Good Heavens! People!
The latest Pride and Prejudice takes a populist approach.
BY GREGORY WEINKAUF
Sometimes it’s nice to trail along behind the other legitimate critics and Gene Shalit, and then opine only after a general
consensus (however wrong) has arrived, and such is the case with this new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. Although
I wasn’t able to see it in the U.K. (and thus partook of the obviously tacked-on explanatory they-kiss-at-the-end-which-
means-it’s-all-good-yo! wrap-up shot intended, apparently, for romance- -- or possibly consciousness- -- challenged
Yanks), I did catch the film several weeks ago at a really nice sneak-peek kind of thing, and it was cool and I liked it a lot
-- but I really must tell you that the majority of the other critics really are quite wrong. But not about the whole movie.
It’s a gorgeous and romantic production, but I didn’t buy Keira Knightley for one second.
In fact, I really don’t know what those other critics are smoking. (Well, except for one goofy little troll -- but that’s what
his generation was all about anyway.)
P & P, of course, is the tale of the Bennet family, who live over a couple of hundred years ago in England and have
money troubles and five daughters of whom off to marry, and it’s based on a book by somebody called “Jane Austen”.
Now allow me to be Frank with you: “Hello, I am Frank. With you.” Thanks. Now to clarify, I wouldn’t know Jane
Austen if her reanimated corpse rushed up and bit me on the left calf slightly above the ankle. Not that I haven’t tried.
Big crush on Emma Thompson for a while (who gets a special thanks in the credits here), and, back when I was
younger and sustained some vague vestiges of hope, I really liked the Thompson-Ang Lee take on Sense and Sensibility
(sure beats the hell out of The Hulk and gay cowboys). I even almost saw the recent Mansfield Park and Bride and
Prejudice -- which is pretty good for a straight male. But as for my knowledge of Austen…well, apart from knowing
that she was born only a few months before America happened, let us say that my Austen acumen lags behind my
knowledge of the Brontës, and, erm, leave it at that (with a sly nod to Kate Bush).
Hang on a sec; I’m going to search through my stacks and see if I have a copy of P & P here somewhere…
…still searching…
…well, hey, lots of Hardy and things in French; that’s pretty good, right?...
…oh, and several of Austen’s contemporaries, such as Aristotle and Anne Rice and, um…
…well…
…no. Nope. No Pride and Prejudice. (I do have the other one, though, which is close. And it’s not even a movie
edition!)
So, you know, although I would have been thrilled to stay up all night studying glib lines (and between them) about how,
in the past, in a civilised country, women had feelings and whatever, it looks like you’re going to get a review of this
newest Pride and Prejudice adaptation au naturel. As in: Without a clue how the narrative and characters in the actual
book stand up to those onscreen, because I've been too busy reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire to do much
else (including eat).
Dig: A pure, 100% movie review from the usually literate fellow.
Thus, let’s get back to the big jab: I’m sorry to break this to the delusional masses, but Keira Knightley is not an actress.
She is a model. Keira Knightley is a giggling, grinning, gangling goonybird. Nothing wrong with this, nothing at all --
except that in her line of work she’s supposed to be more than a skinny boy with a cute accent and tennis-balls stuck on.
I’d really like to toss Knightley and that Johannson chick a couple of Hot Dog on a Stick uniforms and make them work
for a living until they actually have something to offer us apart from cheeseball magazine covers. Since most of you are
probably too young to remember, Knightley started getting top-shelf grooming only after hitching a ride on Parminder
Nagra’s lead performance in Bend It Like Beckham. (That ad campaign way back in ‘02 really bugged, as Knightley’s
name appeared in print for at least a solid week before some genius deigned to allow the less-marketable lead actress to
appear below her.) Same deal with Johannson, who has yet to reveal any sign of life onscreen, after somehow
clambering past Thora Birch in Ghost World, back around the turn of the millennium. Especially in this country, I am
forced to ask: Is any career at all based on merit anymore?
Climbers! Prancing circus ponies!
