The long-awaited TV adaptation of Dame Jilly Cooper’s best-selling book, Rivals, was always going to start with a bang.
And so it is. In a small bathroom aboard the Concorde, with the bare bottom of serial womanizer Rupert Campbell-Black hard at it.
Hit, hit, hit, hit the cubicle door as journalist Beattie Johnson’s scarlet stiletto-heeled foot braces against the wall, her red nails digging deep for purchase. They both do it with such enthusiasm that it is surprising that the plane does not deviate from its course.
And for the viewer – or at least for me – a big sigh of relief because, finally, something has not been so disinfected and sterilized as to erase all the joy.
The long-awaited TV adaptation of Dame Jilly Cooper’s best-selling book, Rivals, was always going to start with a bang.
In fact, Disney’s new eight-part television adaptation of the second book of Dame Jilly’s multimillion-dollar Rutshire Chronicles begins with so much sex, swearing, nudity, and ridiculously brilliant, tongue-in-cheek fun that it almost seems as if, instead, To remove some of Jilly’s joy, director Dominic Treadwell-Collins and his brilliant team of writers have added even more.
Everyone seems to be at it: loudly, enthusiastically, indoors in tight spaces, outdoors in the blazing sun, invariably with someone other than their husband or wife.
And all of ‘Jilly’ feels overdone. The huge, sprawling honey-stone Cotswolds mansion with croquet lawns, ha-has and herbaceous borders to die for. Dogs, everywhere. The endless drunkenness with champagne. The gigantic hair of the 80s. Smoking non-stop: in the car, in bed, after intercourse on the Concorde. But, above all, the sharp humor and the endless clever wordplay.
According to Disney press, the series, which is about sex, power, money and a battle for a regional television station, promises to take a “1920s to 1980s lens.” It’s no easy task, squaring today’s delicate sensibilities with naughty Jilly’s obsession with fucking, drinking, groping, and relentless political incorrectness.
Not forgetting, of course, the central romance between super stud Rupert, former Olympic jumper and Conservative MP, and sweet Taggie O’Hara, who is kind, virginal, dyslexic and only 18 years old. Damn hell – 18! How do we forget that?
Which, presumably, is why, aside from a 1993 Riders movie (the first book in the series) that was so horrible and bland that most people pretend it doesn’t exist, no one on TV cares. has dared to tackle the classic Jilly.
Treadwell-Collins appears to have taken a rather more robust approach. Put it all inside.
It opens with so much sex, swearing and nudity that it almost seems as if, rather than removing some of Jilly’s joy, director Dominic Treadwell-Collins and his brilliant team of writers have added even more.
So much so that there were not one, but two intimacy coaches on set, always willing to help with angles and advice. Plus an emotional support dog and a very strict policy that everyone had to behave. In addition to ‘scrupulous equality’ in matters of nudity, very much in 2024. Which means that, for each appendage, they give us a pair of naked breasts.
And we start with Rupert’s. In a scene straight from Jilly’s 1988 book, he is naked, on a tennis court, arguing with the equally naked Emily Atack over who won the point.
Casting Rupert, whose character was supposedly partly inspired by the Queen’s ex-husband, Andrew Parker Bowles, must have been a nightmare.
Everyone who has read Jilly’s books has already gotten it into their heads. And quite possibly he did some other things to her as well. But Alex Hassell is surprisingly perfect. Sneering. Cruel. Beautiful. Sexy and fun. She had never read the books, but apparently her mother was a big fan and actually blushed when she got the part.
The entire cast is top notch.
There is a “scrupulous equality” in matters of nudity, very much in 2024. Which means that, for each appendage, we are given a pair of naked breasts.
David Tennant is full of raw, rabid fury, temper and jealousy as Lord Tony Baddington. Claire Rushbrook is wonderful as his matronly wife. Aidan Turner, who plays famous TV interviewer Declan O’Hara, should never again be seen without his porn star mustache. Katherine Parkinson is magnificently moving. The list goes on and on.
But the eighties also deserve a special mention. The soundtrack packed with Robert Palmer, Eurythmics, Haircut 100, Hall & Oates. Brilliantly bad hair. The buffets loaded with shrimp. Shoulder pads, eye shadow, taffeta, double-breasted suits and social climbing. It’s all so vivid you can almost smell the cigarette smoke and hairspray, wet dogs and sex.
“Real” men are rich, powerful, scoundrels and take what they can get. The women put up with it. And casual infidelity and opportunistic groping are par for the course. Many of us can remember that time, the very good parts and the terribly bad parts, and perhaps wish we couldn’t.
The eighties also deserve a special mention. The soundtrack packed with Robert Palmer, the Eurythmics, Haircut 100, Hall & Oates
God knows what Generation Z will do with all this. How they will cope with the sexism, the smoking, the incessant drinking and the sudden and very shocking moment when Rupert touches poor Taggie while she is trying to serve him a portion of her pavlova.
Maybe Rivals should include a health warning: “This is a bit of fun.” Don’t take it too seriously.
But watch it, ideally with a glass of wine in hand. Because it’s fun, bright, cheerful sexy nonsense, with some surprisingly touching moments. And, when everything else in 2024 starts to look a little grey, dreary and restricted, it will cheer you up immensely.
