Bribery as a Way of Eighteenth Century Life

In the twelfth installment of Mr. B Speaks! a desperate Mr. B suggests bribing the judge to decide in his and Pamela's favor.

Not his finest moment, perhaps, but bribery was a way of life in the eighteenth century. What we call corruption, eighteenth-century politicians, magistrates, and average citizens called everyday business.

Your average politician would be expected to bring wads of cash and trinkets to any political rally. Bail money was paid directly into magistrates' pockets. Military officers had to purchase commissions, paying anywhere up to several thousand pounds. (When Darcy pays off Wickham at the end of Pride & Prejudice, part of the pay-off includes a better commission than the one Wickham purchased with his inheritance, something the profligate Wickham can't afford on his own.)

Imagine if the next time you went to an interview, you were expected to bring along your checkbook as well; you'd pay a little money to the interviewer, a little to the head of human resources, and a great deal of money to the company. These wouldn't be bribes; they would be "fees." (Oh, wait, I think I just describe unions.)

The British officers on the hills watched the slaughter

but couldn't stop it.

Such an approach naturally destroys merit-based pay. And military commissions caused major problems in the British army as rank and file military officers--many of whom had been in the military all their lives--saw incompetent, vain upper-class peacocks take positions that should have gone to more experienced men. The ridiculous (but brave) man who led the Charge of the Light Brigade was such a peacock, the sad thing being that not only the rank & file but many of the commissioned officers knew he was a petty-minded bully: he actually underwent a court-martial before the Crimean War and was dismissed from the military. But class nepotism overrode good sense, and he got back in. And the peacock didn't even die (at the time).

Red John and Aliens: The Problem of the Omniscient Enemy

I just finished watching the third season of The Mentalist. I was pleasantly surprised at how many of the episodes were stand-alones. I had anticipated a season full of Red John and although many of the episodes deal with him indirectly, few of the episodes deal with him directly. This is good, making the show salvageable (I admit, I fast-forwarded through the finale).

However, the episodes with Red John highlight the problem of Red John, and I don't mean "problem" here in a plot sense but rather in a boy-that-is-dreadful-writing sense.

A suitable comparison is X-Files since Red John carries the same weight and purpose as the aliens on X-Files. Just as the aliens--at least for Seasons 1-6--are never definitely present, Red John is never definitely present. More than anything, the aliens represent Mulder's fate or destiny. Or, rather, they represent the vastness and mystery of life with which Mulder tackles. In many ways, Red John represents the same thing for Jane.

Despite the analogy-taken-too-far factor, the idea of Red John as a force does work. Since I adore Simon Baker, and I like procedural shows, and most of The Mentalist's episodes are procedural, I tend to treat Red John references this way: he represents the chaotic, unknowable side of life.

Until an episode focuses on him, and then everything about the character makes nonsense of everything else.

The idea of a master-mind criminal who has his fingers in every pie and can flip any agent and access any storage locker and bribe any poor slob to take his place, etc. etc. etc. undermines the whole CONCEPT of a procedural show. It means that in every episode, the bad guy could be a pawn of Red John. Every case could have been sabotaged. Every agent could have been gotten at. Nothing is dependable. That isn't a profound statement, by the way. The ultimate conclusion of Nothing is real is So why do advertisers want to pay to keep this show on the air? and the ultimate conclusion of that is No more show, which is very sad and kind of undermines the whole purpose of entertainment.

The absence of real meaning does not make things better. It just makes them boring.

(I believe John Lenin was a great musician, but "Imagine" has got to be one of the dumbest songs on the planet: "Let's erase everything that makes life interesting and valuable. At least, we will have peace!" Yeah, the kind of peace that numbs the brain into oblivion.)

And yet, Chris Carter more or less made the omniscient enemy work.

I've thought about why, and I think it has to do more with the writing than the concept. In fact, I think it is entirely possible that The Mentalist writers are in fact aiming for Carter's alien-effect. In Season 2, there's a fairly well-written episode dealing with the shooting of the cops in the CGI building. There are some fairly silly implications (Red John, again, is working through someone, and the ending relies on yet another deus ex machina), but the episode is actually quite tight.

And I think the reason is the same reason Carter's alien episodes usually worked: the episode stays focused on single characters with single motivations, however complex, who are held to the laws of probability. 

