Almost 100 years since D H Lawrence published his superbly written expose of class inequality and hypocrisy, and 60 years since the book was cleared in the obscenity trial, you would have thought society would have progressed to the extent of being able to accept and value it for what it is: sexually honest and explicit. But if this Netflix adaptation is anything to go by, we have not progressed.
Clean, polite, and fightfully well spoken, this version is imbued with a romantic innocence that would be creditable if it were not for the fact that the whole spirit of Lawrence's writing and intent has been tossed aside in the process. And for the sake of what? A global audience with zero risk of any problems with sponsors or censors - because this adaptation comes oven-ready censored.
Gone is the earthiness. Gone is Lawrence's explicit dialogue. Gone is any sense of the sheer joy and worship of the body. Gone are both Lady Jane and John Thomas.
Watch it if you want a sanitised Reader's Digest/Hallmark adaptation. Alternatively, buy a second hand copy of the unexpurgated orginal, and enjoy.
Clean, polite, and fightfully well spoken, this version is imbued with a romantic innocence that would be creditable if it were not for the fact that the whole spirit of Lawrence's writing and intent has been tossed aside in the process. And for the sake of what? A global audience with zero risk of any problems with sponsors or censors - because this adaptation comes oven-ready censored.
Gone is the earthiness. Gone is Lawrence's explicit dialogue. Gone is any sense of the sheer joy and worship of the body. Gone are both Lady Jane and John Thomas.
Watch it if you want a sanitised Reader's Digest/Hallmark adaptation. Alternatively, buy a second hand copy of the unexpurgated orginal, and enjoy.