This is a funny adaptation, but it’s also the first adaptation of Pride and Prejudice that really moved me, and the first hint I had that I was staring to fall in love with the novel. In this version, everything goes wrong with the story, and that was funny, but also terribly upsetting. At one point my husband wandered into the room and asked how things were going, and I said, “Jane and Bingley are fighting,” and realized that tears were welling up in my eyes. I had no idea how badly I needed things to work until they didn’t.
That’s not to suggest the series is depressing. It’s hilarious (intentionally so). And everyone is wonderful. I wasn’t that crazy about this version’s Darcy. I found him wooden (to which some may point out, justifiably, that Darcy is wooden, so it’s a fair portrayal). But I loved Mr. Wickham. Never has he been so charming, so offensive (sometimes at the same time, which is quite a trick) and so surprising. Jane and Bingley are at their very sweetest, and I adored Mrs. Bennet (played by Alex Kingston, who is clearly having the time of her life). We don’t see much of Lizzy, who is played by Gemma Arterton, but she makes every moment of her limited screen time count as she fits into modern London with such ease that she has no wish to come back to the book, much to Amanda’s consternation. Hearing Elizabeth Bennet say, primly, “I’m macrobiotic” has been a high point of my literary life. Above all I loved Jemima Rooper as Amanda, who messes things up so dreadfully and tries so hard to set them right. The actors all combine great comedic timing with true commitment to their parts. So when they fall in love with the wrong people, it’s heartbreaking even as they say things that are so, so funny.
The ending, alas, is full of huge holes but, for the most part, this series is a delight. Some Austen purists can’t stand this adaptation because of the many liberties it takes with the book (it’s pretty much one long liberty, if I may mangle the phrase). So don’t watch this unless you’re willing to bring a sense of humor and suspend your disbelief. It’s well worth the effort, and I found that it enhanced my enjoyment of the original novel not in spite of altering it so much, but because of the alterations. It made me look at and appreciate the novel in a new light while it also made me laugh and cry in it’s own right. Loved it!
The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, 2012–2013—The One With Ashley Clements and Daniel Vincent Gordh (web series) (★★★★★)
Beware—once you start watching Lizzie’s vlog, you’ll find that you can neither eat, nor sleep, nor go to work, nor attend to basic hygiene until you are done. This is a problem, because there are one hundred short episodes and that’s a lot of time to spend with Lizzie in what is essentially a small, enclosed space (she usually films from her bedroom).
Lizzie and her two sisters, Jane and Lydia, live at home, and their mother is most anxious to marry them off. Lizzie is a graduate student, Lydia is an undergrad, and Jane has a job in the fashion industry. Lizzie and her best friend, Charlotte, produce video blogs about Lizzie’s life. When Mr. Bing Lee moves next door, Lizzie’s mother becomes convinced that he will be a catch for one her daughters, who are much more interested in their careers (and, in Lydia’s case, in having fun) than they are in marriage.
Obviously this story isn’t faithful to the book at all. But it is hilarious, and deeply touching and romantic, and it preserves the core message of the novel (pride and prejudice are shown to be bad things, while loyalty and responsibility are good). This story is less about romance than it is about the relationship between the sisters, and although that’s obviously a significant change from the book, I liked it. I liked the twists and turns and winks (watch how Kitty and Mary sneak their way into the story). And both Bing Lee and Darcy totally swept me off my feet. I’m not much of a Darcy type of person, but when he talks to Lizzie about why he admires her vlog, and it’s obvious that he really listens to her, and understands her, and sees the best in her—that’s a beautiful moment.
I caution you that the series doesn’t shy away from showing Lizzie at her most obnoxious. During the time they go to Netherfield (Bing’s house) she becomes such a whiner that I wanted to reach right through my screen and smack her. But I think this works, because it means that her growth is noticeable and important. In a lot of adaptations, Lizzie starts off as almost perfect, so there’s not much character development for her to achieve. This Lizzie significantly grows up, and so do her sisters, and that makes the story emotionally powerful to an extent that I never would have guessed from its premise.
Final Scorecard
Best Movie: I recognize its many flaws, but I’m still a sucker for the 2005 version of Pride & Prejudice.
