Pride, Prejudice and Popcorn

by Carrie Sessarego

  Every character gets to have some layers—even Blanche, who demonstrates Mean Girl nastiness but also genuinely hurt feelings. And the director is marvelous at setting up scenes that help convey the meaning of the book and the characters’ interior lives. In a flashback, we see Bertha led into Thornfield Hall for the first and last time, and as she walks through its courtyard she looks adoringly at the moon. In that moment, we feel total sympathy for her. In the present day, we see Rochester struggling to calm her, and we see that her room is hung with tapestries and has a warm fire and decent food, and it is obvious that Rochester is truly trying to keep her comfortable. Seeing that causes the viewers to feel total sympathy for Rochester while losing none of our sympathy for Bertha. There’s another directorial trick involving two family portraits (one at the beginning of the story, and another at the end) that conveyed Jane’s longing for family so powerfully that it moved me to tears.

  Final Scorecard

  Best Movie: It’s a bit of a mess, but I love the gothic horror of the Orson Welles/Joan Fontaine version. In second place is the version with William Hurt and Charlotte Gainsbourg, right up until William Hurt shows up and it all falls apart horribly. Way to rock that haircut, Anna Paquin!

  Best Miniseries: Toby Stephens/Ruth Wilson, with Timothy Dalton/Zelah Clarke running a close second. Purists will prefer the Dalton/Clarke version, and unabashed romantics will prefer the Toby/Ruth version.

  Best Attire: Michael Fassbender deserves special notice for wearing a nightshirt to bed. Nice legs, Michael!

  Best Rochester: Timothy Dalton, with Orson Welles and Toby Stephens tying for second place with their very different, but both very effective, portrayals.

  Best Jane: Ruth Wilson, hands down. Zelah Clarke comes in a strong second.

  Best Bertha: Maria Schneider, in the William Hurt/Charlotte Gainsbourg version.

  Most Surprising Sweet Moment: In the Hurt/Gainsbourg version, when Jane hears a scream in the night, everyone runs into the hall, but she runs to Adele’s room to check on her. Thank you, Jane, for actually remembering that there’s a kid in the house!

  Most Surprising Moment of Awesomeness: Anna Paquin and her haircut of badassery. Sometimes messing with the original text works.

  Most Effective Overall Text Tweaking: The use of the family portraits in the Toby Stephens/Ruth Wilson version. So many tears, you guys.

  Best Couple: Toby and Ruth, 4Evah.

  Part II: Pride and Prejudice: In Which Two People Learn not to Trust Their First Impressions—and Society Is Pleased with the Result

  Pride and Prejudice: The Book

  From the smoking remains of Thornfield in in Jane Eyre, we move to the refined drawing rooms of Pride and Prejudice. My relationship with this book was very different from my relationship with Jane Eyre. I found Jane Eyre to be instantly accessible, even as a child, although, of course, I think about it much differently now than I did when I was ten. So I viewed the film adaptations with a suspicious eye, not wanting them to do any disservice to my favorite book. Pride and Prejudice was a tougher sell for me as a reading experience. In fact, although I read it several times, I didn’t begin to understand it until I had seen a couple of film adaptations. The key for me was realizing that all these people are speaking in code. Once I realized that, and saw how funny and emotional the book is once the code is broken, the book just opened up for me, and now it’s one of my favorites.

  On a more personal note, I would say that Jane Eyre is a book I read that in no way resembles any outward aspect of my own life but that perfectly mirrors my internal, emotional development as a person. Pride and Prejudice is incredibly relatable on a more superficial level, even though the clothes are nicer. Basically, it’s about high school, only in my case, being a social disaster in high school meant I hung out in the hall with my other social-disaster friends and we now live perfectly happy adult lives, serene in the knowledge that we will never have to go to high school again. For the Bennet sisters, being a social disaster means a future of poverty and dependence. Same awkward dances, very different stakes.

  Of the three books I’m discussing, P&P is the easiest to film, because it has a lot of dialogue and is an actor’s delight. But it’s also the hardest to summarize, because not many events take place. A true summary of Pride and Prejudice would go like this:

  Everybody talks a lot. Everybody thinks a lot. Darcy is a jerk, but then he saves the Bennet family. Lizzy makes a lot of assumptions, all of which are wrong. Darcy and Lizzy grow up, become better people and get married. The end.

  And yet, this tells you nothing. It’s the details in P&P that count, the conversations and internal dialogue and complex rituals of behavior, so you’ll really have to read it to get the full effect. Remember that everything happens beneath the surface.

