Persuasion on Netflix

Or: Middling Expectations

Is the new Persuasion movie, directed by Carrie Cracknell*, a joyous edition to the Austen cinematic universe, adding appropriate variations to its sources harmonies of suffering and sacrifice? No. Heavens no. Is it, on the other hand, a delightfully funny romantic comedy of burnt out and touch starved people dressed in beautiful clothes, set in beautiful rooms and saying witty, caustic things to each other? Absolutely. Cracknell and her team set out to make a lightly tamer Fleabag in Frocks, and they have succeeded. The problem is, rather than standing on the shoulders Persuasion and making their own, inspired, story, the newest movie has grafted itself to its host and is trying very hard to pass itself off as the original but with hipper language and looser morals. And that dog simply will not hunt.

Nothing good is ever gained by seeking purity, in adaptation especially, and Austen’s work on film and stage provide the lovers of her work to add tiny facets that increase the radiance of the original text: favorite examples include the gothic sex dreams of Catherine Moorland, Mr. Knightly throwing himself to the floor in a fit of misery, and, most famously, Mr. Darcy rising from a Pemberly Pond in a wet shirt (sometimes referred to as The Second Coming).

So it really shouldn’t be a bother that Anne’s authorial commentary lacks something in the way of poetry (“We’re worse then strangers, we’re exes”) or that she’s showing worrying signs of alcohol dependence, or that pert millennial sayings crop up like so many mushrooms (“They say if you’re a Five in London, you’re a Ten in Bath.”) Indeed some of the anachronisms are inspired: such as Anne going through a “mix tape” of sheet music Wentworth sent her, or the oft repeated story of the Captain rescuing a beached whale. The problem is they take the stakes right out the narrative and leave it to flap in the wind. Austen’s stories shine because her characters are under so much pressure, and her heroines had to dance for their survival against an oppressive society that too often valued them as property. Here we see the pressure but not the dance. And it’s telling that the climax of the film can not do better than the scene or words that Jane Austen herself set down.

The best example of what the movie could be and what it fails to live up to is embodied in its leads. Anne (Dakota Johnson) is very much the modern idea of the 27 year old spinster, full of aside glances, slumping like a flower with a broken stem, and gamely finding her joys where she can pick them (such as answering with her self absorbed sister’s (Mia McKenna-Bruce) pronouncements entirely in Italian (“How much is that Porcupine in the window?”) She would make an amazing rom-com heroine in this or any age; her fourth wall chiselings are elegant and intimate and she can hold her own in the movie’s moments of Austen-esque candor, such as the brilliant scene where she meets the similarly broken spirt of Captain Benwick (Afolabi Alli).

This wry Anne, silently suffering, being volun-told by her family into giving up chances large and small of happiness, yet full of individual spark could have been a marvelous interpretation of the character (and is certainly an improvement over the last assay, whose Anne was comprised entirely of blub.) The problem is, besides the hobbled language and loosened situations she’s forced to contend against, the writers insist on making Anne repeatedly shoot herself in the foot, socially. Sometimes her foibles can be charming (jam mustache) but more often the effects are a lot of suffering with no benefit or indication why she would make such an obviously stupid choice. Watching the writers throw these wrenches into her persona is rather like seeing a dog trained to kick itself.

Similarly, Wentworth (Cosmo Jarvis*) is perfectly cast for the film Cracknell wanted. He is the epitome of awkward gallantry, his slightly bent olive branch conversations, show him to be a man of depth and feeling, tumbled up adorably in his own tongue. But you cannot really believe him capable of the pierced soul that Austen and her writing commands of him. More particularly, a romantic movie star has to have The Gaze, that physical summation in which he sees all of his beloved wholly and with a pierced soul and Jarivs, g-d love him, does not possess it, instead staring at Anne with vacant nobility of a sheep contemplating a higher calling, with a rambling shuffle to match.

Henry Golding on the other hand (as the mysterious Mr. Elliott, another contender for Anne’s affections) has the Gaze in spades, and while he is practically draped in red flags, he girlbosses the appropriate distance to the sun, capturing the flare of an Austen rake as well as the swagger of a modern day player. He is also a genuine foil and partner to Johnson: I’d recommend the movie on the strength of the Octopus scene alone. I often found myself muttering “Oh you nasty, nasty man” with not a little bit of admiration mixed into the tone. A similar highlight comes from the other false lead Luisa Musgrove (Nina Towle), Anne’s younger cousin who finds herself falling for Captain Wentworth. With light guilelessness, Towle finds harmony between a girl pushing absurd (and as it turns out, dangerous) rules of courtship and one who is genuine and loyal, doing the best to further her own happiness while mindful of her beloved cousin. I was sorry we weren’t treated to more of her, but she’d make a stunning regency heroine in time.

And the movie overall is undeniably beautiful. The framing of shots in grand halls and windswept cliffs, the gorgeous gorgeous rooms (Anne’s childhood bedroom with its mural of Egrets and soft, compassionate grey elicited gasps), even the Swifian “Quietly Yours” that plays over the ending, knits together the contemporary and classical. And I for one adored it for the parade of feminist men apologizing to Anne and genuinely soliciting her opinion. It’s the little things that does a heart good.

Cracknell’s Persuasion is not without its wrongs (apparent from the word go with the spaced out cues of the opening credits) but it is also studded all over with pearls that make it worth watching, so long as one tempers their expectations, and accepts that the whole will be lesser than the sum of its parts. Still, I think even the proudest hearted Janeites will find something to enjoy. Wentworth reducing a whale: accurate to the time period? Heavens no. Worth it for a laugh? Absolutely.