Ralph does nothing to
encourage Mary to change her Will. Mary sets it into her head to get Ralph to
break his vows to God. Although youthful, Ralph is not entirely naïve about
Mary’s ulterior motives. Alas, as time wears on, Mary becomes agitated by
Ralph’s indifference to her transparent advances. He is much too handsome to be
a priest and far too young to become the lover she desires for herself. From
the moment he is introduced to the Clearys, Ralph and Meggie form a special
bond; one, Mary is quite jealous of, even though the prepubescent girl is
utterly innocent in her affections, turning to Ralph after her favorite brother,
Frank is exiled from the family. The first episodes of The Thorn Birds
are dedicated to the Clearys settling into their new lives on Drogheda.
Although Mary is fair in the treatment of her elder brother, she increasingly
comes to resent Meggie.
In the meantime, Frank's relationship with Paddy ruptures after it is
discovered Fee is pregnant once again. Paddy reveals to Frank he is not his
father; that long ago, Fee had an affair with a married politician. To spare
the family’s honor then, Fee’s father married her off to Paddy to conceal her
shame. Because Frank bears a striking resemblance to Fee’s former lover, Fee
has always harbored a more genuine affection towards him. Sometime later, Fee
gave birth to twin boys, Jack (Stephen W. Burns), Bob (Jack Cullen), then
Stuart (Dwier Brown). Now, she becomes pregnant with the baby of the family,
Hal, whom Meggie comes to regard with great affection as her personal pride and
joy after Fee all but refuses to care for the infant. Ralph does everything he
can to heal these wounds between Paddy and Frank. But their terrible rift
remains, marked by an equally painful separation for Meggie, after Frank elects
to become a professional pugilist and leaves the family fold. Dogged by bad
luck, Frank is charged with murder after getting into a bar room brawl. Not
long thereafter, the baby, Hal contracts the fever and dies. Meggie is
inconsolable, her overwhelming sadness and loneliness compounded by her fearful
inability to recognize her menstruation cycle is a normal and healthy
biological part of becoming a woman. Instead, Meggie believes she is dying, her
fears abated by Father Ralph’s tender guidance and explanation of these facts
of life.
In the novel, Ralph is incensed at Fee for having
failed to educate her daughter on such matters. For the miniseries, Ralph’s
reaction to Meggie’s confidences was rewritten to establish a growing
tenderness between the two. At one
point, Ralph even attempts to make restitution between Meggie and Fee,
suggesting, “She's your daughter. It's as if you never remember that.”
Fee’s bone-chilling reply cuts Ralph to the quick, “Does any woman? What is
a daughter? A reminder of the pain... a younger version of oneself... who will
do all the same things, cry the same tears. No, Father. I try to forget I have
a daughter.” Determined to part Meggie from Ralph, Mary devises a devious
plan to relocate him to another parish. In the interim, Meggie grows up and
Mary decides to throw a lavish party for her 72nd birthday. All of the
townsfolk are invited to Drogheda for this elaborate affair. Ralph’s return to
the outback is predicated on Mary’s insistence. Later, Mary confides in Ralph
she shall not live to see another birthday. When Ralph makes a magnanimous bid
to console Mary, she lashes out at him for the last time, explaining that
simply because the body has aged does not mean her mind can accept what the
passage of the years has done to it. Regaining her composure, Mary retires for
the evening. In the parlor, Meggie flirts with Ralph, the obviousness of her
affections proving a genuine threat to both their integrity in a roomful of
watchful eyes and gossipy tongues. The following morning, everyone awakes to a
terrible shock. Mary Carson has passed
away sometime during the night. Ralph is sequestered in the parlor, informed by
Mary’s solicitor that Drogheda has been left in its entirety to him – not the
Clearys – Mary tempting providence from beyond the grave. If Ralph is a true
man of God, he will ignore her revised Will and allow the Clearys to inherit
the farm as it is rightfully theirs. However, if he is as ambitious as Mary
believes, she has made a provision for the Clearys. They will work the farm for
the church and be allowed to remain as wards on its land without ever owning
it. Ralph accepts Mary’s terms as the church’s overseer of Drogheda, its $13
million bequest all but guaranteeing he will be recalled by the diocese,
thereby advancing his career, but parting him from Meggie.