Best Miniseries: You can’t go wrong with the classics. As much as I love Lost in Austen and Lizzie Bennet Diaries, I think I’m gonna have to vote for the faithful and fabulous 1995 version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle
Best Lizzy: Tie between Ashley Clements and Jennifer Ehle. Purists will admire Ehle’s subtle, nuanced Regency performance, but Clements isn’t afraid to let us see all Lizzy’s flaws and then let her character truly grow. It’s a brave and beautiful performance.
Best Darcy: First place: Colin Firth, for the miniseries. Second place: Colin Firth, for Bridget Jones’s Diary. Enthusiastic honorable mentions go to our two young and dorky Darcys, Matthew Macfadyen in the 2005 version and Daniel Vincent Gordh in Lizzie Bennet Diaries.
Best Wickham: Tom Riley in Lost in Austen, followed by the sleazy-but-charming Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones’s Diary.
Best Jane and Lizzy relationship: Lizzie Bennet Diaries ties with the 1995 miniseries.
Best Attire: The 1980 Rintoul/Garvie miniseries. Specifically, I covet everything Elizabeth wears that is blue, and Caroline Bingley’s lavender dress. I cannot overstate my deep longing for that lavender dress. There’s also surprisingly hot fan service when Elizabeth brushes her hair in her room while wearing a partially unlaced corset. Goodness!
Moments That Made Me Suddenly Burst into Tears to My Utter Surprise: I cried all over my keyboard when Jane and Bingley broke up in Lizzie Bennet Diaries. In that same show, when Lydia cried, I was sobbing. How did Lydia become the most compelling character? Also I cried when Jane and Bingley broke up in Lost in Austen. It was the first time I realized how much the Pride and Prejudice story had come to mean to me.
Moment That Made Me Laugh Out Loud: Oh, so many, but the master award goes to Lost in Austen. “Hear that sound George? That’s Jane Austen spinning in her grave like a cat in a tumble dryer.”
Most Gratuitously, Gloriously Sexy Moment: Okay, I know Colin Firth’s wet shirt is wildly popular, but that lake he jumps into looks pretty unpleasant to me. My personal favorite scene is the one in which Colin Firth takes a bath and towel dries his hair. There’s something about Colin Firth as Darcy with his hair messed up that just sends me all a-flutter. Also, I want both his bathtub and his bathrobe.
I’m also quite fond of the moment in the 2005 film version when Matthew Macfadyen strides across the misty moors in his billowing coat, with no vest and no cravat. It’s a ridiculous moment, since by Jane Austen’s standards he’s gone for a walk in his underwear, but my goodness I could watch that scene all day long.
Part III: Wuthering Heights: Oh, There’s a Romance—but It’s not the One You’re Thinking Of
Wuthering Heights: The Book
Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice are very different books, but they share some common traits and themes: a feisty, independent heroine who respects herself, an emphasis on ethics and honor, and above all, a happy ending. Wuthering Heights is a whole different ballgame that immerses the reader in a world of violence and selfish obsession.
Many romance books feature a feisty, independent heroine and a brooding mysterious hero, and Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice deal with these archetypes masterfully. In a romance story, the independent woman is able to achieve a happy life on her own terms, without self-destructing, and the broody mysterious guy who seems to be a jerk turns out to be (or eventually becomes) a caring, loving individual. Eventually, the her
oine and the hero are able to live together in romantic bliss in an atmosphere of mutual respect.
In Wuthering Heights, everything goes horribly wrong. In this book, the feisty heroine lacks all sense of ethics and self-control, and she faces choices that will either ruin her or cage her. Where Lizzy and Jane temper their strong wills with empathy for others and a sense of responsibility, Catherine Earnshaw literally temper-tantrums herself to death. And the broody, mysterious guy is actually what he seems to be—someone who is genuinely violent, destructive, and unredeemable by love. This is romance on meth.
Chapters I–IV: Ghosts and bedtime stories
It’s a dark and stormy night. Mr. Lockwood is renting Thrushcross Grange, and he has come to introduce himself to his new landlord, Mr. Heathcliff, who lives in a house called Wuthering Heights. Mr. Lockwood is welcomed by surly inhabitants and growling dogs, and he is forced by bad weather to spend the night. He falls asleep reading a book he found that seems to be a journal by Cathy Earnshaw. He wakes because branches are being blown by the wind against the window. He opens the window to move the branches and finds himself gripped by ghostly hands, while a voice sobs, “Let me in!” (Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights [New York: Random House, 1943], 15). So, yeah, this is a gothic book, right from the start.
