Talking Sense

I gotta tell you guys: I am having a Sense and Sensibility THING.

Do you all do this? A few years ago, I went through a phase where I re-read Pride and Prejudice, watched the Keira Knightley version, watched the Colin Firth/Jennifer Ehle version, re-read Bridget Jones’s Diary, watched THAT movie a hundred million couple of times, sought out Bride and Prejudice…there are just a lot of Pride and Prejudice adaptations out there, and I watched and read a bunch of them, is what I’m saying. (I did not watch the 1980 BBC version, as this was before the days of this site and I didn’t know any better, but I want Mrs. Fitzpatrick to know that I hear her exasperation in my head retroactively.)

That was awhile back. Where this new Sense and Sensibility yen came from, I couldn’t say, but here we are.

Somewhat sacrilegiously, I think, I skipped the actual novel this time; I’ve read it relatively recently, and decided to opt for Netflix and instant gratification instead. And, okay, the pickings  for Sense and Sensibility adaptations are slimmer than they are for Pride and Prejudice, but I think what Sense and Sensibility lacks in quantity, it makes up for in quality: the modern adaptations of it are both excellent. (The other option here is From Prada to Nada, which I haven’t seen, but which has jumped up the Netflix queue in recent weeks.)

I don’t own a single adaptation of Sense and Sensibility, which now strikes me as completely insane. Why don’t I keep the Emma Thompson version on hand? I love the Emma Thompson version! (Fun fact: I have a clear memory of seeing it in the theater, then promptly and enthusiastically re-creating the entire plot for a friend the next day. This is, of course, why I’m so great at parties.) Being from the mind and the pen of Thompson herself, it understandably does many many things well; despite the 90210-ing of several actors’ ages, she makes it work (mostly). Elinor’s freakout at the end, in particular, never fails to impress.

(Speaking of the aging-up of actors, both modern adaptations cast Colonel Brandon as significantly older than he is in the book—fifty-one for Alan Rickman and forty-four for David Morrissey—which I think makes cultural sense, considering the shift in life expectancies since the good old days. Otherwise, the old dude is, like, Ryan Gosling or something.)

I remember liking the 2008 version very much…and then never tracking it down again. I’m now about halfway through, and enjoying it completely—among other things, it’s from that post-Ruth Wilson Jane Eyre period where the BBC decided to get with the times, visually, and it’s both true to the novel (despite some dialogue modernization magic on Andrew Davies’s part) and modern enough to appeal to a wider audience. I’m particularly loving Janet McTeer as Mrs. Dashwood and the girl who plays Margaret—Lucy Boynton, IMDB tells me, and she is comic gold here—and I have to say that if anybody is going to make a better Edward Ferrars than a young Hugh Grant(!), I think it has to be a young and extremely floppy-haired Dan Stevens, playing to type in the best way possible. (Will Edward and Elinor ever be able to express their sweet selves properly and live happily ever after? Don’t tell me how it ends!) (Poor Marianne. I love her, but I’m such a fan of Elinor that I tend to overlook her a bit. Also, ever since Miss Osborne brought it up, I’ve been a little horrified that she ends up with only a nice, relatively happy marriage to the good Colonel.)

Since I took up this new, uh, interest, I’ve been thinking about what makes Sense and Sensibility such a crowd-pleaser. Why do I recommend it to so many new Austen readers? Why does it lend itself to such good adaptations? But also, why is it similar to Pride and Prejudice but always a little in its shadow? My current theories have to do with the simplicity of the story and the relatively small cast of characters (compared to, say, Pride and Prejudice or Mansfield Park); it’s a pleasant story with something for everybody, regardless of temperament; on the other hand, maybe neither Elinor nor Marianne carries as much sparkle as Elizabeth Bennet. I don’t know. So many thoughts! What do you think, readers?

O admiral, my admiral!

Why, Colonel Brandon! How nice of you to drop by! And may I say how dashing you look—I’m sure Mrs. Brandon is quite proud! I didn’t know colonels could be promoted to admirals—I thought admirals were navy only? … Oh, really? How kind of Miss Austen!

And this must be Captain Picard, I mean, Wentworth, of course! A natural for the admiralty! Do I think Persuasion is ripe for a slightly more … mature…  adaptation? Is it me, or is it getting very warm in here? Miss Osborne? Oh, she’s fainted. Miss Ball, stick a pillow under her head, would you?

Mr. Downey, do you know I don’t know why you have that on at all. Is it Iron Man, or Sherlock Holmes, or just some cosplay? Oh, Mr. Wickham makes admiral, does he? Anything is possible, I guess. And, uh, I think I finally see Lydia’s point. So! Moving on!