The middle act of The Thorn Birds divides its time between
Ralph’s ascendancy within the Catholic archdiocese and his journey to Rome, and,
life on Drogheda – that is anything but idyllic. A brush fire threatens the
farm’s live stock. While Paddy rushes to secure the sheep, his horse is spooked
by the approaching flames and an electrical storm. Paddy is thrown to the
ground, a bolt of lightning toppling a nearby tree to crush him to death.
Meanwhile, back at the farm, Drogheda is spared from the inferno at the last
possible moment; the electrical storm giving way to a torrential downpour,
driving back and eventually extinguishing the flames. Alas, the next day, while
in search of their father, Stuart is gored by a wild boar. Jack and Bob discover
both their father’s and brother’s remains. Meggie is tormented, seeking
consolation from Fee, who can do nothing better than stare off into the
distance as the bodies are taken to the nearby cemetery for burial. Afterward,
Meggie cannot bring herself to accept ‘the will of God’. “That dear and
gentle God who has taken from me everyone that I've loved most in the world,”
she bitterly confides in Ralph, “One by one; Frank, then Hal... and Stuie...
and my father…and you, of course - always you. If God is merciful... how has He
left me no one else to grieve.” When Ralph attempts to explain, “He is
merciful, I know you can't see that now, but he is. He spared the rose. He sent
the rain,” Meggie boldly replies, “Oh Ralph…who sent the fire?”
The miniseries avoids one of the novel’s contrivances herein; Ralph,
unaware of Paddy and Stuart’s deaths, returns to Drogheda when his plane
crashes in the bogs nearby during the electrical storm. In the novel, Meggie
exploits this opportunity, tending his wounds but attempting yet another rebuked
seduction. Instead, the miniseries picks up from here with Ralph departing the
farm just as soon as he has performed the burial rites for Paddy and Stuart. We now advance to an indeterminate time -
three years in the novel, but established in the miniseries as only several
months. At a sheep shearing competition, Meggie becomes smitten with Luke
O’Neill – a muscled drifter who allows her brother, Bob to win the competition.
Luke is hardly the chivalrous type. In fact, he regards all women as little
more than casual diversions. Alas, neither
Luke nor Meggie is honest about the reasons they wish to procure this romance;
Meggie, attracted to Luke because he looks nothing like Ralph, and Luke, far
more venal than voluptuous in his pursuits – believing he has snagged the
daughter of a wealthy estate, thereby to fatten his own purse. Meggie escalates
their affair into an awkward proposal of marriage. This turns out to be a
disastrous mistake. For upon relocating her to North Queensland, Luke quietly
appropriates Meggie’s dowry, sets her up in a live-in job with a kindly couple,
Luddie and Anna Mueller, then quietly arranges for her wages to be paid
directly to him. Furthermore, Luke finds he prefers the company of men to his
own wife; his indulgences in cane-cutting, preceding his supposed plans to
invest all of his and Meggie’s monies in a new homestead where they can start a
family. In her misguided attempt to settle her husband, Meggie gets Luke
liquored up and then in the sack. Lack of contraception predictably leads to an
unwanted pregnancy: a daughter – Justine.
Rather than bring the two together as a family, the child only manages
to tear Luke and Meggie apart. The couple separate and Meggie quickly realizes
motherhood is a full-time career; one for which she is decidedly ill-equipped.
In the meantime, the archbishop has been quietly observing Ralph’s
progress. The time has come to promote him to a position more worthy of his
talents. The church is sending Ralph to Rome. Elated, Ralph decides to bid
Meggie farewell. Instead, he learns from Anna Mueller that Meggie has gone away
to an island resort for a few days’ relaxation. Sensing the conflict within
Ralph, the archbishop encourages him to take a brief absence in order to
reconsider his chosen path in life. Determined to rid himself of Meggie’s
influence, Ralph instead winds up consummating his affair with Meggie on this
island retreat; the two, sharing a resplendent week locked in each other’s
arms, perpetually silhouetted against moonlight or fiery sunsets on the beach.
Alas, it was just one of those things – at least for Ralph, who confesses he
has decided to return to the church. He cannot forsake God for this earthy
alliance. Bitter and pregnant again – only this time with Ralph’s child -
Meggie returns to Queensland, informs her husband she is through with him too,
then goes home to Drogheda to have her second child; a son, whom she names Dane
O’Neill. Fee immediately notices the
child’s features bear a striking resemblance to Father Ralph and, as a result,
her relationship with Meggie, thus far severely strained, grows quietly
stronger. Time passes. Justine develops
into a headstrong girl, railing against her mother’s seeming lack of interest
in her life. The bond between Justine and Dane is unfettered by personal
jealousies. In fact, Justine and Dane are inseparable, he confiding in her
first his decision to enter the priesthood. When Meggie learns of Dane’s decision,
she is furious. God seems to have an agenda against her own happiness. Alas,
Meggie’s love for Dane eventually allows her to see things his way; Fee quietly
reasoning that what Meggie ‘stole’ from God (Dane) must now be returned to him.
