It was on a while ago, but have been meaning to publish this review of We’ll Take Manhattan for ages. The programme was a mini-biopic, written by John McKay, telling the story of photographer David Bailey and his muse, model Jean Shrimpton. The ninety minute drama follows the couple from their first meeting to their now iconic New York photo-shoot.
The programme looks gorgeous, evoking the swinging sixties with air hostesses in pillbox hats, but often favours style over script substance. Individual lines are fast paced and witty but fail to come together to form a structurally coherent whole. This makes the relationship between Shrimpton and Bailey feel unrealistic and disjointed, leaving the audience unsure what the endgame is for each character. Or, to use an oft quoted query, ‘what’s their motivation here?’ The character of Jean is clearly meant to begin as naïve and transform into an independent woman, but her outbursts of rebellion are sporadic throughout the script and fail to crescendo at the end. Later acts of Jean’s defiance are no more vehement than her first. In places this piece wants to be An Education, Nick Hornby’s screenplay of Lynn Barber’s autobiography, but there is not enough character depth or development to feel that Jean has been on a real journey.
In the early scenes of We’ll Take Manhattan David Bailey possesses an unbridled sexuality. It hints at upcoming passions between him and his muse, but never comes to fruition. Early on David notes Jean’s “very, very, very long legs” and duly requests she “spread ‘em.” During their first shoot Jean claims “pearls don’t really suit me” to which David replies “you’d look good in a pearl necklace. Maybe I could help you out with one.” This knowing swagger and bravado should hint at someone who sexually confident, indeed David states “I don’t get no complaints,” however his humour seems childish rather than assured when he fails to show much of a sexual repertoire at all.
It is unclear in the script when the couple start to have sex. This may seem irrelevant but as the story follows their relationship and Jean’s self-discovery it should be an important moment. The only reference to the couple’s sex life is when on arriving at the Manhattan hotel David says “No daddy, no wife. Do you think the springs will hold out?” He kisses Jean, and they move to the floor dispassionately and the scene ends. This lack of sex turns David’s earlier promises into innuendo more suited to a Carry On film. Perhaps the absence of lust and romance is purposeful, maybe McKay is trying to indicate that their relationship does not last but this fails to provide the audience with any reason to emotionally invest in the romance.
That is not to say the characters are completely unconvincing – there are some lovely moments when McKay contrasts Jean’s vulnerability with her belief that she is an adult. When David visits the Shrimpton family home Jean explains to her mother that her “new friend” has stayed over, albeit in the horse barn, with lines that convey a mixture of nervousness and pride. However neither party says any more than is truly necessary, demonstrating a mother uncomfortable with her daughter’s new-found confidence and a daughter not quite as confident as she would like to be. This develops into a set of scenes juxtaposing Jean’s new life with her old. David comes running out of the barn in his underwear, frightened by a horse and swearing coarsely at the top of his voice. Jean rushes out to rescue him on her territory now, and the scene cuts to David sat round the table saying “Nice jam, Mrs Shrimpton.” This calm is broken again, this time by Mr Shrimpton entering and ordering David out. Mr Shrimpton then instructs his daughter to never see David again or to move out. Jean shows her belief in her adult status by reminding him “I have a job. I’m eighteen,” and promptly leaves. These scenes are an example of McKay’s talent for often leaving a scene at just the right moment. It is this skill which maintains the pace of the script, as much of the characterisation happens in between the lines of dialogue. In the first half these spaces in the dialogue are positive, generating audience interest in the burgeoning relationship. When David and Jean first meet she is hunched on the floor, legs akimbo, putting on her shoes. He looks at her. She looks at him, all bambi eyes and gamine charm, and he calls out loudly for the number of an earlier model “the one with the big Eartha Kitts.” The audience assumed incorrectly what fits into the silences, which shows David as unpredictable and anti-establishment. Unfortunately as the relationship develops McKay loses these tightly structured moments and instead relies on Karen Gillan’s beauty as Jean to communicate subtext. It may be that this is a love story purposefully lived out through the camera lens, but attempts to do so are inconsistent and the audience are left unable to empathise with the characters. McKay touches on this, allowing David’s most forceful moments of adoration described in physical terms, and he even takes a photograph to capture Jean’s reaction to his speech: “You have the most elegant intense eyes. You have a spine like a swan.”
At times the programme feels as though it is written by three different writers. It is part arty love-thru-a-lens, part swinging 60s double-entendre and part pared-back gritty biopic. None of these parts are bad, but each seems as though it is not given chance to progress. One hour dramas can often feel not fully realised in this way, but ninety minutes should be enough to fully develop the characters and a coherent story arc. If any of the angles had been explored further this could have been so much more. There are some lovely sparky lines of dialogue but the script and the character of David have a lot in common: makes big promises, but doesn’t quite deliver.
