|
Turn pigskin into pate. You can't find more alternative programming to the Super Bowl than Me & Mrs. Jones, the latest presentation from "Masterpiece Theatre".
Robson Green, the British actor who is something of a "Masterpiece Theatre" matinee idol, stars in this little bit of fluff about a newspaper gossip columnist who gets compromisingly close to his subject, the prime minister of Britain (Caroline Goodall).
Green has a way with these rakish characters. His "Reckless" series, in which he played a younger man to Francesa Annis' older woman, was one of the most popular "Masterpiece Theatre" series.
Here, he reprises that kind of character as he tumbles for a starchy, lovelorn politician, Laura Bowden.
Me & Mrs. Jones makes no sense. It is total fiction - not a bad thing, actually, on a cold winter's night when there's nothing else to watch but testosterone chargers grunting and banging into each other. But this fiction so stretches the suspension of disbelief as to veer into the realm of the ridiculous.
Green plays Liam Marple, a gossip columnist whose nom de plume is Mrs. Jones for a London tabloid. Marple's true ambition is to be a great writer, but gossip pays the rent.
Marple's personal life is in predictable chaos. He has a London loft but hasn't scrounged together the money to buy a bed. His ex- wife, Jane (Keeley Hawes), is his editor. She regularly invades his life to demand more copy. Only this time, the need is more urgent. She is under orders from the publisher to dig up dirt on the PM. She knows that her ex can do the job.
Marple wangles his way into the prime minister's garden party by posing as a high-flying lobbyist. How he gets through post-Sept. 11 security is anyone's guess, but then the producers of "Me & Mrs. Jones" wouldn't have their story as implausible as it is.
Not only does Marple get through security, but he manages to place a tape recorder in a fireplace at 10 Downing St. He also dances with the prime minister, who admits she hasn't cut the rug in years. As they dance, you can't help noticing that she towers over him.
The PM's functionaries - an unctuous chief of staff, a mousy secretary and a pushy press spokesman - are aghast that this charmer has wriggled his way onto the dance floor and caused a dreamy smile to break out on their leader's face. The PM's husband, Richard (Philip Quast), hardly notices.
That's because Richard and his politician wife keep their own secrets. Theirs' is a loveless marriage. They only stay together for the sake of the children. All that dirt sits right under "Mrs. Jones" 's nose - and pours into the tape recorder perched in the fireplace.
After the party, the prime minister makes a play for Marple, dialing him on his cell phone, unaware that he's a newspaper gossip, which, if you think about it, doesn't matter. She asks to see him privately. Their affair is on.
Marple doles out his scoops to his demanding ex-wife editor, but he holds back the dishiest dirt. He's falling for the PM. She's falling for him. They have a tryst at the home of Marple's friend, who is aghast when he learns the identity of Marple's lover.
Marple is in a pickle. Should he spill all and boost newspaper circulation? Or will his conscience get the better of him? After all, he thinks he loves the PM. This isn't just a user's game to him.
Ultimately, he does the right thing. The story couldn't go any other way. It's as light as a Cheshire cheese puff.
WGBH-produced "Masterpiece Theatre" is struggling for survival. ExxonMobil announced last month that it is ending its support of the series in 2004, after 30 years of sole sponsorship. Me & Mrs. Jones, alas, won't save the franchise. Nor will it enhance Robson's rep as the stud muffin of these Brit dramas.