And who knows? Dane and Ralph may soon come to know one another.
Indeed, Ralph dotes on Dane like a son, though neither is aware they
are, in fact, related. Meggie allows nature to take its course in the hopes God
will smile His good fortunes upon them, perhaps even draw the family closer
together. In the meantime, Justine leaves Drogheda to study acting abroad.
While on the stage, she befriends Rainer Hartheim; a German politico who is
already a very good friend of both Dane and Ralph, and, who genuine in his
affections towards Justine. Dane and Justine’s bond is strengthened after she
confides in him some of her more scandalous sexual exploits – presumably to
tease, titillate and get Dane hot under his collar. For the briefest of moments,
the family appears to have settled into the complacency of a contented life.
Meggie’s brothers, never having married, are now the overseers of Drogheda’s
managing farmhands. Alas, Meggie’s daydreams for serenity are thwarted when
Dane, while indulging in a suntan on an isolated beach in Italy, takes notice
of two young girls frolicking in the surf. The girls are suddenly caught in a
dangerous undertow. Gallantly swimming out to save them, Dane is dragged below
the waves and drowns too. News reaches Drogheda, the family stunned by this
sudden and inexplicably cruel loss. Justine is inconsolable. But Meggie,
venomous and defiant, challenges God’s will for taking the only two men who
ever mattered to her.
Dane’s body is shipped home to Drogheda, Ralph performing the burial
service at the family crypt not far from the ranch house. Afterward, Meggie
forsakes God and Ralph attempts to make her see the error of her vial thoughts.
Instead, she reveals to him that Dane was his son too. This epiphany shatters
Ralph’s already fragile heart. As he drops to the ground, unable to speak or
even weep for his dead son, Meggie cruelly exclaims with a note of
satisfaction, “Poor Father de Bricassart!” before walking away. Sometime
later, at the main house Justine announces her plans to marry Rainer. Meggie’s
cruel disinterest in Justine’s future prompts Fee – who has since recognized
the errors in her own parenting - to side with her granddaughter. Justine slips
into despair, breaking off her engagement; Rainer imploring Meggie to help
restore her daughter’s faith in humanity so she may come to realize how much he
truly loves her. Meggie eventually comes around, and Justine decides to wed
Rainer and leave Drogheda to be his wife. Ralph, who has suffered a debilitating
stroke in the aftermath of his discovery is now left in Meggie’s care. In this
late stage in both their lives, she comes to love him once more and he
confesses with his final breathes how he has always been more devoted to her –
if only in his memories – than he has in his chosen calling. “The day I
first saw you at the Gilly station, you smiled at me, then you said my name.
Then you touched me,” Meggie confides, all bitterness removed from her
heart, “And since that day, I have somehow known, though I never saw you
again, that my last thought this side of the grave would be of you. And there’s
nothing I can do to change it. Do you know how terrifying it is, that power you
have over me?”
Ralph dies with Meggie at his side, remembering the legend of the ‘thorn
bird’; a parable relayed to Meggie a long time ago when the world was new to
them both and each had yet to be filled with a lifetime of heartache.
“There's a story,” Ralph then explained to the child, “A legend, about a
bird that sings just once in its life. From the moment it leaves its nest, it
searches for a thorn tree... and never rests until it's found one. And then it
sings... more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. And
singing, it impales itself on the longest, sharpest thorn. But, as it dies, it
rises above its own agony, to out-sing the lark and the nightingale. The thorn
bird pays its life for just one song. But the whole world stills to listen…and
God in his heaven smiles.” When, as a child, Meggie inquired, “But what
does it mean, Father?” Ralph then explained, what essentially has become
the thesis of Colleen McCullough’s novel and the miniseries: “That the best
is bought only at the cost of great pain.”
