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?

Bad boys, bad boys, what you gonna do?

This morning, I was thinking—as one does—that I would not make a very good Austen heroine. Here’s the thing: I am, and nearly always have been, a follower of signs and rules. I take instructions at face value. I hate being caught out of line; I stress out over the most minor infractions; people who ignore the rules make me crazy, mostly because I’m following them, so why shouldn’t they? Because of all these things, and also possibly because—this paragraph informs me—I am old and crotchety, my tolerance for handsome scoundrels is, I think, unusually low. The “falls for cute guy who’s kind of a jerk” phase would never work. Wickham? Willoughby? Henry Crawford? Not for me, right off the bat. (OMG, you guys. Am I Fanny Price?)

Then I realized: any one of Jane’s heroines could say the same. It’s not like the douchey decoy love interests in Austen ride into town on their Harleys, blaring Steely Dan and smoking unfiltered cigarettes. They’re sweet-faced. They pretend to be nice. Moms like them. It’s only later that they’re exposed as cads, liars, and seducers of the very young, and most of them end up alone when their natures are revealed. That’s the pattern: handsome guy shows up and makes nice with local ladies, handsome guy is exposed as terrible, handsome guy loses all credit in the neighborhood and is pushed out by the more honorable suitor who’s waiting in the wings. (I suppose the exception here is Mr. Wickham, as he ends up married…but Lydia doesn’t really know what’s up, and let’s be honest: this is karmic retribution of a very particular and satisfying type.) Anyway, I have to assume that none of Jane’s characters mean to get sucked in by these guys.

The twin assumptions here, of course, are that a) nobody—no lady—likes a scoundrel once he’s revealed as such, and that b) handsomeness never trumps skeeviness, which I think Hugh Grant and reality TV generally have pretty much proven incorrect. And so I wonder: what would Jane have done with a scoundrel who was unashamed—someone openly rebellious, especially when it comes to the ladies? Could she (or any of her heroines) have been drawn to the wild side, or would obvious rule-breaking have disqualified a man from her personal “gentleman” category? Why don’t any of these men end up the way they might in real life: eventually okay, and not smacked down by the universe?

Readers, what do you think?

Slipping into the ha-ha: Mansfield Park, Chapters 6-10

In which the plot of Mansfield Park actually begins, with much manipulating and private pouting and a whole lot of sitting on a bench, and we get to giggle and say “ha-ha” a lot. I am not going to shut up about this, just so you know.

More thoughts:

• Of COURSE Edmund falls for a lady because of her harp. That is not a euphemism.

• I very much enjoyed Edmund and Mary’s exchange about the role of the church (and not ONLY because of the payoff when Edmund busts out with “…I’m going to be a minister; didn’t you know?”)—both as keen character development and an exploration of what might have been going on in Jane’s own head, faith-wise. From a character point of view, this conversation is a rather detailed and neon sign pointing out how ill-suited Edmund and Mary are, even when it comes to the basics of family life—which, of course, does approximately nothing to stop Edmund from abandoning Fanny (“but you’re so tiiiiired!”) and heading out for some hot under-tree-sitting. It’s obnoxious, of course, because we can see what a terrible couple they’d make, but it also rings terribly true—we’ve all been there, willing things to work out with someone who is clearly not the right person. Basically: ugh, Edmund, stop being such a HUMAN.

On the other hand, we have Jane playing dueling points of view on the role of the church, the graves of Scottish clergy, and the wisdom of having a whole chapel just for the family [NB: Terrible idea, obviously]. This interests me mostly because religion is so absent from most of Jane’s work—there’s church, of course, but mostly as a cultural institution and rarely in this much detail, and the devil’s-advocate quality of this passage struck me as a) pleasingly detailed and b) surprisingly modern. Iiinteresting!

• Do you know who I love? I love dumb, rich, earnest Mr. Rushworth. I do hope he gets to spend some quality time with his cousin, Mr. Collins.

• So Fanny sits there, stuck in the park, as everybody streams past her in a collective fit of mildly rebellious fence-climbing (“Oopsy daisy,” says Hugh Grant). We’re supposed to take this as…Fanny’s captivity? Fanny’s self-restraint? I suppose it’s the latter, though not in the heroic Elinor Dashwood sense. Fanny COULD hop the gate, like everybody else. She COULD leave when Mr. Rushworth shows up with the key. She WANTS to visit the knoll and talk about improvements, or whatever; it’s just that she doesn’t want to do any of those things without Edmund, which isn’t as attractive as the kind of restraint that comes from personal virtue or discipline. This, I think, is why we don’t like her—she won’t cross the fence even when the key is present.

• “…in danger of slipping into the ha-ha” may be the most wonderful phrase ever written. I am putting this at the top of my resume as we speak, right below my address and above the part where I list “sorting jelly beans into rainbow order” under my list of skills.

• More than you ever wanted to know about ha-has. So to speak.

For next week: Chapter 15, at LEAST. Possibly further! Or possibly we will be reading this book long into the future!

How’s it going, Mansfield folks?

Jane Austen Hates You: Bridget Jones 3?

