I watched the BBC dramatisation of Enid Blyton’s life yesterday, cleverly titled “Enid.”
I thought it was a really good piece, and Helena Bonham Carter was fabulous – I adore the subtle aging process that I have only noticed now, watching back the trailer.
I’ve seen and heard some comments from people concerned that the documentary has shattered their illusions of the books they read as a child. I can’t really see this, as all it does is show you that Enid Blyton was human. Perhaps that’s the problem?
It was a fascinating docu-drama, but really only demonstrated that she wasn’t great at family life and had quite a tough first marriage. Not exactly groundbreaking stuff.
Someone who can produce over 750 books in their lifetime must be forgiven for not being quite so good at real life, surely?
The books are so embedded in my childhood, and I have put them on such a pedestal, that it would take a lot more to make me rethink them.
As a side note, I love that the girl from Outnumbered was in this as well.