  Chapters I–VI: In which a truth is universally acknowledged, everybody goes to a ball and everybody talks about it.

  Our story begins as Mrs. Bennet exhorts her husband to pay a call on their new neighbor, the rich, and single, Mr. Bingley. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet have five daughters. They are:

  Jane: The sweet one (and the prettiest)

  Lizzy: The snarky one (and our heroine)

  Mary: The pompous one (and secretly my favorite, since she loves to read)

  Lydia: The silly one

  Kitty: The other silly one

  Mrs. Bennet is the silliest one of all, but she has real concerns, and much of her silliness stems from the fact that while she is frantic about her daughters’ future fate, her husband is sublimely unconcerned. My generous view of her plight aside, it is also true that she has no tact, no sense of social decorum and is, frankly, not very bright. Mr. Bennet is what would today be called “emotionally unavailable.” He adores Jane and Lizzy, especially Lizzy, but spends most of his time in his study searching for peace and quiet.

  The problem the Bennets face is this: The Bennets live a life of modest gentility on a small estate that is entailed. When Mr. Bennet dies, the estate will go to a distant relative (Mr. Collins). At that point, Mrs. Bennet and any unmarried daughters will lose their home and all their income. Mrs. Bennet is understandably frantic to get as many of her daughters married off before this happens, preferably to husbands who are rich enough to support a mother-in-law and a sister-in-law or two.

  Rich, single Mr. Bingley seems like the answer to all of Mrs. Bennet’s prayers. He even comes with a rich, single friend, Darcy. When the Bennet daughters finally meet Mr. Bingley, at the Meryton Assembly Ball, Mr. Bingley shows himself to be good-natured, friendly and quite taken with Jane. Alas, Darcy is terribly proud (as in stuck-up and antisocial). He refuses to dance with anyone, and Lizzy has the great misfortune of overhearing Darcy insult her, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to affect me” (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice [New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, 2003], 102). Jerk.

  Mr. Bingley settles in at Netherfield, and many pages are devoted to all of the characters dissecting the Meryton Ball. Perhaps most notably, Lizzy, her sisters and her best friend, Charlotte Lucas, have a long discussion about pride. Charlotte points out that Darcy deserves to be proud since he has money and family and every other good thing going for him, to which Lizzy replies, “That is very true, and I could easily forgive his pride if he had not mortified mine” (121). Mrs. Bennet is loudly declaring that Jane is as good as settled. Surely this lack of discretion and common sense will not cause problems for everyone…or will it?

  Jane and Lizzy have some visits with Bingley and his friends. Bingley and Jane seem to be hitting it off, but while it’s obvious to Lizzy that Jane likes Bingley, Charlotte has concerns. Jane is so reserved that while her affection may seem obvious to people who know her well, such as Charlotte and Lizzy, Bingley might think that Jane isn’t interested at all unless she is a little more forthright about her interest. Charlotte also thinks that it does no good to get to know your potential spouse before marriage, for “happiness in marriage is only a matter of chance” (127).


  Little does Lizzy know that Darcy has begun to find her rather fascinating. At a gathering at the home of the Lucas family, Lizzy is puzzled and annoyed to find that Darcy keeps staring at her. When Mr. Lucas presses Darcy to dance with Lizzy, she refuses. Mr. Bingley’s sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, says many snobby things in disparagement of the gathering to Darcy, who coolly replies that he rather likes Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who has “fine eyes” (137). Miss Bingley spends the remainder of the book making catty comments about “fine eyes” but alas, it fails to have the desired effect of turning Darcy away from Lizzy, and instead it makes Miss Bingley seem like a character from Mean Girls. (Apparently every story needs a Mean Girl—in Jane Eyre, it’s Blanche; in Pride and Prejudice, it’s Miss Bingley; and in Wuthering Heights, it’s Cathy Earnshaw, at least, according to her sister-in-law, Isabella.)

  Chapters VII–XII: In which Lizzy and Jane have a sleepover with the Bingley party.

  Jane is invited to Netherfield to visit Bingley et al. Mrs. Bennet insists that Jane go on horseback, for it looks like rain, and if it rains, Jane will have to stay at Netherfield overnight. Mrs. Bennet has high hopes that this will cause Jane and Bingley to get to know one another better. (Not that much better—jeez, I can’t take you anywhere.) Mrs. Bennet is delighted when Jane is caught in the rain, develops a cold and has to stay at Netherfield for several weeks. Lizzy insists on going to Netherfield to nurse her sister.