Lockwood’s screaming summons Heathcliff, who casts Lockwood out of the room and leans out of the window, sobbing, “Come in, come in!” (18). Lockwood retreats to the kitchen, until the next day he is seen home.
Lockwood is feverish from his ordeal at the Heights, and while recovering, he asks the servant, Nelly Dean, to tell him about the people at the Heights. The story that Nelly Dean tells begins the narrative proper of the book. Nelly is, in fact, the narrator of most of the book. Nelly spent her life at Wuthering Heights (and eventually at the Grange) as a servant. She helps raise Cathy and Heathcliff (more or less, mostly less), and then helps to raise the next generation of little dysfunctional tots, so she sees the big picture, generationally speaking. However, she also only sees things through her own lens, which is one of staunch, no nonsense, stiff-upper-lip common sense. The antics of Heathcliff and Cathy make no sense to her at all—so much so that critics often consider Nelly to be an unreliable narrator and the cause of much that goes wrong in the story through her poorly timed actions and inactions. Nelly can always be counted upon to keep secrets when they should be revealed, and to reveal secrets when they should be kept. She’s so inept that some critics think she’s actually the villain of the book, while others think she’s a much-needed level head in a world of crazy people.
Chapters IV–V: In which Heathcliff appears, and the first generation grows up.
So here’s the story Nelly tells: it is another dark and stormy night, many years ago, when Mr. Earnshaw comes home from a business trip to the big city. His children, Hindley and Cathy, asked him for presents, but he brought a present they did not expect—a new adoptive brother. Mr. Earnshaw found a child starving and speechless on the streets of Liverpool and brought the child home. Mr. Earnshaw names the kid Heathcliff after a son who previously died. Hindley has a temper tantrum because the child broke the violin that his father had brought to Hindley for a present. Cathy spits on the poor kid and is beaten by her father for it. Mrs. Earnshaw is absolutely enraged about the “gipsy brat,” and Nelly puts “it” on the stair landing, hoping “it” might wander away in the night. Welcome home, Heathcliff, things are only going to go downhill from here.
Heathcliff and Cathy become friends fairly quickly despite their rocky introduction. Heathcliff seems to be about the same age as Cathy, who is six. Hindley is fourteen, and Nelly never states her own age, but she seems to be around Hindley’s age and, as a servant’s daughter, she is half nanny and half playmate to the other children. Hindley and Nelly torment Heathcliff, with the encouragement of Mrs. Earnshaw. Two years later, Mrs. Earnshaw dies of Mysterious Victorian Disease and the sibling rivalry grows even worse. You’ll notice that there is a high body count in this book with very few diagnoses—people just sort of waste away and die, mysteriously.
To sum up the wretched childhood of the Earnshaw clan, the Earnshaw children hit each other and adults hit them, and the person who has the most responsibility for them (Nelly) is about their same age and just as mean as any of the other children are. Mr. Earnshaw shows such profound favoritism toward Heathcliff that Hindley grows worse and worse out of jealousy. The seeds of later trouble are sown in the fact that Hindley has a point—Heathcliff has taken his place in his father’s affections. And Heathcliff has a point—Hindley beats the crap out of him as often as possible, and this, more than anything else, deepens the rift not only between Hindley and Heathcliff but also between Hindley and his father.
Eventually Hindley is sent away to college. With Hindley out of the line of fire, Cathy gets the most scoldings. She is described by Nelly as “A wild wickedest slip, she was—but she had the bonniest eye, the sweetest smile, and the lightest foot in the parish” (26). She takes a perverse delight in being scolded and in provoking her father into rages. Eventually, Cathy’s father dies of Mysterious Victorian Disease, and everything goes to hell (even more than it has already).
Chapters VI–IX: In which grown-up troubles beset our sad, sad excuses for heroes.
