I agree. The complex competitiveness between Val and Jolly is not detailed at all in the mini-series. In the book, their 'picking' is rather amusing.
In Chancery, Part II, Chapter I
Jolly Forsyte was strolling down High Street, Oxford, on a November afternoon; Val Dartie was stolling up. Jolly had just changed out of boating flannels and was on his way to the 'Frying-pan,' to which he had recently been elected. Val had just changed out of riding clothes and was on his way to the fire--a bookmaker's in Cornmarket.
"Hallo!" said Jolly.
"Hallo!" replied Val.
The cousins had met but twice, Jolly, the second-year man, having invited the freshman to breakfast; and last evening they had seen each other again under somewhat exotic circumstances.
[skip]
"Come into the Frying-pan and have tea," said Jolly, and they went in.
A stranger, seeing them together, would have noticed an unseizable resemblance between these second cousins of the third generations of Forsytes; the same bone formation in the face, though Jolly's eyes were darker grey, his hair lighter and more wavy.
"Tea and buttered buns, waiter, please?" said Jolly.
"Have one of my cigarettes?" said Val. "I saw you last night. How did you do?"
"I didn't play."
"I won fifteen quid."
Though desirous of repeating a whimsical comment on gambling he had once heard his father make--'When you're fleeced you're sick, and when you fleece you're sorry'--Jolly contented himself with:
"Rotten game, I think; I was at school with that chap. He's an awful fool."
"Oh! I don't know," said Val, as one might speak in defense of a disparaged god; "he's a pretty good sport."
They exchanged whiffs in silence.
"You met my people, didn't you?" said Jolly. "They're coming up tomorrow."
Val grew a little red.
"Really! I can give you a rare good tip for the Manchester November handicap."
"Thanks, I only take interest in classic races."
"You can't make any money over them," said Val.
"I hate the ring," said Jolly; "there's such a row and stink. I like the paddock."
"I like to back my judgment," answered Val.
Jolly smiled; his smile was like his father's. "I haven't got any. I always lose money if I bet."
"You have to buy experience, of course."
"Yes, but it's all messed-up with doing people in the eye."
"Of course, or they'll do you--that's the excitement."
Jolly looked a little scornful.
"What do you do with yourself? Row?"
"No--ride, and drive about. I'm going to play polo next term, if I can get my granddad to stum up."
"That's old Uncle James, isn't it? What's he like?"
"Older than forty hill," said Val, "and always thinking he's going to be ruined."
"I suppose my granddad and he were brothers."
"I don't believe any of that old lot were sportsmen," said Val; "they must have worshipped money."
"Mine didn't!" said Jolly warmly.
Val flipped the ash off his cigarette.
"Money's only fit to spend," he said; "I wish the deuce I had more."
Jolly gave him that direct upward look of judgment which he had inherited from old Jolyon: One didn't talk about money! And again there was silence, while they drank tea and ate the buttered buns.
"Where are your people going to stay?" asked Val, elaborately casual.
" ' Rainbow.' What do you think of the war?"
"Rotten, so far. The Boers aren't sports a bit. Why don't they come out into the open?"
"Why should they? They've got everything against them except their way of fighting. I rather admire them."
"They can ride and shoot," admitted Val, "but they're a lousy lot. Do you know Crum?"
"Of Merton? Only by sight. He's in that fast set too, isn't he? Rather La-di-da and Brummagem."
Val said fixedly: "He's a friend of mine."
"Oh! Sorry!"
And they sat awkwardly staring past each other, having pitched on their pet points of snobbery. For Jolly was forming himself unconciously on a set whose motto was: 'We defy you to bore us. Life isn't half long enough, and we're going to talk faster and most crisply, do more and know more, and dwell less on any subject that you can possibly imagine. We are "the best"--made of wire and whipcord.' And Val was unconciously forming himself on a set whose motto was: 'We defy you to interest or excite us. We have had every sensation, or if we haven't, we pretene we have. We are so exhausted with living that no hours are too small for us. We will lose our shirts with equanimity. We have flown fast and are past everything. All is cigarette smoke. Bismillah!' Competitive spirit, bone-deep in the English, was obliging those two young Forsytes to have ideals; and at the close of a century ideals are mixed.
I suppose I owe the Galsworthy estate some money, let me get it.
I endorse reading the Forsyte Saga. Well...just the first two books and the interludes. the third one? *pulls at face and sticks out tongue*
Christian, do you like our future?
.........even if he looks different in all his pictures...so do a lot of people. If someone told me to my face that he's "ugly," I'd be offended. 
And apparently there is some official "Alias" book out now, but I've been to both Borders and Barnes&Noble and they don't have it, so I don't know what the deal is. 