Whew. Anyway, despite Keira Knightley being -- even more than most actresses -- an empty vessel (the producers could
have saved money by hiring a comely parrot), she nonetheless adorns a roundly pleasing movie here. I frequently wear a
hat, and it is my pleasure to doff it to fledgling feature director Joe Wright, who, like Knightley, is dyslexic, but who,
unlike Knightley, clearly has a lot to offer beyond the merely cosmetic. His Pride and Prejudice is brimming with
glorious costumes and architecture, buttressed by a few shots of utter bucolic splendour, all aglow with the timeless
luminescence of the Movie Classic -- featuring some of the most marvellous tracking shots I’ve seen in ages and perhaps
ever -- and yet it’s amply evident that, underneath, where it really counts, Wright has the chops. This film is quite an
achievement for a dewy TV veteran who cut his teeth in, of all things, puppet theatre. The pacing -- within shots and
between them -- is elegant and even dizzying; the delivery among Austen’s gaggle of characters is delicious and fun; and,
most vitally, the tale’s complex emotions arrive with terrific verve. Previously, I didn’t know Wright from Adam Sandler,
but now I’ll be quite interested to see where fate takes him.
Or, possibly, where he takes fate. I mean, that’s what it’s about here, isn’t it? Lizzie and Darcy and the musical chairs of
the heart? I honestly don’t know what screenwriter Deborah Moggach (also a TV vet, and welcome to features!) did to
the original novel, but this adaptation flies. Youths of today might even say that it is “fly”. Helluva romantic yarn.
Reminds even the stodgy young critic that romance may be possible -- in a distant land, a long time ago, in fiction, where
there still exist girls who act like girls instead of like Aeon Flux.
(A long sigh of the rather unhappy variety.)
The story itself basically involves a lot of dancing about in uncomfortable clothing and feeling lovelorn until Judy Dench
shows up and does that “Mean Old Bitch” thing at which she is so good, which somehow turns the plot around. Those
who seek a fuller explanation are invited to read the next paragraph.
Tellingly, here’s one of the lines I jotted down in the dark without looking: “Almost as soon as I (incomprehensible
scribble), I singled you out as the partner of my future life.” Heck, that’s pretty good dialogue, isn’t it!? Who said it? No
idea. In what context? Haven’t a clue. What was that scribble part? I dunno, but aren’t mysteries romantic? Come on,
that quote appears in my notes right before the phrases “IN FOREGROUND AT LIZ' BOSOM” and “VIOLENCE OF
EMOTIONS,” so it must have been pretty tasty. As is the whole movie, really. Concerns that Bennett family about whom
I was telling you. Five girls (including Carey Mulligan, Jenna Malone and Talulah Riley and one other, in lovely
performances framing Knightley) needing to move on fairly soon. No cash flow. Lots of privacy issues, particularly
when suitors come calling (however badly), prompting ears pressed against doors which are on the verge of being
thrown open. There's a sultry redhead in there. Suddenly the dubious Mr. Bingley (Simon Woods) and the stuffy-almost-
to-the-point-of-self-caricature Mr. Darcy (Matthew MacFadyen, think Angus Macfadyen Lite) show up and start dancin’
-- reluctantly. Fifth sister Jane Bennett (Rosamund Pike) gets to prove that she’s more appealing and interesting than
Keira Knightley. Then there’s more dancing, and talking over dinner, and going to each other’s manor houses, and
getting sick at them, and a subplot involving marrying a total dork for money (welcome to Hollywood...or Wiltshire), and
then little Lydia goes to Brighton for some reason, and someone hums “Greensleeves” in their sleep. The dialogue moves
at quite a clip and very frequently involves people passionately discussing their “circumstances,” however you will still
have time to wonder how everybody in this movie, including and especially those who are financially challenged,
manages to get their teeth whitened to a blinding gleam back in the Georgian era.
Highlights of the movie include some very amusing repartee (“I could always forgive his vanity, had he not wounded
mine”) and an excellent exchange at the second ballroom sequence, wherein Darcy and Elizabeth, entranced by their
dance, become oblivious to all other participants who, for the moment, literally disappear (except for the ghost of Colin
Firth). Could have been very cheesy, but is handled very well. More excellent work from Wright, this is -- easily making
up for the goofy time-lapse muddy barnyard tomfoolery.
