‘The Casual Vacancy’ miniseries inferior to novel

Unfortunately, just as we said about the “Harry Potter” series, the same notion applies to “The Casual Vacancy,” the HBO miniseries based on J.K. Rowling’s eponymous novel. After the “Potter” frenzy that launched her to success, “Vacancy” meant to set her apart from a name that would define her entire authorial career — proof that she could write more than just wizarding fantasy.

And prove she did — Rowling wrote another quintessentially British novel aimed to explore similar themes as “Potter” did, but through a more mature lens. “Vacancy” delves into the intertwined world of teenagers and their parents, reminiscent of a stifling suburbia where individuals grow up and stay trapped forever.

The small-town tale jumps in media res, introducing the mundane lives and minute social conflicts in Pagford, a pastoral microcosm with an unsettling kind of immaculacy. While idyllic hills and cobblestone streets and laughing kids on bikes roll across the screen, the town struggles to uphold its pristine nature by vying the “needs” of the few over the needs of the less fortunate in an almost Dickensian way. Exemplifying that dynamic is Pagford’s city council, headed by the conservative curmudgeon couple Howard (Michael Gambon, Dumbledore from the “Harry
Potter” series) and Shirley Mollison (Julia McKenzie, “Notes on a Scandal”) who strive to socially engineer Pagford’s perfection. The council is stabilized by the more liberal Barry Fairbrother (Rory Kinnear, “The Imitation Game”), who spearheads the movement to overturn Mollison’s initiative to turn their community center into a tourist and retail enterprise.

Barry is popular among the lower class for his altruism, as he looks after Krystal Weedon (Abigail Lawrie, newcomer), a crass-mouthed teen under social service surveillance for having a heroin-strung mother; and Arf Price (Joe Hurst, “Private Peaceful”), his reserved nephew with an abusive father — both youths who the community center benefits. When Barry mysteriously dies, perfection is usurped as citizens scramble to fill his temporarily vacant spot on the council, unveiling their true colors beneath their façades.

The first part of the miniseries ends with a premonition from “the ghost of Barry Fairbrother” narrating, “It’s impossible to keep secrets in this place, isn’t it? Oh, you’d be surprised, Pagford. Everyone’s got skeletons raveling in their cupboard.” Pagford attempts to obscure its problems of class and justice, when really, they are more evident than ever in a place where everyone knows everything about everyone. In a land of homogeneity, trivial problems become magnanimous to its inhabitants, and perfection soon becomes uncomfortably eerie — a social statement on Rowling’s part about the perils of stagnant suburbia. The show uses silence and the motif of mirrors to reflect this eeriness on the characters themselves, leading viewers to question every intention and ulterior motive.

In Pagford, everyone duals as both a protagonist and an antagonist — every character has texture and complexity. However, what could be a beautiful multidimensionality scatters the focus of the show, providing inadequate screen time for characters who must be conveyed with greater depth. There are less heinous sides to Krystal that inform her self-destructive tendencies; Arf has small, but significant spurts of independence, while the show only depicts him as an awkward doormat; other council members Tess Wall (Monica Dolan, “Pride”) and Parminder Jawanda (Lolita Chakrabarti, “Venus”) are strong female figures who could have balanced out this patriarchal tale.

Their story is painted through stellar cinematography of a picturesque rural England, a key highlight of the show. However, the visual impeccability is analogous to the “pretty” but superficial writing that doesn’t quite dig deep enough into the characters. The 500-page novel is shrunken into a three-hour miniseries — just a tad longer than a feature-length film, yet not nearly long enough to capture more than the brisk essence of the story. It’s the characters, not the plot, that gives the novel its true depth — that makes the novel worthy of our tears, rage and pity. Three hours is only enough to introduce personas, not to empathize with them.