The Thorn Birds is a supremely satisfying entertainment. And, if it
takes certain liberties with McCullough’s sprawling saga, it nevertheless
manages to achieve a David Lean-like quality that completely captures and
bottles the magic of the book, while evolving along its own lines as television
drama of the highest order. The acting throughout can scarcely be criticized,
although I personally always found Ken Howard’s faux German accent a little
off-putting. One of the true cornerstones in television history, The Thorn
Birds was a ratings bonanza for ABC. As an interesting postscript, the last
scene Barbara Stanwyck shot before departing from the project was the moment
when Father Ralph returns to Drogheda in the dead of night, having been caught
in an impromptu thundershower. In what can only be described as a truly
shocking moment for then contemporary TV, Richard Chamberlain was asked to
strip completely naked – and did – on the front porch of the Carson
estate; his character quite unaware he is being quietly observed with sinful desires
by Mary Carson, who is rather transparent in her designs on Farther Ralph. The
scene called for Stanwyck to suddenly make her presence known, the camera
cutting away from Chamberlain’s full-profile nude to an intimate two shot from
the waist up as Stanwyck coolly approaches, placing her wrinkled hands along Ralph’s
broad shoulders and declaring, “You are the most handsome man I have ever
seen, Father de Bricassart,” to which Chamberlain’s equally unruffled
priest coldly replies, “I thought it was my soul you were after, Mary.”
In the middle of this scene, Stanwyck’s usually Teutonic professionalism
suddenly gave way; the actress unable to remember her scripted lines and
turning to director, Daryl Duke, apologetically explaining, “I’m sorry, but
this is the first time in a long while I’ve stood next to a naked man.” Stanwyck’s confession not only made the
crew break up with laughter, it also broke the ice between her and Chamberlain,
who remained sans clothes to play the scene for a second take.
Colleen McCullough’s negative remarks aside, The Thorn Birds was
a monumental undertaking, and an even more herculean achievement; the most
widely watched - and certainly one of television’s most fondly remembered -
programming events of the twentieth century. I can think of only one other
miniseries to rival its stature; Richard T. Heffron’s North and South
(1985); based on the celebrated novel by John Jakes and, again, produced for ABC,
whose affinity for miniseries throughout the 80’s was second to none. Viewed
today, The Thorn Birds retains much of its timeless appeal. As a period
piece, already set in the distant past, it has hardly dated by contemporary
standards. With more and more vintage
catalog TV finding its way to Blu-ray, one may hope that Warner Home Video will
finally remaster The Thorn Birds in 1080p. Surely, it is deserving of the
honor. Alas, for now, we must content ourselves with their DVD release from
2003. On the whole, it remains a marginal effort at best – crammed on two
flipper discs (always a bad idea) and suffering from an abhorrent amount of
orange flesh tones along with some inaccurately reproduced film grain looking
rather digitized. The Thorn Birds was shot on film. So, one can only
imagine how good it might look in hi-def with the proper restoration tools
applied. But the current DVD is weak.
Contrast waffles between deep and solid to anemic and struggling not to break
apart into a pseudo faded gray. Flesh tones, on the whole are pasty, and color
saturation is decidedly lacking; Stevan Larner’s cinematography looking pallid
and dull.
Warner’s commitment to remastering TV on DVD has not been all that
impressive; the studio going the route of quantity over quality. Just look at
their DVD transfers for Dallas (1978-91) – suffering from severe color
implosion and a barrage of age-related artifacts, and Falcon Crest
(1981-1990); particularly the latter, riddled in so much digitized noise as to
render the experience of muddling through the series un-watchable. The Thorn
Birds doesn’t go quite so far down this rabbit hole into anemic dreck. In
fact, apart from the aforementioned shortcomings, the image is mostly stable
with few signs of age-related debris or digital tinkering. The soundtrack
remains in mono as originally broadcast. It is adequate, though just. At the
very least, Warner Home Video might have deigned to provide us with Henry
Mancini’s score on an isolated track. The only extra here is a brief
featurette, The Thorn Birds: Old Friends/New Stories featuring
Rachel Ward, Bryan Brown, Richard Chamberlain and David Wolper reminiscing
about their experiences. I have never
been a fan of any studio slapping together junkets like this, simply to market
them as a full-fledged ‘making of’. This one’s no more misguided or silly than
the lot – which isn’t saying much for the rest. It would have been prudent of
WHV to give us a comprehensive look back. Oh well, can’t critique what isn’t
there. Bottom line: The Thorn Birds is required viewing. This isn’t the
definitive home video presentation, however, and we will keep our fingers
crossed that WHV will get a clue what a gold mine they are sitting on with this
high-profile TV catalog title and remaster it – properly – to Blu-ray. At least, one can hope and dream for the
future.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
3
EXTRAS
1
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