By Emi Gruender
Fetch your lanterns, men, and dust off the cow-hide tarps. Gather round, all, under the starry night sky and hang onto every word of my foul-smelling breath (for in the late 1700s, we had no toothpaste) as I regale you with the tale of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her unfavorable first impressions with the laconic Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and the unlikely but harrowing romance between these two stubborn, prideful oxen. Do not be fooled by the pompous British names and pretentious title that modern-folk may label “dull.” Pride and Prejudice, albeit set in a Regency-era England over 200 years ago, teems with charm and heartwarming romance; Well, at least, the film adaptations do. I’ve yet to crack open the dusty book lying over yonder.
But Emi, the audience cries in indignation to the cacophony of stamping feet. Which film adaptation do you speak of?
Fair question, I concede. I flourish a Powerpoint presentation from my back pocket and present it to my wide-eyed and wide-toothed audience: all of whom, living 1700s, have never seen a Powerpoint presentation before. They are transfixed as I point matter-of-factly to the graphics on the screen.
Pride and Prejudice (2005), starring Keira Knightly and Matthew Mcfadyen: a masterpiece that transcends time. My own film repertoire consists of the entire Marvel franchise (excluding the movies after Endgame) and a couple of movies my father insisted that I watch. The real classics, like Pirates of the Caribbean and James Bond, I have never once laid eyes upon. Pride and Prejudice, until last week, was one of many untouched films on the digital shelf. But Netflix, the magnanimous benefactor, has bestowed upon me an opportunity to watch this iconic movie before it leaves the streaming platform forever, and despite the run time of 2.5 hours, I was bewitched (God forbid!).
The film opens on the Bennet family: a very loud family of 5 daughters bustling about their home, squawking about the arrival of an esteemed “Mr. Bingley” paying their lowly town a visit. Mr. Bingley, of course, is a rich young gentleman known across the countryside of Derbyshire, and rumor has it he’s looking for a wife. Jane, the eldest daughter, and Lizzie, the second-eldest, outwardly reprimand the giddiness of their younger sisters, but giggle together about the titillating opportunity upon confidence. We follow the Bennet family to a crowded dancing hall a couple days later, where Mr. Bingley is smitten-at-first-sight with the gorgeous Jane. But Mr. Bingley’s friend Mr. Darcy is stoic and unfriendly—a stark contrast to his red-haired cousin. Lizzie, ever plucky, approaches Darcy and asks him for a dance.
“I don’t dance,” he smoothly replied. “Not unless I have to.”
Is that a verbatim quote? my rowdy audience shouts. I laugh capriciously and dismiss their question with a wave of my hand. I cannot be bothered with such things as journalistic accuracy. The point is, Lizzie and Mr. Darcy’s first interactions were less than friendly: their disdain for each other grew daily by unfortunate misunderstandings. Well, Lizzie’s disdain, anyway. Mr. Darcy, with his strange glances, quiet gentlemanly behavior and endeavors to coincidentally run into Miss Elizabeth Benneth frequently, harbors a very different opinion.
But Emi, the rowdy snaggle-toothed audience cries. Isn’t there another Pride and Prejudice? A mini-series starring Colin Firth as the dreamy Mr. Darcy?
Indeed, I confirm with my lips tightly pursed. But unfortunately, deadlines must be met, rehearsals must be attended, and time must be most assiduously conserved. As much as I would relish in the hours spent watching each of the six, hour-long episodes, I simply cannot afford it. Perhaps one day, in the near future, I shall return again, reviewing each romantic episode with a bucket of popcorn and tears in my eyes. But alas: it is not possible.
In the time being, however, the 2005 movie is perfect, in every way, shape, and form. It does not drag, the relationship between Darcy and Lizzie seems real: though I would prefer their relationship grow over a time period greater than two measly hours. Though my dear mother insisted that the actor playing Darcy was not as “dreamy” as the books described, I believe he was a perfect fit for the role. Of course, I will never approve of the Regency-era shaggy mullets and horrendous sideburns, but then again: what would people of Regency-era England say if they saw our attire today? Ankles galore. They simply would not be able to handle it.
“My closing statement!” I bellow upon my soapbox. “If you have not yet seen the masterpiece that is Pride and Prejudice, away with you! Go thither, and henceforth, do not return unless the Prejudice is stripped from your heart, and you glow with Pride on behalf of this cinematic masterpiece!”