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In 1327, an enlightened friar and his young apprentice investigate a series of mysterious deaths at an abbey risking the wrath of a powerful Inquisitor. Television adaptation of Umberto Eco'... Read allIn 1327, an enlightened friar and his young apprentice investigate a series of mysterious deaths at an abbey risking the wrath of a powerful Inquisitor. Television adaptation of Umberto Eco's novel 'The Name of the Rose'.In 1327, an enlightened friar and his young apprentice investigate a series of mysterious deaths at an abbey risking the wrath of a powerful Inquisitor. Television adaptation of Umberto Eco's novel 'The Name of the Rose'.
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- TriviaDialogues in medieval Occitan language have been translated and supervised by a team of experts from the University of Salerno.
- ConnectionsVersion of The Name of the Rose (1986)
Featured review
I had mixed expectations about the new "The Name of the Rose" miniseries. On one hand I loved the book, and I loved the 1986 film by Jean-Jacques Annaud. On the other hand, I was aware of the compromises that Annaud had to make when adapting Umberto Eco's bestselling novel to the screen.
Fortunately, I think Eco (who sadly died before the series went into production) would be moderately content with the new adaptation. The first episode is not very good, but the later we get, the better it becomes.
Eco's "Il nome della rosa" is a multilayered treatise that focuses on mediaeval philosophy and church history, and is spiced up with a criminal intrigue that encourages you to keep reading. It is widely considered as one of the best novels ever written.
Annaud's 130-minute film concentrated on the crime plot, and had to leave out most of the fascinating background. The new 6-hour miniseries gave the filmmakers more space to explore more of the historical and religious context, and they have made decent use of this opportunity, though they have also made a few questionable choices.
The novel is written from the point of view of Adso of Melk, a young Benedictine novice, who in 1327 joins William of Baskerville, an English Franciscan monk with a Sherlockian mind, on a visit to a North Italian mediaeval monastery filled with monks from different European countries. They are supposed to attend a religious conference, but find a murder instead.
Annaud's wonderful film was a vehicle for Sean Connery, who played Baskerville superbly, but perhaps with a slight overtone of arrogance, while the then 15-year-young Christian Slater struggled with insufficient material to give Adso the necessary depth.
In the miniseries, the balance is restored: the young German actor Damian Hardung who plays Adso of Melk is truly sensational, and effortlessly commands the much-expanded role. The beloved quirky American character actor John Turturro (who also co-wrote and co-produced the miniseries) gives us a refined, humble, intellectual, sharp-witted yet caring William of Baskerville. The duo has a phenomenal chemistry as master and pupil, one that is rarely seen on screen.
Like the 1986 Jean-Jacques Annaud film, this Italo-German adaptation of Eco's brilliant novel is shot in English, yet is cast with supporting actors from many European countries for whom English is not the native tongue.
This model of Euro co-productions usually fails, but here, it is justified and works reasonably well - after all, the 14th-century monks did came from different countries, and didn't all speak perfect Latin. Multilingualism was built into the European church life in the Middle ages.
While the main male characters are played by Brits and Americans, the supporting cast is mostly Italian and German, with a Frenchman and a Pole added to the mix. Alas, not all of the actors give equally good performances, and you're advised to turn on English subtitles while watching. 30 years ago, Annaud made better casting choices in a few cases - but all in all, the formula works.
Eco's novel is a near-perfect literary work, but it has one significant problem - it's extremely male-centric. The sole female character is reduced to an episodic appearance. The novel gives a one-sided account of Adso's romantic subplot in form of his inner dialogue, while the unnamed Girl (to whom the title alludes) is anonymous and generic. This may have been a conscious decision by Eco, but I've always found it the book's weakest spot.
The writers of the miniseries cleverly expanded the subplot of the Girl: they plausibly solved the problem of Eco not having written much for her, managed to make her an interesting character that has relevance today, and gave the actress Nina Fotaras a playground forvexploration. All that serves Adso very well, too, because we can now understand better why he fell in love with the Girl. I actually consider that decision an improvement over Eco's book - and that by itself is reason enough to watch the TV adaptation even if you know the novel well.