O readers, there has been a specter looming on the edge of Austen life. Something dark. Something chilling. Something so terrible as to render us speechless thus far. And I’m here to tell that it is REAL. And we’re going to have to talk about it.

I’m speaking, of course, of the shadow of a third Bridget Jones movie.

Let me first say: I ADORE the original Bridget Jones’s Diary (film more so than novel). It strikes me as one of a few modern romantic comedies that is both actually romantic and actually a comedy; I own it, yet also watch it on TBS at all possible junctures; desert island, blah blah blah. I also really love Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (novel MUCH more so than terrible film)–it’s ridiculous (Thai prison?) but also rather sweet (The Velveteen Rabbit analogy). So let’s establish that I’m no hater. I’m not gonna hate! I just want things to be good.

And, you guys, YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS.

Sure, I mean, we haven’t seen Renee Zellweger OR Hugh Grant in awhile, and Hollywood abhors a career break. But there are other ways! (Surely there are other ways.) Renee, find an occasion to smile in such a way that we can see your teeth! Hugh, I’m not actually clear on why your celebrity stock has fallen so precipitously, but find a reputable project and do it! No more of this “Sarah Jessica Parker and I are almost divorced and stuck in the American West” nonsense. We know you can do better, and we’re sure some indie director would love to have you on the rolls. Now self-deprecate your way back into our hearts, will you?

And, well, Colin, we know you probably just didn’t want to be the guy holding up the entire production…but you have an Oscar now. You can BE the guy holding up the entire production, and we will totally understand! You are now allowed to exercise your common sense! (On the other hand, the only thing worse than Bridget Jones 3 is Bridget Jones 3 without the charmifying presence of Mark Darcy and his reindeer jumpers. So, actually, forget I said anything.)

My greatest fear, here, is that a third movie will include yet another takeoff of one of the greatest scenes in all of filmdom–by which I mean the street fight(…ish) between Daniel Cleaver and Mark Darcy, or Hugh Grant and Colin Firth flailing hilariously at each other to the beat of The Weathergirls’ “It’s Raining Men.” The creators of Edge of Reason clearly understood the great comic value of the original scene and tried to re-create it, mostly unsuccessfully, in a fountain. I’m not sure this world can handle another sad iteration.

Of course, it’s entirely (or at least vaguely) possible that Bridget Jones 3 (I just can’t call it BJ3) might not be the worst thing ever. Among the deep dark sea of buzz about it, there are two tiny pinholes of light: 1)  The movie may not be the product of a room full of middle-aged male execs pulling ideas out of the air and looking to salvage a series (“I’ve got it! Bridget gets a pet chimp! Ladies love chimps, right?”). Or, it may not totally be that. Helen Fielding is apparently typing out a third novel as we speak, which one hopes is going straight from her hard drive to the screenwriter’s/producers’ brains. The timing of this seems suspect, but if Aaron Sorkin can do it and win and Oscar, who are we to judge? Also: 2) Paul Feig, director of  of Bridesmaids/Freaks and Geeks/The Office fame, is apparently in talks to direct. Now THAT, might be an actual upside. The man knows both cringe-inducing comedy and the heart behind it, and might be able to unbreak the hearts of Bridget fans everywhere.

We can only hope.

What He Meant to Say

“Thank you! Thank you! No…really. Thank you.

I’d like to thank the Academy for this great, great honor, as well as my beautiful wife, Livia, and all of the exceptional professional people who have made this work possible.

But let’s be honest: In 1995, I dive into a pond in my riding breeches and a very white shirt; fifteen years later, I win an Academy Award. You do the math. And so I’d like to thank Jane Austen for creating such a complex character, who happens to also wear high-waisted pants and tall top hats, and enjoy stalking in and out of rooms in the name of frustrated love. I’d like to thank Helen Fielding for creating a postmodern Darcy, so that I might later beat the crap out of a perfectly sleazy Hugh Grant, hilariously, as “It’s Raining Men” plays in the background. I’d like to thank the internet and the thousands of lust-wild fangirls who kept my name and image so alive there all these years, mostly for not-very-pure purposes. Not that I’ve looked, or, for that matter, posed as the internet handle ‘FitzyMcHotBuns’ to contribute to the conversation. I’d like to thank those same lust-wild fangirls, whose demographic aligns nearly perfectly with the entire viewing audience of The Last Legion, and so on. Ladies, you know who you are. And so I dedicate this award—this bastion of old-Hollywood dignity and glamour—to you, Jane Austen, and to your faithful, man-crazy protegees. In the spirit of a massive canon of dirty fanfiction, I salute you.”

No, Colin. We salute YOU.

Austenacious Exclusive!: Emma Thompson

Today we lucky ladies at Austenacious have the golden opportunity to bring you an exclusive interview actor/writer/producer/personal heroine Emma Thompson, whose Oscar-winning screenplay for Sense and Sensibility and general sense of brilliance has made her an icon for smart girls everywhere. We sat down at Austenacious Studios for a brief chat:

Emma Thompson: Hello! I’m Emma Thompson.

Austenacious: ….

ET: Hello? I’m Emma Thomp—Hey! What are you doing on the floor?

A: Nothing.

ET: Are you trying to kiss my feet?