Hindley, who has inherited Wuthering Heights, comes home with a pregnant wife. He tells Heathcliff that from now on Heathcliff must work out-of-doors as a laborer. Hindley has no interested in supervising his younger sister, so she and Heathcliff run around on the moors whenever Heathcliff can escape his work. On one ramble, Heathcliff and Cathy decide to run over to the Grange (remember the Grange? Eventually Mr. Lockwood will live there) to spy on its inhabitants. They are caught, and Cathy is bitten by a guard dog.
The Linton family, who own the Grange at that point, throw Heathcliff out with various insulting comments and take Cathy in to recover from her dog bite, which seems to have led to some sort of Mysterious Victorian Disease. At one point I became so disgusted with Cathy that I did some internet research to see if she might have caught rabies, but it seems to just be some swooning kind of illness, the kind that allows you to lie gracefully about on couches while seducing your caretaker (in this case, Edgar Linton). Cathy stays at the Grange for five weeks, which drives Heathcliff crazy but delights Edgar Linton, the Linton’s eligible son. Heathcliff passes the time by killing off baby birds as a way of getting back at Cathy for being absent, thus giving us the first indication that something is seriously, pathologically wrong with him.
When Cathy comes back to Wuthering Heights, she is dressed up, and has ladylike manners. Her first meeting with Heathcliff is awkward for her and humiliating for him. Two important things happen:
1. Hindley’s wife gives birth to a boy, Hareton. She then dies, because in this book, pregnancy equals death. Hindley begins to slowly but spectacularly drink himself into ruin. Thanks to his alcoholic state we are privy to some jaw-dropping scenes of child abuse between Hindley and Hareton. This marks the beginning of “The Legacy of Child Abuse: Generation 2” theme. It also helps explain why Hareton bonds so closely to Heathcliff later on. Compared to Hindley, the abusive Heathcliff is Father of the Year. It’s that awful. Incidentally, none of the adaptations touch this topic—the closest they come is in showing Hareton as dirty and poorly dressed. Apparently no one wants to watch a small, screaming child being threatened with a knife or thrown off a balcony (Heathcliff catches him instinctively and is furious with himself for doing so).
2. Edgar Linton courts Cathy while Heathcliff seethes about it. Run, Edgar, you fool! Run!
At last we get the famous scene in which Cathy tells Nelly that she has accepted a marriage proposal from Edgar and that to marry Heathcliff would degrade her now that he has the status of a servant. Nelly omits to point out that Heathcliff is listening and Heathcliff sneaks away after the “degrade” thing before Cathy, who is either really selfish, really stupid, or both, explains that she is going to marry Edgar so that
she can be wealthy, and she will use her new money and position to get Heathcliff away from Hindley but still keep him near her. She expects that nothing about her relationship with Heathcliff will change. This is where she famously says, “Nelly, I am Heathcliff” (51).
Needless to say, Heathcliff doesn’t appreciate the “degrading” comment, so he leaves. There’s a lot of drama and wailing and racing out into the rain, and Cathy tantrums herself into a case of Mysterious Victorian Disease that kills both of her prospective in-laws; but the upshot is that Cathy marries the newly orphaned Edgar. Oh, Edgar. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Chapters X–XVII: In which Heathcliff returns and Cathy finally tantrums herself to death.
Heathcliff is gone for three years, and if Nelly is to be believed, Edgar and Cathy are pretty happy during this time. But, of course, Heathcliff shows up again. He is now very rich, and gives no explanation for how he got that way. Heathcliff and Cathy have several touchy exchanges, and Heathcliff begins to seduce Isabella, Edgar’s sister, as a way of getting vengeance against both Edgar and Cathy. Finally a pregnant Cathy, a fed-up Edgar and Heathcliff have a huge argument in which, surprise, Cathy tantrums herself into…wait for it…Brain Fever, my very favorite Victorian disease and the only named one in this book.
Heathcliff elopes with Isabella, who imagines that surely he is a bad boy with a heart of gold. It is here that his actions fully reveal that he is not a romantic hero but instead a sadistic asshole. If we weren’t sure already, we figure it out around the time that he hangs Isabella’s dog, beats her, humiliates her and presumably (and in some adaptations, explicitly) rapes her. He is not sexy or romantic. He is not fixable. He’s just a shit, and we hate him, and, eventually, so does Isabella.
Pride, Prejudice and Popcorn Page 7