Then come the various villains and anti-heroes, led by Bernardo Gui, the fearsome Inquisitor. With the little screen time he was given in the 1986 film, F. Murray Abraham had created an acting masterpiece. Here, Rupert Everett has more time, and uses the time well. I'm not a big family of this actor, and normally find him rather wooden - but here, he's gives a solid, convincing villain, though less memorable than Abraham's.
Possibly the best part of Annaud's film was Ron Perlman's show-stealing, unforgettable portrayal of Salvatore, a babbling disfigured monk. It is difficult to imagine how another actor could follow Perlman's definitive Salvatore - so the miniseries opted for a watered-down monotone Perlman impression delivered by Stefano Fresi that works well only if you haven't see the 1986 film, and is the series' biggest disappointment if you have.
For a change, the casting of Michael Emerson as Abo of Fossanova, the Abbot, is a noticeable improvement over the 1986 Michael Lonsdale role. Emerson superbly embodies the inner conflicts that the Abbot is subjected to.
In an effort to provide some backstory for Gui, and to make room for some action sequences that could throw in some visual variety into what might otherwise be deemed a very "boring" production, the writers of the adaptation have diverged from Eco's plot in one significant way: they have invented a second female character, Anna, played by Greta Scarano.
I understand their motivation, and, in principle, their effort was justified. Eco himself chose to package his exploration of semiotics, philosophy and medieval history in form of a crime novel, to make the topic more accessible and appealing to a wider audience. And he has masterfully succeeded.
The miniseries expanded the female sub-plots to add both gender and cinematic diversity, and to escape some stereotypical tropes. They have done it rather gracefully with the Girl (the character already present in the novel, so the plot expansion is actually consistent with the spirit of the tale).
But with the second female, Anna, that they've invented, they have failed miserably - her story is artificial, borderline ridiculous, and is written in a way that embarrassingly confirms all the stereotypes it was seemingly trying to evade. Anna's subplot is superfluous and very out-of-style for the otherwise remarkable production. This, too, is a disappointment, yet one that shouldn't be a deterrent to the viewers.
There is something, though, than can be a deterrent: the terrible, misguided, utterly forgettable, heavy-handed, predictable, boring, flat and simplistic musical score by Volker Bertelmann, devoid of any subtlety. That is, unfortunately, something that did not surprise me at all, given that it is, after all, an Italian-German TV co-production. I had wished there was a way to turn the music off.
Much praise must be given, on the other hand, for the way the filmmakers have treated some other aspects of the Eco novel: the central dispute about the role of the church is portrayed very well. Of course Eco's complex, encyclopedic excursions into the fine points of the different factions and their motivations have been significantly condensed, but the remaining gist still gives enough food for thought, and is rather relevant in today's context of the scandals that surround the Catholic institution.
The visuals also work very well. Some CGI sequences could have been better, but the designers of the physical sets have done a phenomenal job in creating the abbey and the library - they are nearly exactly as I imagined them!
The scriptorium and the books are given sufficient attention, and are an extremely pleasant sight for anyone interested in letterforms. You can even watch the full traditional process of making paper - something that I myself have seen before, but I imagine most viewers never have.
"The Name of the Rose" is slightly uneven and has its flaws, but overall, it does justice to Umberto Eco's novel. It thrills just as much as the early seasons of "Game of Thrones", before the dragons, the magic and the undead have turned the political costume thriller into a fantasy spectacle.
The adaptation realistically transports you back to the 14th century Europe, and gives you a taste of what the life of those outside the minority of sword-wielding knights could have been.
It gives us a splendid master-student relationship that captures the spirit of Eco's book spot-on, and delivers a surprisingly beautiful love story that actually enriches Eco's writing with one more level that Umberto didn't write, but could have.
It begs the question whether it was a good idea to fill some of the time with swordfights and archery, but I understand the desire to try to broaden the audience. This desire to make the show appealing to less-literary audiences is evident in the casting of the elderly monk Jorge de Burgos.
In the miniseries, he is aptly portrayed by James Cosmo, whom the "Game of Thrones" crowd will remember as Jeor Mormont. In the 1986 film, Feodor Chaliapin Jr. was cast by Annaud, possibly due to his resemblence to the Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges, whom Eco jokingly referenced in his novel, and with whom he shared his fascination with labirynths and the Middle Ages. So the 2019 adapters swapped a Borges reference for a J. R. R. Martin reference. Signum temporis.