Best of show, however, are the supporting players, namely Brenda Blethyn and Donald Sutherland as Mrs. and Mr.
Bennett, respectively. Talk about your bravura performances! Sensational! Their homely, provincial turns are deceptively
simple, too, as Mrs. kvetches about Mr.’s imminent demise and he chuckles along knowingly, hale as clearly he’s been
for many a year. I admit to having felt anxious to escape the young confused idiots and to return to these charming
homebodies whenever the script allowed. It is truly weird to put such pros in a movie to support someone so scarcely
capable (however well-intentioned) as Knightley, but of course they’re here to steal the show, and they do. Blethyn is
radiant and very funny, and Sutherland, with his long white hair and beard, seems like some Ahab or ancient mariner
who meandered out of the foam and decided he liked the new country digs enough to stay. I have no idea if there's irony
behind this comment or not, but it's genuinely a treat to behold the image of a patriarch who isn't a total asshole.
What else? Well, the music is mostly of that swollen, Wannabe Best Picture variety, and apart from some nice
harpsichord, my only note about it is the phrase, “Plinky-plinky.” On-the-ball viewers will notice that many of the very
pretty shots take place in and around buildings where Hollywood money clearly pays for repeat permits. And I seem to
have scribbled something about a stray shot in which birds truly appear to fly out of a horse’s arse. Look for it.
Bottom line: Even with Knightley merely posturing throughout, Pride and Prejudice is an excellent holiday film and a
wonderful experience, with dialogue refreshing to the ear and tableaux delectable to the eye. You don’t need to be a
bookish snob to enjoy it. The terrific cinema writer F.X. Feeney interviewed Donald Sutherland after our particular
screening, and Sutherland -- who is awesome despite knowing he’s awesome and only vaguely trying to cover it up --
openly admitted that he hasn’t read the book either. If Donald can wing English lit, so can we all.
Pride and Prejudice (2005)
Entertainment Value: 11/13
Style: 12/13
Philosophical Insight: 10/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, Unstuck In Time
The latest Pride and Prejudice takes a populist approach.
BY GREGORY WEINKAUF
Sometimes it’s nice to trail along behind the other legitimate critics and Gene Shalit, and then opine only after a general
consensus (however wrong) has arrived, and such is the case with this new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. Although
I wasn’t able to see it in the U.K. (and thus partook of the obviously tacked-on explanatory they-kiss-at-the-end-which-
means-it’s-all-good-yo! wrap-up shot intended, apparently, for romance- -- or possibly consciousness- -- challenged
Yanks), I did catch the film several weeks ago at a really nice sneak-peek kind of thing, and it was cool and I liked it a lot
-- but I really must tell you that the majority of the other critics really are quite wrong. But not about the whole movie.
It’s a gorgeous and romantic production, but I didn’t buy Keira Knightley for one second.
In fact, I really don’t know what those other critics are smoking. (Well, except for one goofy little troll -- but that’s what
his generation was all about anyway.)
P & P, of course, is the tale of the Bennet family, who live over a couple of hundred years ago in England and have
money troubles and five daughters of whom off to marry, and it’s based on a book by somebody called “Jane Austen”.
Now allow me to be Frank with you: “Hello, I am Frank. With you.” Thanks. Now to clarify, I wouldn’t know Jane
Austen if her reanimated corpse rushed up and bit me on the left calf slightly above the ankle. Not that I haven’t tried.
Big crush on Emma Thompson for a while (who gets a special thanks in the credits here), and, back when I was
younger and sustained some vague vestiges of hope, I really liked the Thompson-Ang Lee take on Sense and Sensibility
(sure beats the hell out of The Hulk and gay cowboys). I even almost saw the recent Mansfield Park and Bride and
Prejudice -- which is pretty good for a straight male. But as for my knowledge of Austen…well, apart from knowing
that she was born only a few months before America happened, let us say that my Austen acumen lags behind my
knowledge of the Brontës, and, erm, leave it at that (with a sly nod to Kate Bush).
