I have a confession to make. I have never been a fan of the “mini-series” concept. It’s one thing to adapt something into a stand-alone movie (or television movie), but the idea of transferring a book to the small screen so that it is dragged out for multiple parts for days (or, in this case, weeks) apart simply does not appeal to me. There is an art to taking a novel and pairing it down to feasible screen length, to see someone’s interpretation of the story in one convenient sitting. A mini-series basically takes a published work and proceeds to put damn near every page up there on the screen, defying viewers to decry “Hey, they left out my favorite paragraph!” This is all very nice, and many people love this idea, but I find myself wearied by the “drawn out” effect this can give.

When I first read that the new version of Mildred Pierce was going to be done as a five-part mini-series I groaned, because I didn’t imagine the story needed to be stretched out that far. Of course I also expressed displeasure because I wasn’t sure why a remake of any sort was called for. As anybody versed in the history of motion pictures knows, James M. Cain’s 1941 novel was first turned into a classic melodrama in 1945, by Warner Bros., director Michael Curtiz, and screenwriter Randall MacDougal. The movie brought Joan Crawford her Academy Award and is one of the seminal and most instantly recognizable titles of that era. Justifiably so; it is a highly entertaining movie that works on several levels. It’s a juicy noir; an absorbing examination of mother-daughter relationships; a glimpse into what women of the pre–World War II period needed to do in order to make their mark in a male-dominated world. It captures its era to perfection and is, by all degrees, a triumph. It was also a solid box office hit in its time and an Oscar nominee for Best Picture. While many others of its ilk have faded away, this one is still remembered.

So, rather than merely speculate and gripe about all this, I figured I’d pick up a copy of Cain’s book and read it and see if my instinct was correct. In all honesty, after finishing the book, I remained puzzled as to why something that wasn’t a James A. Michener–length epic was being given the mini-series treatment. But my other major reaction to the book was the surprise in finding out that, unlike the Crawford/Curtiz version, it was not a “noir” or a mystery at all. The unforgettable opening scene from the 1945 picture, Zachary Scott being shot in a shadowy oceanside dwelling and muttering the name “Mildred” as he falls towards the camera, was nowhere to be found. (So influential, then, is the Crawford movie that the copy of the novel I read was published as part of a “vintage crime” series obviously because Cain’s other two famous works, Double Indemnity and The Postman Always Rings Twice ARE vintage crime). Ah, ha! So, now I got it. The whole intention was to film the book exactly as Cain had written it, crime-lessly so, and including every detail possible.

All very well. But Mildred Pierce of the Forties soars because all of the elements came together so splendidly to create a work that appealed greatly to a public fired up by such melodramas. It wasn’t the book, but it found its place into our hearts and minds for being its own special creation. That would be hard to wash away. (I remember Margot Kidder boasting in the 1980s that she was going to star in a more authentic cable television adaptation of William Inge’s Bus Stop than the one Marilyn Monroe had appeared in back in the 1950s, bad mouthing the 1956 film to the hilt. Okay, Margot. We know actors aren’t shy in voicing their opinions of projects they themselves are not in. But how many people—then or now—associate Margot Kidder with this property?)

Finding out the new Mildred was being directed by Todd Haynes, I wondered too if this would be a retro, mock rendering of a '40s film, much as he had done a 2002 take on a Douglas Sirk “weepie” from the 1950s with his movie Far from Heaven. But it turns out that this version was being done straight, without an iota of camp or homage on hand. This to me was very appealing. Cain’s novel was a good read, after all, one that placed a complex and ambitious female at its center. There was no reason to adapt it with a modern day degree of winking satire or condescension. To further make the packaging that much more appealing, the wonderful Kate Winslet was cast in the lead. I figured it must be a worthwhile project, as it’s not common for someone to turn to television as a follow-up after winning an Academy Award, as Winslet did, for The Reader, more than two years earlier.

Okay, so I still had to endure the mini-series presentation. Before the airing there were the expected articles both pro and con about which version was better. After all, everything must be viewed as a competition, in some people’s eyes. However, I was pleased to see that the new version worked very nicely on its own terms and delivered the goods, without wiping away or trumping the one that has been a part of my life for a long time. Winslet’s version has the advantage of hitting certain notes from the book the other was obliged to shorten or skim over, but is missing the historical factor. Crawford’s Pierce doesn’t have to recreate its era with mood and period costuming, it’s the real thing. Of course, Haynes and his coscripter Jon Raymond have been so slavishly true to Cain that dialogue and descriptions from the book come to life in full. But they also have their own ‘interpretations’ of events. In Cain’s novel you won’t find the character of Monty using his foot to … (oh, well, I guess I have to assume this is a “family blog”) … um, let’s just say, in Cain’s book, the night after Mildred’s restaurant opening, she and Monty’s expression of desire is written as a fast fade out. (“So, the costume came off, and she submitted to what, on the whole, seemed a reasonably appropriate finale to the evening.”)

As far as I’m concerned, this version turned out to be mostly a good thing, because Haynes directs it all very well, and it gives Winslet a chance to shine, not to mention utilizing Guy Pearce perfectly (a combination of handsome and sleazy, which he does so well), and presenting solid characterizations by such performers as Richard Easton, James Le Gros (looking like hell, on purpose), and Mare Winningham. (Morgan Turner as the younger version of the insufferably snobbish Veda is too actor-ish, in my opinion, but her performance doesn’t hurt the piece at all).

So, is there a reason to gripe? Yes. Because it took three weeks to see it all! And there was a feeling of wearying elongation by the time hour Number Five rolled around. (Think of it, the whole thing totaled up to about 5 hours and 45 minutes!). I know that had Haynes and Company done this in one shot, say two hours and fifteen minutes in length, I’d have been more than happy. Next time I hear that another good movie or book is going to get the 5-part treatment, even with Mildred being an impressive achievement, I will still react in the same disenchanted, grumpy manner. Let others have their mini’s, I want my entertainment even mini-er.