A: No.

ET: Yes, you are. Stop that.

A: They smell like roses after the rain.

ET: Get up.

A: Right. Let’s see. Ah, yes: In 1995, you wrote an Oscar-winning screenplay of Sense and Sensibility, as well as portraying the sensible Elinor Dashwood in the film. Can you tell us about your relationship with that character?

ET: Oh, yes, well, I’d always felt that as a woman who processes things quite intellectually, that Elinor is still quite capable of having an emotional life, and so—

A: —of course. You bawled your eyes out. It makes so much sense.

ET: Yes, and—

A: —was it you-know-who?

ET: Excuse me?

A: You-know-who. He Who Shall Not Be Named.

ET: I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.

A: Your ex? Does all the Shakespeare? To work out his pain over losing you?

ET: Ah, Kenneth.

A: Sssh! Beware the Death Eaters!

ET: That’s Ralph Fiennes. You’ve got it all wrong.

A: No, that’s just a coincidence. We called him that before the movies! Honest! What we’re saying is that he’s stupid. Stupidity is the point.

ET: ….okay, though Voldemort is in fact not stupid. I—I thought we were here to talk about Austen?

A: Who?

ET: Jane Austen?

A: Oh. Right. Say, what made you decide to grow your hair out?

ET: [Sighs] Well, I got tired of the idea that a woman of a certain age should have short hair, and I thought I’d challenge the the social norms surrounding middle age and sexuality—

A: That is so brave.

ET: —and also I was starting to be indistinguishable from Hugh Grant, at first glance.

A: No!

ET: Yes.

A: Well, yes. But wasn’t it all part of Operation: How Hughie Got His Groove Back?

ET: I’m not familiar with that particular operation.

A: We thought it was philanthropy on your part.

ET: Getting back to the subject, I was so proud to have worked with him on Sense and Sensibility. I’ve always loved Edward Ferrars, and I thought Hugh brought such a believable sensitivity to the role.

A: Sure, whatever, but tell me: when you and Helen Mirren have sleepovers, do you dress up your Oscars?

ET: That is totally not your business.

A: We’re just saying: We would. Of course, neither of you have really braid-able hair, so that‘s out the window…

ET: I have to go now.

A: But wait! I haven’t given you my resume yet!

ET: Is that my bodyguard at the door?

A: We could do this every day!

ET: We really couldn’t.

A: Don’t you need a personal pencil sharpener? Award-polisher? Sycophant?

ET: Goodbye.

A: Wait! Someone told me the other day that I look just like Hugh Grant, too! I know you can’t resist a good cause!

Note: This interview is entirely a work of fiction, and is in no way meant to reflect on Ms. Thompson. In fact, it would probably be better for everybody if it also did not reflect quite so strongly on the staff of Austenacious.

Travels with Jane: Crater Lake, Oregon

We Californians do realize how very lucky we are: drive a few hours and voila! Snow! Looking for the ocean? Go the other direction! Craving deep lakes, crazy tall trees, and gun-totin’ locals? Drive north. Ta-da: Oregon!

Despite the arrival of spring, Action Jane has been itching to have one last romp in the snow, and took a recent expedition to Oregon’s Crater Lake to experience the exotic winter landscape. Adventure ensues!

Always the modern girl, Action Jane navigates with the help of the North Star and her handy-dandy topographical maps.

Jane contemplates the glory of Crater Lake and waits for a man in a billowy shirt to dive in and emerge, soaked but ostensibly hypothermia-proof due to his significant personal heat.

Why Action Jane can’t find herself a pair of Action Boots isn’t really clear—but Miss Osborne thoughtfully protects her little green slippers nonetheless.

The residents of Oregon are very into pheasant hunting, it seems.

Jane accompanies Miss Osborne on a snowshoe expedition.

Unfortunately, Miss Osborne managed her worst possible Marianne Dashwood impersonation and fell into a crevasse, injuring her foot. Jane surveys the scene, watching for gallant men on horseback. (If this were an episode of Chuck, it would be titled “Miss Osborne vs. the Crevasse.” Miss Osborne loses.)

Unable to snowshoe or even walk without significant pain, Miss Osborne accompanies Jane to the Rim Cafe overlooking the lake for a day of quiet pleasures, where Action Jane points out that Love Actually isn’t for a lady to watch in public (even on a tiny iPod screen). She makes an exception for a hilarious dance scene featuring a young man greatly resembling one Edward Ferrars, as even our Jane can’t resist Mr. Grant in kidskin trousers.

Action Jane, ever polite, requires rescue from an over-long conversation with a creepy statue of—well. A…logger? Gold miner? The Ayatollah? Speaking of ladies, we’re not sure how she ended up on his knee like that. Men with beards can be very persuasive, it seems.

Good news: in the days since her northern adventures, Action Jane has seen Miss Osborne and her injured foot back to the estate, where Miss Osborne has seen fit to rest and bid adieu to the snow for the time being. From now on, it’s only long walks in the flat, non-slip countryside for her. And if scandalous gentlemen want to take their shot, well, they’ll have to wait until winter.

Photo credits: ©2010 Christine Osborne. All rights reserved.