Hang on a sec; I’m going to search through my stacks and see if I have a copy of P & P here somewhere…
…still searching…
…well, hey, lots of Hardy and things in French; that’s pretty good, right?...
…oh, and several of Austen’s contemporaries, such as Aristotle and Anne Rice and, um…
…well…
…no. Nope. No Pride and Prejudice. (I do have the other one, though, which is close. And it’s not even a movie
edition!)
So, you know, although I would have been thrilled to stay up all night studying glib lines (and between them) about how,
in the past, in a civilised country, women had feelings and whatever, it looks like you’re going to get a review of this
newest Pride and Prejudice adaptation au naturel. As in: Without a clue how the narrative and characters in the actual
book stand up to those onscreen, because I've been too busy reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire to do much
else (including eat).
Dig: A pure, 100% movie review from the usually literate fellow.
Thus, let’s get back to the big jab: I’m sorry to break this to the delusional masses, but Keira Knightley is not an actress.
She is a model. Keira Knightley is a giggling, grinning, gangling goonybird. Nothing wrong with this, nothing at all --
except that in her line of work she’s supposed to be more than a skinny boy with a cute accent and tennis-balls stuck on.
I’d really like to toss Knightley and that Johannson chick a couple of Hot Dog on a Stick uniforms and make them work
for a living until they actually have something to offer us apart from cheeseball magazine covers. Since most of you are
probably too young to remember, Knightley started getting top-shelf grooming only after hitching a ride on Parminder
Nagra’s lead performance in Bend It Like Beckham. (That ad campaign way back in ‘02 really bugged, as Knightley’s
name appeared in print for at least a solid week before some genius deigned to allow the less-marketable lead actress to
appear below her.) Same deal with Johannson, who has yet to reveal any sign of life onscreen, after somehow
clambering past Thora Birch in Ghost World, back around the turn of the millennium. Especially in this country, I am
forced to ask: Is any career at all based on merit anymore?
Climbers! Prancing circus ponies!
Whew. Anyway, despite Keira Knightley being -- even more than most actresses -- an empty vessel (the producers could
have saved money by hiring a comely parrot), she nonetheless adorns a roundly pleasing movie here. I frequently wear a
hat, and it is my pleasure to doff it to fledgling feature director Joe Wright, who, like Knightley, is dyslexic, but who,
unlike Knightley, clearly has a lot to offer beyond the merely cosmetic. His Pride and Prejudice is brimming with
glorious costumes and architecture, buttressed by a few shots of utter bucolic splendour, all aglow with the timeless
luminescence of the Movie Classic -- featuring some of the most marvellous tracking shots I’ve seen in ages and perhaps
ever -- and yet it’s amply evident that, underneath, where it really counts, Wright has the chops. This film is quite an
achievement for a dewy TV veteran who cut his teeth in, of all things, puppet theatre. The pacing -- within shots and
between them -- is elegant and even dizzying; the delivery among Austen’s gaggle of characters is delicious and fun; and,
most vitally, the tale’s complex emotions arrive with terrific verve. Previously, I didn’t know Wright from Adam Sandler,
but now I’ll be quite interested to see where fate takes him.
Or, possibly, where he takes fate. I mean, that’s what it’s about here, isn’t it? Lizzie and Darcy and the musical chairs of
the heart? I honestly don’t know what screenwriter Deborah Moggach (also a TV vet, and welcome to features!) did to
the original novel, but this adaptation flies. Youths of today might even say that it is “fly”. Helluva romantic yarn.
Reminds even the stodgy young critic that romance may be possible -- in a distant land, a long time ago, in fiction, where
there still exist girls who act like girls instead of like Aeon Flux.
(A long sigh of the rather unhappy variety.)
The story itself basically involves a lot of dancing about in uncomfortable clothing and feeling lovelorn until Judy Dench
shows up and does that “Mean Old Bitch” thing at which she is so good, which somehow turns the plot around. Those
who seek a fuller explanation are invited to read the next paragraph.