Did I just say anything is possible? I take it back. Shatner, stop staring at me like that or I’ll push you into the ha-ha. What? You’re Mary and Henry Crawford’s uncle? The Admiral Crawford who’s steeped in sin and vice? I certainly can believe it! Now I understand their messed up personalities so much better!

SO nice of you to call, gentlemen! Do stop by anytime you’re passing. We love us some gold tassels around here.

Photo credit: I don’t know who to credit for this, but would love to, as it’s awesome! Let us know if you do.

Passing It Down a Generation

Do you ever wonder whether or not (if you have children) your children will grow up to be like you at all—in personality and tastes? I’ve always feared I would have a kid who uses bad grammar, hates reading, and loves the Yankees. One can only hope some of the things we love can be passed on and shared. Recently, one of my girlfriends introduced her 11-year-old daughter to Jane Austen. Here’s a compilation of our FB conversations.

Mrs. Light: To counteract Mr. Light’s ST:TNG summer marathon, I started Mags on Jane Austen movies. Mansfield Park was first—loved it…then Sense and Sensibility, then Emma. Now we are 3 episodes into P&P…she’s addicted. Last night it took away the night-before-school-start jitters. All she could say was, “Darcy is a jerk! Can we watch another tomorrow?” She tried to read Sense at the beginning of the summer. I think seeing the movie will ease the language for her.

Miss Osborne: That’s terrific! And yes, Darcy is a total jerk…in the beginning…

Mr. Light: No! THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS!!!!!

Miss Osborne: I heard there were 5 lights.

Mrs. Light: Tonight it all changed…@ Pemberley. Episode 4: I could see it in Mag’s face…suddenly Darcy’s lookin’ good…

Miss Osborne: I think you’ll need to also do a viewing of the short movie with Matthew MacFadyen…just to see what her thoughts are on a different version of P&P.

Miss Osborne: And yes, who wouldn’t be impressed with Pemberley? (“Does the young lady know the master?”)

Mrs. Light: I couldn’t accept him…too sad looking and altho greater in stature than Firth, no where near as grand…or SEX-SAAAAAAA!

Miss Osborne: I like MacFadyen from the early years of MI-5, but clearly he’s no match for HisRoyalFirthyGoodness.

Mrs. Light: I think Firthy has a permanent Darcy-shaped corner in an incalculable number of women’s hearts.

Mrs. Light: Add one 11-year-old girl’s.

Miss Osborne: Inquiring minds want to know…what does Mags think of the massive Regency sideburns?

Mrs. Light: After Mansfield (which was the fashion shock), she laughed a bit at Sense and the sideburns. Had to get over Snape being Colonel Brandon—and me swooning over him. By Emma, she was used to the hair—and the weird man pants and the bonnets. If anything she is starting to say which dresses are pretty and which aren’t.

Mrs. Light: I think Firthy has won her heart.

Miss Osborne: I just LOVE it! When she’s old enough, she should see Truly Madly Deeply to see Alan Rickman in a romantic role. (Tho, of course, I love him in Die Hard and that stupid Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, too.)

Mrs. Light: If I were Maid Marion, I would have pillaged the Sheriff of Nottingham.

Miss Osborne: Hahahaha! Dirty.

Mrs. Light: Oh! And she is already dissecting Jane’s plot construction and making predictions based on what she knows of how she writes about society…I may explode with joy!

Mrs. Light: It’s fabulous to hear her say, “Please…one more episode!”

Mrs. Light: We watched the rest of P&P yesterday, picking up back at the inn at Lambton when Darcy brings Georgiana to meet Lizzy. Mags was done—cooked—totally smitten with Mr D. All of the gazing back and forth…I’m so happy that this is her introduction to what “romance” is. (Yeah yeah…I know I won’t being hearing from Gloria Steinem.) Mags was outraged by Lydia running off with Wickham. Brighton must have been the Jersey Shore of it’s day, and Lydia is Snookie. It all unwinds too quickly at the end. We both longed to savor the moments when Lizzy concedes her love for Darcy. The final stroll when she tells him…Mags said, “They didn’t kiss! When are they gonna kiss!?” Then they do, and it’s over, and she said “NOOOOOO! It can’t be over! What happens next? I want to see what else happens to them!” Don’t we all?

****

And there you have it…one girl’s introduction to the world of Jane Austen!

Editor’s Note: I (heart) Star Trek and all of it’s incarnations. (Well, except for Enterprise because it was dumb.) The contents of this conversation by no means represents any mockery of Mr. Light’s scifi choices. Mr. and Mrs. Light took me to my very first Star Trek convention, and for that I will forever be grateful.

Photo Credit: Image borrowed from Read Jane.

A truth universally acknowledged? Oh, you betcha!

