The Borgias Ep. 1+2 - Review

Jeremy Irons has got the conch.

Rome, 1492. Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia, played by Jeremy Irons, snatches the hilarious hat right off the head of the recently deceased Pope Innocent VIII through means of trickery and, word of the day, simony. SIMONY, I tell you! Between beating down his detractors, blocking punches from his ex-sort-of-wife Vanossa and sexing desperate fallen noblewomen, he survives an assassination attempt with the help of his son...

Cesare Borgia, played by the sexy sexy sexy sexy and FRENCH François Arnaud, is a very unwilling bishop who gets his kicks apathetically screwing prostitutes and trying not to think about screwing his pretty fourteen-year-old sister Lucrezia. Cesare Borgia, just like his historical counterpart, is also a fucking psycho, spending his pent-up aggression on masterfully assisting his father's nefarious plots, and by assisting I mean, of course, doing the whole god damn thing itself, for no other reason, it seems, other than that he simply must be doing something illegal at all times or his head will explode.

Other than that, there's Michelotto, Cesare's assassin and secret weapon, who is loyal to the point of obsessive; Juan, Cesare's brother, Steve Perry look-alike contest winner, and a complete buffoon who was given control of the Papal armies, a job that Cesare wants almost as much as he wants his sister; Lucrezia Borgia, a girl who vacillates between rock-stupid, infantile, charming, and almost frighteningly commanding, which is due to either genius or shitty characterization, but for now the jury's completely out on her; Cardinal Giuliano Della Rovere (played by the incomparable Colm Feore), a jealous runner-up who, by the episode's end, has declared an open intention to get Borgia deposed ASAP, and the throaty-voiced and well-foreheaded Giulia Farnese, Borgia's strangely likeable mistress.

The costumes make me feel all warm and juicy inside. The sets are beautiful and meticulously dressed, but clearly very small, giving the show an almost claustrophobic feel. The writing, though... gr. The writing. The writing is a pastiche of dry exposition, overextended metaphors, outright looting of other, better historical dramas, and so many lines that probably seemed incredibly clever in the writers' room. I have few beefs with the acting, however. François Arnaud is madly incredible. Colm Feore simpers and bellows almost well enough to hide the fact that his character is utterly one-dimensional and absolutely nowhere near as interesting as he could be. And Jeremy Irons - oh. Jeremy Irons. This man is obviously gifted with that voice and that face, and he could have rested comfortably on both, but he did not fucking do that. He kills it. He works his raggedy ass off and the product is an absolute work of art, effortless, weightless, surprising, unbeatably compelling, real, earnest, buzzwords, jargon, and all the rest. He strums his lip as he takes confession. He shoves his hand into Vanossa's crotch angrily and almost apologetically. He is ugly in every sense of the world and we have no choice but to applaud him for his shameless ugliness.

This being a very new site, your Benevolent Clicktator has decided to start with one show at a time. The Clicktator is now taking suggestions for a summer show, preferably in its first season, preferably beginning in June.

Recap coming soon.