Characters held to the laws of probability are far more interesting than an omniscient enemy could possibly be.

*Spoilers follow.*

I have a theory that The Mentalist writers know this. I think this is one reason Red John is never paid off effectively (and no longer can be in any real sense). The writers introduce fantastically interesting characters: Hightower, LaRoche. But these characters are more interesting as themselves than as Red John's minions. LaRoche with his cool, pointed questions, his fluffy dog and Hummel figurines is a GREAT boss. (In fact, the whole Red John plot is almost endurable just for giving us LaRoche as a by-product.)

So when it comes time to do the big-reveal, the writers shuffle it off on a nobody, like Grace's fiancé as Red John's mole (he has one? the guy can get moles so easily, I was sure he had about twenty). That was surprising but made no sense and thus, was kind of stupid. (And the fiancé was more interesting as Rigsby's rival.) If it could be him, it could be the guy at the water-cooler. Hey, it could be that guy in that one episode that one time who . . . I mean, who cares? I'm glad it wasn't LaRoche since that would have ruined a perfectly good character, but who cares in general? Let's move on.

For most of X-Files, on the other hand, Carter managed to keep the focus on the probable despite the show's improbable premise. Now, that's a feat to be applauded!

Still, I will keeping watching my Mentalist, only keeping in (my) mind that Red John is an amorphous force rather than a flesh & blood enemy. That way, the real flesh & blood crimes investigated by Lisbon's team will actually matter, which is what my give-me-a-good-mystery-and-the-world-is-my-oyster soul wants in any case.

Animated Characters I Feel Sorry For

Wile E. Coyote: I hated the Coyote/Roadrunner cartoon when I was a kid. I loathed the obnoxious, patronizing Roadrunner. I wanted Wile E. Coyote to get that stupid bird!

Granted, I've never been a huge fan of falling anvils. I wasn't one of those kids who chuckled when the cartoon character made a cartoon character hole in the pavement. But mostly, it was the teasing that got me. Talk about stomping on a guy's bruised ego! Besides, I'm a circle-of-life type of gal: the coyote should occasionally bring down his prey, ripping it to shreds and engorging himself on its entrails.

Silly Rabbit: "Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids!"

Stupid kids. Give the guy a break!

It's enough to make me go kamikaze-Politically-Correct here and start the Society to Prevent the Disenfranchisement of Cartoon Characters (the Doctor from Star Trek: Voyager will get an honorary membership).

Bambi: I was never a fan of this movie. In all honesty, I don't think it was the mother's death so much as the fire. I was absolutely terrified of fire when I was a child--that's a whole 'nother post--and the scene of the forest on fire was considerably more than my nightmare-prone little soul could bear.

Charlie Brown: I never thought it was funny that Lucy would pull away the football at the last minute. Consequently, I preferred the strips that focused on Linus.

If you are noticing a theme, yeah, I dislike watching people get hurt or mocked or otherwise abused.

On the other hand, Snow White just annoys me. But she probably should be pitied for having to clean for seven slobs and marry a guy who knows absolutely nothing about her (on the other other hand, my sense of historical context plus commonsense kicks in and points out she is still better off married to a prince than lying in a coffin or serving as a maid).

Wonder Woman because she can't catch a writing break.

But Temperance Brennan does make a reputable attempt!



Getting Sick in the Eighteenth Century

In the 11th installment of Mr. B Speaks!, Mr. B suffers from a brief illness. Although this illness is largely metaphorical (it lasts almost exactly as long as Pamela is gone), it would be cause for concern with eighteenth-century people.

Modern, Western youth has almost no idea how far medicine has progressed in the last oh, forty years--let alone 300. Medicine is one thing that has continually improved--in fits and starts--throughout history. Governments rise and fall. Human nature remains as recognizable as it was to Shakespeare. But the knowledge of the human body has steadily improved from ancient times to now.

So much so that the lack of "basics" is hard to conceive. In Connie Willis's Doomsday Book, when the boy Colin shows up in medieval England to rescue the heroine Kivrin, he says (paraphrasing), "I brought aspirin. I figured they wouldn't have penicillin yet, but they would surely have aspirin."

No--no aspirin, Colin.

And no aspirin by the eighteenth century. Also no aesthetic.This is in a world filled with toothache, cancer, and influenza plus diseases caused by poor hygiene--typhus, puerperal (childbed) fever--and by malnutrition, such as scurvy.

