Pride and Prejudice at 2 in the Morning
So I watched the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice; this is at least the 8th viewing. I know, I know, it slips me closer and closer towards either homosexual or, at least, viably effeminate. But I can't help it: the damn thing is beautiful, if not brilliant, and seeing as how its origins lay within the loins of one of the great novels man (or in this case, woman) has produced, I can hardly be disparaged for enjoying such craftmanship.
I find myself whiling away the afternoon hours, and occasionally those interstices that make up the pre-dawn, considering the merits of the two accepted cinematic versions of Austen's classic. There are, of course, other nonacceptable (as opposed to unacceptable) cinematic versions of the book, but they're uneventful. Laurence Olivier was involved in a 1940 production, but it's memorable only because Aldous Huxley, of Brave New World fame, had a hand in the screenplay. A serial version for the BBC station appeared in 1980, but it involved no one of any fame and thus garnered little attention, even if it was a tolerable adaptation. Other televisual serials appeared, and often, in 1938, '52, '58, '67, and the best one, that of '95. This version, slotted for television in six 55-minute installments, used Colin Firth as the stoical Mr. Darcy, which thrust him (Firth, that is, not Darcy) into the greater spotlight, pushing him towards the precipece of global (or at least Western) celebrity. It's also memorable because it 1) was decently directed, which can't be said of the others, 2) adapted the story and book excellently, and 3) had the fortune of containing good actors and actresses, which, aside from Olivier's brief appearance, can't be said of the others, or at least as generously. Then, of course, there's the 2005 version with Keira Knightly appearing as the rebellious Elizabeth Bennett. It is these last two that plague my thoughts.
Whenever a story is reproduced several times, at least twice, audiences are compelled to determine which version is best, or better. The same proclivity arises with Austen's novel, but I've as yet been unable to choose between the 1995 serial and the 2005 film. After much consternation and deliberation, I think I've decided they're both admirable and deserve equal attention, but for different reasons.
The most significant difference between the two is the way in which each applies itself to the audience. The 2005 version, being only a third the size of the 1995 serial in length, scores direct hits with specific scenes, and powerful acting, as well as beautiful cinematography. The scenes in which the camera is constantly flowing from room to room, person to person, while lines of dialogue float amid and around your 1st person perspective are absolutely astonishing in their ability to transcend normal filmmaking, normal exposition. The estates obtained for filming are breathtaking and as period relevant as you can probably get without traveling to the early 19th century. It's power also lies in its ability to deliver the story in a short amount of time (comparatively), and the superb acting by Donald Sutherland and Keira Knightly. The adaption, too, is key, because it gives you the most potent material possible while keeping the story intact. Every scene is memorable and desirable, and the entire effect is cohesive and strong.
The 1995 serial, however, applies itself in a strikingly different manner. It's power doesn't rest in the ephemeral imagery of Joe's Wright's 2005 version, nor is it found in most scenes or the actors themselves. No, the power of the 1995 serial is sublime, like that of a wave coming into shore. When you sit and wait for the tide to come in, rhythmically as it is wont to do, you first feel the water rushing underneath you, and then rising and rising and rising until the water gains a sufficient amount of volume and velocity to move you, body and everything, further inland. At first you're surrounded by water, and by the end of it you're smothered, submerged. That's the power of the 1995 serial: every scene, every line of dialogue, every shot of the countryside, every event, every installment is a gallon of water, added to the wave as it begins to coalesce around you, gaining that volume and velocity necessary to move you, except this time you're moved pyschologically. It swarms over you, almost in opposition to the powers of Wright's adaptation, in as distinct a manner as possible, and yet it educes the same feelings, the same results, the same admiration.
I could go on: the way Mrs. Knightly represents Elizabeth Bennett is sligtly different than Jennifer Ehle's version, but each involves aspects that remain true to Austen's design. They both emphasize a different part of Elizabeth's nature, and neither encompasses the whole, nor should they. And the same can be said for Mr. Bennett, the father, and the ways in which Donald Sutherland and Benjamin Whitrow apply themselves to his creation: each involves characterizations that are true and perfect, and yet the individual emphasis in specific areas works marvelously for their individual adaptations.
There are other things, as well, but enough. I'm liable to grow a vagina if I continue much longer.
The point remains, though, that above all the various adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, the 1995 serial and Joe Wright's 2005 film remain together, yet alone, as the supreme vessels for Austen's magnificent literature.