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that everything awesome is somehow related to Jane Austen: forgiving empire-cut dresses, Colin Firth, Alan Rickman, funny girls who get the guy, Colin Firth, and of course, Amy Heckerling’s contemporary classic Clueless, built on Emma. – Jezebel

True, true. I guess that’s why it’s a truth universally acknowledged . . .

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman starring in a romantic comedy, must be in want of a man — and have a best friend (or sister) on hand to crack wise and provide emotional support while she deals with him. – Vulture

That IS pretty universal, and kind of annoying.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single person with a reasonably nice standard of living must be in want of a Swedish partner. – “The Official Gateway to Sweden”

Funny, I never knew that . . . Sounds like the ’70s.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a social landlord with green aspirations must be in want of a trophy wife. – Inside Housing

WHAT??

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a farmer in possession of gelignite is in want of somewhere better to put it than the steps of the Balclutha police station. – Homepaddock

Now I’m really lost . . .

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a novelist in want of an idea will eventually take possession of one of Jane Austen’s.  – The Telegraph

Yeah, and that they’ll start their book with “It is a truth universally acknowledged . . . .” Alas.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that anyone can have a blog. – Universally Acknowledged

You said it, sister. And that they’ll all NAME their blogs “A truth universally acknowledged.”

Even a science blog! – A truth universally acknowledged

Is there an echo in here?

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that there are only two kinds of bacteria. One is Escherichia coli and the other is not.  – “The ABC of symbiosis” by J. Allan Downie and J. Peter W. Young

So which one killed Jane Austen?

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a writer beginning a piece with “It is a truth universally acknowledged” must be in want of ideas. – The Sydney Morning Herald

I thought there was an echo in here!

P.S. Hey everyone, please go read this before you acknowledge any more universal truths: Irony. Thank you.

Photo credit: ©Leonieke Aalders. Used under Creative Commons licensing.

The Bad Boys of Austen

Before any Austen heroine brings home the right man to Mother or Father, she always brings home the wrong one! The dashing libertine, the suavely dangerous man who seduces all the women in the household to some degree. Did Austen have a thing about libertines? Because sometimes, you know, they’re a lot more interesting than her good-boy clergymen heroes. Just saying. These men don’t make good rest-of-life fodder, but oh, I think she felt their charm. And of course, what better villain than one who can ruin your life?

So here I present a completely unbiased rundown of the Austen bad boys. Ladies, gentlemen, are they believable? Would you fall for them/let your friends date them? On a scale of 1 to 10, now. 1 = “no, what a dork! I never liked him.” to 10 = “sign me up here and now!”

Mr. Willoughby: A classic, truly, Mr. Willoughby recites poetry at the drop of a hat, rides to any damsel’s rescue, and carelessly seduces innocent young girls. He’s funny, irreverent, and, the kicker, we learn he really does love Marianne after all. Without this touch of heart, I don’t think modern audiences would give him a second thought, but remember, in the book Colonel Brandon is pretty boring. It took all Alan Rickman’s Alan-Rickmanness to make him into a mysterious romantic figure, and satisfy us that he’s a fitting mate for Marianne. With this touch of heart, I’m always left with the vague dissatisfying feeling that Marianne will never be happy without Willoughby.

Mr. Wickham: Chatty, flattering, sly Mr. Wickham. He gets at Lizzie by taking her into his secret and making her feel smart and special. We can all fall for that from time to time. After his unmasking, he’s so annoying I always find it hard to believe I liked him at the beginning of the book! (Lydia, of course, would run off with anyone.)

Henry Crawford: I always do fall rather for Henry Crawford, and regret him his fate. He’s the opposite of Wickham—he starts out bad, obviously and proudly bad, and so gradually becomes good.  In fact I think Jane Austen rather liked him too, and had so convincingly reformed him that she didn’t know what to do but have him run off with Maria Bertram AKA Mrs. Rushworth. Do I believe he’d do that? I’m never sure, that’s the thing.

Mr. Elliot: He’s a bad boy, all right, but thoughtful Anne is never in any real danger. Her own Captain Wentworth is dashing enough to satisfy all that. Even more than with the others, with Mr. Elliot Jane Austen really seems to be pointing out how someone can say all the right things and look proper, and not mean a word of it. Mr. Elliot is suave and flatters Anne’s intelligence and looks, but he never caught my eye. Like Jane, I like guys who sometimes act without thinking. (Just ask Mr. Fitzpatrick!) Mr. Elliot is too measured—and more truly a villain than any of the others.

Non-starters: I haven’t included John Thorpe, Mr. Elton, or Frank Churchill in the running. Sure, they deceive people, but either not us, or not much, or they aren’t really bad when you get right down to it. Feel free to differ, of course!

I’ve just realized what separates the charming Austen men from the boring ones! The charming ones, good or bad, sometimes say or do an unconsidered thing—they are natural. Even the bumbling gentle heroes achieve charm when they do that.