Tellingly, here’s one of the lines I jotted down in the dark without looking: “Almost as soon as I (incomprehensible
scribble), I singled you out as the partner of my future life.” Heck, that’s pretty good dialogue, isn’t it!? Who said it? No
idea. In what context? Haven’t a clue. What was that scribble part? I dunno, but aren’t mysteries romantic? Come on,
that quote appears in my notes right before the phrases “IN FOREGROUND AT LIZ' BOSOM” and “VIOLENCE OF
EMOTIONS,” so it must have been pretty tasty. As is the whole movie, really. Concerns that Bennett family about whom
I was telling you. Five girls (including Carey Mulligan, Jenna Malone and Talulah Riley and one other, in lovely
performances framing Knightley) needing to move on fairly soon. No cash flow. Lots of privacy issues, particularly
when suitors come calling (however badly), prompting ears pressed against doors which are on the verge of being
thrown open. There's a sultry redhead in there. Suddenly the dubious Mr. Bingley (Simon Woods) and the stuffy-almost-
to-the-point-of-self-caricature Mr. Darcy (Matthew MacFadyen, think Angus Macfadyen Lite) show up and start dancin’
-- reluctantly. Fifth sister Jane Bennett (Rosamund Pike) gets to prove that she’s more appealing and interesting than
Keira Knightley. Then there’s more dancing, and talking over dinner, and going to each other’s manor houses, and
getting sick at them, and a subplot involving marrying a total dork for money (welcome to Hollywood...or Wiltshire), and
then little Lydia goes to Brighton for some reason, and someone hums “Greensleeves” in their sleep. The dialogue moves
at quite a clip and very frequently involves people passionately discussing their “circumstances,” however you will still
have time to wonder how everybody in this movie, including and especially those who are financially challenged,
manages to get their teeth whitened to a blinding gleam back in the Georgian era.
Highlights of the movie include some very amusing repartee (“I could always forgive his vanity, had he not wounded
mine”) and an excellent exchange at the second ballroom sequence, wherein Darcy and Elizabeth, entranced by their
dance, become oblivious to all other participants who, for the moment, literally disappear (except for the ghost of Colin
Firth). Could have been very cheesy, but is handled very well. More excellent work from Wright, this is -- easily making
up for the goofy time-lapse muddy barnyard tomfoolery.
Best of show, however, are the supporting players, namely Brenda Blethyn and Donald Sutherland as Mrs. and Mr.
Bennett, respectively. Talk about your bravura performances! Sensational! Their homely, provincial turns are deceptively
simple, too, as Mrs. kvetches about Mr.’s imminent demise and he chuckles along knowingly, hale as clearly he’s been
for many a year. I admit to having felt anxious to escape the young confused idiots and to return to these charming
homebodies whenever the script allowed. It is truly weird to put such pros in a movie to support someone so scarcely
capable (however well-intentioned) as Knightley, but of course they’re here to steal the show, and they do. Blethyn is
radiant and very funny, and Sutherland, with his long white hair and beard, seems like some Ahab or ancient mariner
who meandered out of the foam and decided he liked the new country digs enough to stay. I have no idea if there's irony
behind this comment or not, but it's genuinely a treat to behold the image of a patriarch who isn't a total asshole.
What else? Well, the music is mostly of that swollen, Wannabe Best Picture variety, and apart from some nice
harpsichord, my only note about it is the phrase, “Plinky-plinky.” On-the-ball viewers will notice that many of the very
pretty shots take place in and around buildings where Hollywood money clearly pays for repeat permits. And I seem to
have scribbled something about a stray shot in which birds truly appear to fly out of a horse’s arse. Look for it.
Bottom line: Even with Knightley merely posturing throughout, Pride and Prejudice is an excellent holiday film and a
wonderful experience, with dialogue refreshing to the ear and tableaux delectable to the eye. You don’t need to be a
bookish snob to enjoy it. The terrific cinema writer F.X. Feeney interviewed Donald Sutherland after our particular
screening, and Sutherland -- who is awesome despite knowing he’s awesome and only vaguely trying to cover it up --
openly admitted that he hasn’t read the book either. If Donald can wing English lit, so can we all.
Pride and Prejudice (2005)
Entertainment Value: 11/13
Style: 12/13
Philosophical Insight: 10/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, Unstuck In Time
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