JACK DAWKINS
aka
THE ARTFUL DODGER
CREATED BY:
Charles Dickens
AS SEEN IN:
'Oliver Twist'
AS PLAYED BY:
Melvyn Hayes
From Wikipedia:
Jack Dawkins, better known as the Artful Dodger, is a character in the
Charles Dickens novel Oliver Twist. Dodger is a pickpocket, so called for his
skill and cunning in that respect. As a result he has become the leader of the
gang of child criminals, trained by the elderly Fagin. He becomes Oliver's
closest friend (although he betrays him when Oliver is mistakenly caught) and he
tries to make him a pickpocket, but soon realizes that Oliver won't, and feels
sorry for him, saying "What a pity ain't a prig!" He also has a close
relationship with Charley Bates. Ultimately the Dodger is caught with a stolen
silver snuff box and presumably sent to a penal colony in Australia (only
alluded to in the novel). The Dodger chooses to consider himself a "victim of
society," roaring in the courtroom "I am an Englishman; where are my rights?"
The judge has little patience with the Dodger's posturing, and orders him out of
the courtroom immediately after the jury convicts him of the theft.
The Artful Dodger, though a pickpocket, is not a heartless character. He has a great respect for Fagin, to whom he delivers all of the pickpocketing spoils without question.
The Artful Dodger, though a pickpocket, is not a heartless character. He has a great respect for Fagin, to whom he delivers all of the pickpocketing spoils without question.
Hayes was about 27 in this 1962 TV series, and looked older. But it was
the first TV production of the Dickens novel, so he stands as its Dodger.
With this next entry, the Dodger is transported to Australia for the penal
colony, but he escapes to find new adventures Down Under. As he was now a recastaway, this Dodger ends up in an alternate TV dimension.....
JACK DAWKINS
aka
THE ARTFUL DODGER
AS SEEN IN:
'The Escape Of The Artful Dodger'
AS PLAYED BY:
Luke O'Loughlin
From the source:
He was a snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy enough; and as dirty a
juvenile as one would wish to see; but he had about him all the airs and manners
of a man. He was short of his age: with rather bow-legs, and little, sharp, ugly
eyes. His hat was stuck on the top of his head so lightly, that it threatened to
fall off every moment--and would have done so, very often, if the wearer had not
had a knack of every now and then giving his head a sudden twitch, which brought
it back to its old place again. He wore a man's coat, which reached nearly to
his heels. He had turned the cuffs back, half-way up his arm, to get his hands
out of the sleeves: apparently with the ultimated view of thrusting them into
the pockets of his corduroy trousers; for there he kept them. He was,
altogether, as roystering and swaggering a young gentleman as ever stood four
feet six, or something less, in the bluchers.
'Hullo, my covey! What's the row?'
The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer, was about his own age: but one of the queerest looking boys that Oliver had even seen. He was a snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy enough; and as dirty a juvenile as one would wish to see; but he had about him all the airs and manners of a man. He was short of his age: with rather bow-legs, and little, sharp, ugly eyes. His hat was stuck on the top of his head so lightly, that it threatened to fall off every moment—and would have done so, very often, if the wearer had not had a knack of every now and then giving his head a sudden twitch, which brought it back to its old place again. He wore a man's coat, which reached nearly to his heels. He had turned the cuffs back, half-way up his arm, to get his hands out of the sleeves: apparently with the ultimate view of thrusting them into the pockets of his corduroy trousers; for there he kept them. He was, altogether, as roystering and swaggering a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six, or something less, in the bluchers.
BCnU!
'Hullo, my covey! What's the row?'
The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer, was about his own age: but one of the queerest looking boys that Oliver had even seen. He was a snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy enough; and as dirty a juvenile as one would wish to see; but he had about him all the airs and manners of a man. He was short of his age: with rather bow-legs, and little, sharp, ugly eyes. His hat was stuck on the top of his head so lightly, that it threatened to fall off every moment—and would have done so, very often, if the wearer had not had a knack of every now and then giving his head a sudden twitch, which brought it back to its old place again. He wore a man's coat, which reached nearly to his heels. He had turned the cuffs back, half-way up his arm, to get his hands out of the sleeves: apparently with the ultimate view of thrusting them into the pockets of his corduroy trousers; for there he kept them. He was, altogether, as roystering and swaggering a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six, or something less, in the bluchers.
BCnU!
No comments:
Post a Comment