One of the first London hospitals:

Westminster Hospital. This is the newer

building, built 1834.

There were some hospitals but they weren't terrible effective. Hospitals were mostly just holding areas for the ill poor, including servants. Some hospitals focused on smallpox inoculations. Generally, however, you were better off staying home.

After all, the most a hospital could do was give you a place to die. There were few real remedies. The popular technique of bloodletting was entirely useless. Lethal "remedies," such as mercury, were used to combat venereal diseases. Inoculation did begin early in this century, but unlike alarmists' claims today, inoculations in the early 1700s really would as likely kill as save you.

There were some useful folk/home remedies, such as quinine and foxglove, but not nearly as many as the lovers of natural medicine would like to believe. Let's face it: before pharmaceutical companies, life was a lot more painful and a lot less safe.

Bad, Bad Music Editing

Much of my enjoyment of Law & Order: Criminal Intent is stifled due to the horrible, horrible music editing in Seasons 2-6 (I haven't yet seen beyond 6).

Somewhere around the 2/3rds mark in every episode, "suspenseful" music will begin. It takes the form of  thumping cords, not quite as irritating as the sound a truck makes when it backs up but close. It is supposed to indicate mystery and trepidation. The thumping cords will build in intensity and then end whether the mystery is paid off or not. Although this use of music is classic/even cliche, the actual cords on the show sound less classic and more like something an amateur musician would create on a keyboard.

And it never varies. It is always the same. In every episode (season 6 does at least begin its episodes with decent music/lyrics). 2/3rds of the way in: thumping music. It drowns out the dialog. It makes nonsense of the plot. It is wholly annoying.

And it's weird. Unlike Law & Order: SVU, the scripts of Criminal Intent are generally well-written (the scripts of Law & Order: SVU reach a whole new level of random, disorganized badness on television); Criminal Intent has also gotten some fairly stellar guest stars (all those aging Britishers who are looking for extra work).

Does a good music editor really cost so much in comparison?

Possibly. Music editing may be one of those professions that seems easy on the outside but is actually quite difficult. I remember once listening to a guy who was trying to persuade me that rock stars aren't all that talented. "Look what I can do on my keyboard!"  he said and started to play.

After a few minutes, my thought was "Wow, I guess rock stars have more talent than I supposed."

(And yes, I do keep watching Law & Order: CI. If I actually had musical talent, not just an ear for what I like and don't like, the editing might bother me to the point of self-censorship. But ultimately, for me, plot is everything.)

Sham Marriages in the Eighteenth Century

In Jane Eyre, Mr. Rochester contrives to marry Jane bigamously. In Pamela, Mr. B considers outwitting Pamela with a sham marriage; he confesses to this dastardly proposal in the 10th installment of Mr. B Speaks!

Both men are romantics who hope that union with their soul-mates, however contrived, will excuse their deception. Mr. Rochester is slightly less hampered by the idea of marriage (Mr. B is positively modern in his reluctance to perpetuate the relationship failures of his class), having only a mad wife to hold him back. Unlike Mr. Rochester, however, Mr. B never actually goes through with the scheme.

Although sham marriages don't appear to have been as popular in eighteenth-century life as literature might suggest, bigamy did occur in part due to "clandestine" marriages.

Clandestine marriages were performed by any clergyman outside of a church/parish and were common until the mid-1700s. One reason Mr. B can even imagine that Pamela would accept a sham marriage is the ease with which they actually do marry: they chose a day, get a clergyman, get married.

There is currently a huge wedding industry in Gretna Green.

As an American, it is hard for me to determine if this is

historically cool or unbelievably tacky. I suppose

the ad speaks for itself.

This easy planning (no banns to call, no license to purchase, though Mr. B does obtain the latter) would be impossible a decade or so later when Lord Hardwicke's Marriage Act (1754) made such marriages illegal. Consequently, romance writers of Regency England must resort to special licenses (from archbishops) or Gretna Green if they need a marriage to take place suddenly to the surprise and consternation of others.

It should be noted that in any time period, including our modern one, marriages have been consistently difficult to track since they take place at the city/state/local level. Of course, the Internet is changing that, and a bigamist who publishes Facebook pictures of both his families is in imminent danger of being discovered.