But as a whole, the show's creators Giaccomo Battiato, Andrea Porporati, Nigel Williams and John Turturro, as well as the rest of the cast and crew, have not disappointed, and if they have, then only slightly. "The Name of the Rose" is a passable transfer of Umberto Eco's novel to the small screen, and is actually one of the better things to watch if you want to get a bit of the European mediaeval feel.
Fortunately, I think Eco (who sadly died before the series went into production) would be moderately content with the new adaptation. The first episode is not very good, but the later we get, the better it becomes.
Eco's "Il nome della rosa" is a multilayered treatise that focuses on mediaeval philosophy and church history, and is spiced up with a criminal intrigue that encourages you to keep reading. It is widely considered as one of the best novels ever written.
Annaud's 130-minute film concentrated on the crime plot, and had to leave out most of the fascinating background. The new 6-hour miniseries gave the filmmakers more space to explore more of the historical and religious context, and they have made decent use of this opportunity, though they have also made a few questionable choices.
The novel is written from the point of view of Adso of Melk, a young Benedictine novice, who in 1327 joins William of Baskerville, an English Franciscan monk with a Sherlockian mind, on a visit to a North Italian mediaeval monastery filled with monks from different European countries. They are supposed to attend a religious conference, but find a murder instead.
Annaud's wonderful film was a vehicle for Sean Connery, who played Baskerville superbly, but perhaps with a slight overtone of arrogance, while the then 15-year-young Christian Slater struggled with insufficient material to give Adso the necessary depth.
In the miniseries, the balance is restored: the young German actor Damian Hardung who plays Adso of Melk is truly sensational, and effortlessly commands the much-expanded role. The beloved quirky American character actor John Turturro (who also co-wrote and co-produced the miniseries) gives us a refined, humble, intellectual, sharp-witted yet caring William of Baskerville. The duo has a phenomenal chemistry as master and pupil, one that is rarely seen on screen.
Like the 1986 Jean-Jacques Annaud film, this Italo-German adaptation of Eco's brilliant novel is shot in English, yet is cast with supporting actors from many European countries for whom English is not the native tongue.
This model of Euro co-productions usually fails, but here, it is justified and works reasonably well - after all, the 14th-century monks did came from different countries, and didn't all speak perfect Latin. Multilingualism was built into the European church life in the Middle ages.
While the main male characters are played by Brits and Americans, the supporting cast is mostly Italian and German, with a Frenchman and a Pole added to the mix. Alas, not all of the actors give equally good performances, and you're advised to turn on English subtitles while watching. 30 years ago, Annaud made better casting choices in a few cases - but all in all, the formula works.
Eco's novel is a near-perfect literary work, but it has one significant problem - it's extremely male-centric. The sole female character is reduced to an episodic appearance. The novel gives a one-sided account of Adso's romantic subplot in form of his inner dialogue, while the unnamed Girl (to whom the title alludes) is anonymous and generic. This may have been a conscious decision by Eco, but I've always found it the book's weakest spot.
The writers of the miniseries cleverly expanded the subplot of the Girl: they plausibly solved the problem of Eco not having written much for her, managed to make her an interesting character that has relevance today, and gave the actress Nina Fotaras a playground forvexploration. All that serves Adso very well, too, because we can now understand better why he fell in love with the Girl. I actually consider that decision an improvement over Eco's book - and that by itself is reason enough to watch the TV adaptation even if you know the novel well.
Then come the various villains and anti-heroes, led by Bernardo Gui, the fearsome Inquisitor. With the little screen time he was given in the 1986 film, F. Murray Abraham had created an acting masterpiece. Here, Rupert Everett has more time, and uses the time well. I'm not a big family of this actor, and normally find him rather wooden - but here, he's gives a solid, convincing villain, though less memorable than Abraham's.
Possibly the best part of Annaud's film was Ron Perlman's show-stealing, unforgettable portrayal of Salvatore, a babbling disfigured monk. It is difficult to imagine how another actor could follow Perlman's definitive Salvatore - so the miniseries opted for a watered-down monotone Perlman impression delivered by Stefano Fresi that works well only if you haven't see the 1986 film, and is the series' biggest disappointment if you have.
