It is incredible, in a way, that so finely crafted a series should have escaped our notice for so long; and yet, there is a certain rightness in discovering a young Jeremy Irons staking his claim to be considered among the great actors of his generation (I didn't like his turn opposite Meryl in The French Lieutenant's Woman) on the thirtieth anniversary of the year it originally aired. It rightfully won heaps of TV BAFTAs, and sadly was nearly shut out at the Emmys, save for a token supporting actor award to Olivier (then the most recognizable actor in the series to American audiences, unless they recognized Gielgud, playing a very different character, as the butler from Arthur). I hopefully shall be forgiven the sin of viewing the series before reading the novel, though perhaps my punishment is to now be hesitant to pick it up, fearful that Waugh's prose will not live up to the expectations set by the series.
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