As a man who largely made his legacy out of “game” books (namely, The Hustler and The Color of Money), one of the few novels from Walter Tevis’ oeuvre left to adapt was 1983’s The Queen’s Gambit. Granted, it hasn’t been for a lack of trying, with one iteration previously tied to Heath Ledger and Ellen Page as the leads. No offense to either, but mercifully, that never happened, for it could not be what it is without the production team and cast that ended up bringing the story to life. Directed, adapted–in conjunction with Allan Scott–and produced by Scott Frank (or “A.” Scott Frank, if you want to get more specific), the meticulous attention to detail with which this Floridian imbues the source material is what makes it such a marvel to behold. That, and, of course, Anya Taylor-Joy’s portrayal of the self-destructive, substance abusing genius that is Elizabeth “Beth” Harmon.
Steadily rising to prominence and recognition with roles in Split, Thoroughbreds and this year’s adaptation of Emma, Taylor-Joy transcends into a full-fledged star as she gives Beth the depth and subtlety required of such a complex character. Beginning in a hotel room in Paris 1967, Beth is horrified to find herself late to a major chess tournament with her evasive and arcane opponent, Vasily Borgov (Marcin Dorociński). So it is that she greets the urgently knocking hotel attendant still drenched from the bath she hoped would sober her up.
As she rushes to pull herself together, telltale signs of the night before start to come into focus–including a chess board with miniature alcohol bottles placed on the squares as their own new-fangled form of chess pieces. Rushing to meet her Grandmaster of an opponent, Beth pops some dolls and takes another swig of vodka in order to get herself up and running again. The classic addiction dichotomy being that the very things that make you fall are the only things that can help you rise again.
When finally in front of Borgov, sitting face to face with the player she’s both dreaded and looked forward to going up against for the second time, it is at this moment that we flash back to Beth’s five-year-old self: standing on the side of the road next to a car wreck, her dead mother in the driver’s seat. Yes, it’s the orphanage for Beth. And it’s clear right away to the “headmistress” of the joint, Mrs. Deardorff (Christiane Seidel), that there is nothing especially remarkable enough about Beth that might get her adopted before the more “vivacious” children. Then again, how vivacious can anyone be vivacious when they’re getting steady doses of “mood stabilizers” (because, the 50s)?
The only comfort to her in the orphanage is Mr. Shaibel (Bill Camp), or rather, the chessboard and lessons he provides down in the basement whenever she makes her frequent descents to clean the erasers. In addition to Mr. Shaibel, there is her sole age-appropriate friend and confidante, Jolene (Moses Ingram). Assuring Beth that she herself will never be adopted because she’s too “old” and too black, the two find comfort in one another’s ostracized-from-society status. And Beth, above all else, takes additional comfort in the orderly universe contained within the sixty-four squares on a chessboard. So much so that she finds storing up her “mood stabilizer” dosage helps her hallucinate the board on the ceiling so that she can practice the moves in her head with more clarity and precision.
Interviewed by The New York Times the year of the book’s release, Tevis was sure to mention just how personal the story was, and not just in the detail of being something of an orphan himself for a year while his parents went to Kentucky (where Beth lives) to handle their affairs regarding the obtainment of a land grant. The green pills Beth can’t function without are based on Librium, and such tranquilizers really were given to children when being “cared for” by the state. So it is that Tevis stated, “When I was young, I was diagnosed as having a rheumatic heart and given heavy drug doses in a hospital. That’s where Beth’s drug dependency comes from in the novel. Writing about her was purgative. There was some pain—I did a lot of dreaming while writing that part of the story. But artistically, I didn’t allow myself to be self-indulgent.” No, all the self-indulgence comes entirely from Beth, whose stubbornness and commitment to her pain and loneliness can at times be frustrating to watch. Yet, by the same token, we as human beings can never see our foibles as clearly as objective bystanders.
Being that The Queen’s Gambit places the focus on the specific “pratfalls” of being a female genius in a male-dominated field (and world), Beth is consistently vexed that the only thing magazine articles ever seem to point out about her is that she’s a girl. Not that she’s one of the most gifted players the game has seen in recent decades. Harry Beltik (Harry Melling), one of her first major opponents in her debut chess tournaments is just such a man to underestimate her. It is he, ultimately, who will care about her the most, admiring and falling love with her as any chess dweeb would. But it is his mistake to assume she’s capable of genuine emotion for anything, except the game. And even the game isn’t something she’s “in love with,” so much as something she relishes for its order and logic, and for the fact that she’s respected for her talent in it. That it’s the one thing in this life that has made her “special.” Because of her “callousness” (a.k.a. comporting herself the same way a “hot shit” guy would), Beltik compares her to Paul Morphy, known as the “Pride and Sorrow of Chess.” For he, too, could stay out all night drinking and play like a beast the following day at a tournament. He could put on the airs required of a hoity-toity game like chess and then spend his free time idling about in a drunken stupor.
This chink in her armor of presumed cool and poise is never more succinct than when she goes on a bender during her “adjournment” after the game with Borgov in Paris. Back in Kentucky, where she’s bought the house that belonged to her adoptive parents, she gives in with complete abandon to the temptress that is Addiction. And all to the tune of Shocking Blue’s 1969 hit, “Venus.” Finally coming to understand that the loneliness she’s indulged in for so long in pursuing a sport as socially isolating (at least in America) as chess, it takes a wake up call from Jolene to make her crawl back out of the bottom of her many bottles (whether pill or alcohol encasements).
Her desire for more, more, more–in terms of numbness alone–all traces back to that root moment of trauma we see flashed back to at the very beginning in episode one. And yet, without the death of her mother, it’s entirely likely that Beth would never have turned to chess for comfort, would never have unearthed it as her great gift. So it is that we are left to ponder whether all truly great chess players must have a background rooted in tragedy and doom. After all, no one on this Earth has ever found much reward in showcasing their penchant for logic and reason.