For a change, the casting of Michael Emerson as Abo of Fossanova, the Abbot, is a noticeable improvement over the 1986 Michael Lonsdale role. Emerson superbly embodies the inner conflicts that the Abbot is subjected to.
In an effort to provide some backstory for Gui, and to make room for some action sequences that could throw in some visual variety into what might otherwise be deemed a very "boring" production, the writers of the adaptation have diverged from Eco's plot in one significant way: they have invented a second female character, Anna, played by Greta Scarano.
I understand their motivation, and, in principle, their effort was justified. Eco himself chose to package his exploration of semiotics, philosophy and medieval history in form of a crime novel, to make the topic more accessible and appealing to a wider audience. And he has masterfully succeeded.
The miniseries expanded the female sub-plots to add both gender and cinematic diversity, and to escape some stereotypical tropes. They have done it rather gracefully with the Girl (the character already present in the novel, so the plot expansion is actually consistent with the spirit of the tale).
But with the second female, Anna, that they've invented, they have failed miserably - her story is artificial, borderline ridiculous, and is written in a way that embarrassingly confirms all the stereotypes it was seemingly trying to evade. Anna's subplot is superfluous and very out-of-style for the otherwise remarkable production. This, too, is a disappointment, yet one that shouldn't be a deterrent to the viewers.
There is something, though, than can be a deterrent: the terrible, misguided, utterly forgettable, heavy-handed, predictable, boring, flat and simplistic musical score by Volker Bertelmann, devoid of any subtlety. That is, unfortunately, something that did not surprise me at all, given that it is, after all, an Italian-German TV co-production. I had wished there was a way to turn the music off.
Much praise must be given, on the other hand, for the way the filmmakers have treated some other aspects of the Eco novel: the central dispute about the role of the church is portrayed very well. Of course Eco's complex, encyclopedic excursions into the fine points of the different factions and their motivations have been significantly condensed, but the remaining gist still gives enough food for thought, and is rather relevant in today's context of the scandals that surround the Catholic institution.
The visuals also work very well. Some CGI sequences could have been better, but the designers of the physical sets have done a phenomenal job in creating the abbey and the library - they are nearly exactly as I imagined them!
The scriptorium and the books are given sufficient attention, and are an extremely pleasant sight for anyone interested in letterforms. You can even watch the full traditional process of making paper - something that I myself have seen before, but I imagine most viewers never have.
"The Name of the Rose" is slightly uneven and has its flaws, but overall, it does justice to Umberto Eco's novel. It thrills just as much as the early seasons of "Game of Thrones", before the dragons, the magic and the undead have turned the political costume thriller into a fantasy spectacle.
The adaptation realistically transports you back to the 14th century Europe, and gives you a taste of what the life of those outside the minority of sword-wielding knights could have been.
It gives us a splendid master-student relationship that captures the spirit of Eco's book spot-on, and delivers a surprisingly beautiful love story that actually enriches Eco's writing with one more level that Umberto didn't write, but could have.
It begs the question whether it was a good idea to fill some of the time with swordfights and archery, but I understand the desire to try to broaden the audience. This desire to make the show appealing to less-literary audiences is evident in the casting of the elderly monk Jorge de Burgos.
In the miniseries, he is aptly portrayed by James Cosmo, whom the "Game of Thrones" crowd will remember as Jeor Mormont. In the 1986 film, Feodor Chaliapin Jr. was cast by Annaud, possibly due to his resemblence to the Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges, whom Eco jokingly referenced in his novel, and with whom he shared his fascination with labirynths and the Middle Ages. So the 2019 adapters swapped a Borges reference for a J. R. R. Martin reference. Signum temporis.
But as a whole, the show's creators Giaccomo Battiato, Andrea Porporati, Nigel Williams and John Turturro, as well as the rest of the cast and crew, have not disappointed, and if they have, then only slightly. "The Name of the Rose" is a passable transfer of Umberto Eco's novel to the small screen, and is actually one of the better things to watch if you want to get a bit of the European mediaeval feel.
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