The book The Way We Live Now is arguably Trollope's masterpiece. The book is a brilliant story of white-collar corruption that Davies turns into a recitation of Sir Felix Carbury's sexual conquests. Trollope's Sir Felix is worse than a cad; he is a scoundrel. But Davies glosses over the terrible things he does to his mother, to his sister and to the other women around him and makes him appear to be nothing more than a misunderstood young man. The end of the book is not ambiguous, but the end of the series is.One other thing I hated, and this most likely has nothing to do with Andrew Davies. Miranda Otto was awful as Mrs. Hurtle. I cannot imagine anyone believing she is an American.What a waste of time. I want those hours of my life back.

If you watch Masterpiece Theatre with any frequency, you will long since have noticed that the BBC, which provides Masterpiece Theatre with its best material, seems to have access to an inexhaustible supply of superior actors -- mostly, though not all, British stage performers and mostly British trained. "The Way We Live Now" gives more proof of how deep BBC's acting bench is. David Suchet, the star of this series is familiar to American audiences for his portrayal of the fussy and fastidious Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot, created by Agatha Christie. The character he plays here could not possibly be more different than Poirot. He is a crude, unethical financier who seems large physically though Suchet is on the small side. Supporting Suchet is a sizable cast of actors, most of whom are complete unknowns to American audiences. They are all good and several of them are excellent. Where were Helen Mirren and Judi Dench before they became stars in Hollywood? Learning and applying their craft in Britain. Perhaps it is the acting schools and the repertory companies that turn these actors out in such profusion. Perhaps it is the quantity and quality of theaters and stage companies that give them opportunities unavailable in the U.S. Whatever the reason, the overall strength of the cast is what distinguishes this British TV series as it generally distinguishes British-made films from their American counterparts. American films may be superior in other respects but not for acting that merges effortlessly into the role.

Warning - I hated it.The entire time I was watching this, I kept feeling sorry for the poor set-construction crew. After each day's shooting ended, they only had around 12 hours to repair all of the serious damage caused by the actors chewing the scenery so hard; there must have been tooth-marks all over everything, and some of it was probably bitten right through. Perhaps they also had to keep a dental-hygenist on-set to assist with removing splinters from the actors teeth.The acting was generally atrocious, and I found Suchet's histrionics ghastly - it made me think of Jim Carrey going completely out of control, or Elizabeth Taylor's hysterics in "Suddenly Last Summer" - which people often mistake for serious acting. But I'd say that the primary responsibility for this shambles lies directly at the feet of a seriously incompetent and green director, and a surprisingly poor adaptation from Davies. I found it to be a horrible mess, and Trollope must be spinning in his grave.

A truly unique look at Trollope. The adaptation, direction and musical score are done with high style, wit and a decadent spirit that is rare in the more reserved British period pieces that one might expect from the BBC. It is immensely entertaining. I heartily recommend it.