  This spontaneous sleepover results in Lizzy having several humorous and thought-provoking conversations with Darcy and with Miss Bingley, and it provides a prolonged opportunity to contrast the free-spirited yet reasonably well-mannered Lizzy with the proper-to-a-fault Bingley party. Miss Bingley, for instance, is horrified that Lizzy walked (walked!) to Netherfield and (*gasp*) got her clothes dirty. Miss Bingley is nasty and jealous, but frankly, one can hardly blame her for seizing upon a new topic of conversation. This is the most bored group of rich people ever assembled in one place.

  This is a difficult section to summarize because absolutely nothing happens and yet every thing that is said is important. For example, at one point Darcy and Miss Bingley list so many requirements for a woman to be considered accomplished (music, singing, drawing, dancing, languages, a “certain something” in her way of speaking and moving, and “constant improvement of her mind by extensive reading”) that Lizzy remarks, “I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished woman. I rather wonder now at your knowing any” (164).

  This conversation shows us many things:

  1. Being a gentlewoman is boring (frankly, the men seem pretty bored, too, especially Mr. Bingley, who resembles nothing so much as a golden retriever longing for a ball to chase). It is so very boring that during this same sleepover Lizzy and Miss Bingley entertain each other by walking slowly around the room. Whee. A woman’s accomplishments do not include many practical pursuits, nor do they fit one for a life of adventure. Their job is to look pretty, act pretty and make pretty things.

  2. Darcy expects perfection (or near perfection) from himself and from others. And he respects an intelligent and intellectual woman, although he expresses this in the most annoying way possible.

  3. Lizzy is quick with a comeback and not only does she not expect perfection but she is exasperated by people who do.

  It’s also during this sleepover that Darcy and Lizzy sum up each other’s flaws with almost startling precision. Lizzy accuses Darcy of thinking of himself as perfect, and Darcy replies that he has faults, the worst of which is his unforgiving temper, “My good opinion, once lost is lost forever” (204). Elizabeth tells him, “Your defect is a propensity to hate every body” and Darcy replies, “And yours is to willfully misunderstand them” (205). Touché, Darcy.

  Chapters XIII–XVI: In which the Militia Arrive, Armed with Charm but Not With Money, and Mr. Collins Arrives, Armed With Money but Not With Charm

  Jane and Lizzy go home just in time to hear that Mr. Collins, the relative to whom the estate will pass upon Mr. Bennet’s death, is coming over for dinner. Mr. Collins is pompous, boring and frequently offensive, and idolizes his patroness, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Mr. Collins has decided that he can make up for being next in line for the entail by marrying one of the Bennet daughters, and since Jane is practically engaged, Lizzy will have to do.

  Oh, Mr. Collins. How I wish my synopsis could do you justice. Mr. Collins is a perfect mixture of, as Mr. Bennet says, “servility and self-importance” (218). Here are a few Mr. Collins highlights: He reads the Bennet sisters sermons after teatime. He memorizes compliments ahead of time so that he can deliver them spontaneously and then points out that he memorized them ahead of time, thus spoiling the effect. He picks out sisters to marry as though selecting a meal from a menu. When he discovers that Jane is “off the menu” due to her possible pending engagement to Mr. Bingley, he just moves down to the next option on the list, which of course is lucky, lucky Lizzy.

  I have a confession to make—as a lifelong total dork, I have some sympathies with Mr. Collins. I’m apparently not alone, because some adaptations show him as actively slimy, while other show him as a sincere person who is just horribly, horribly socially inept (that would be me). And going from the text, you can draw either conclusion. The most damning thing about his character is that he selects a wife exactly the same way he selects furniture for his house—he wants someone who will look good and help the house “be better,” and he relies heavily on the advice of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in making his selection. The feelings of the actual woman aren’t of much consequence to Mr. Collins—he doesn’t seem to be aware that a woman is, you know, a person.

  Mr. Collins is not the only new man in town. The charming men of the militia have come to Meryton, and they have charming manners and little money, in stark contrast to Mr. Collins who represents the reverse state of affairs. Kitty and Lydia are, naturally, completely obsessed with the officers. One of these officers is Mr. Wickham, who strikes up a friendship with Lizzy. When Darcy and Mr. Wickham meet by accident, Lizzy observes that Darcy walks away from Wickham without so much as touching his hat in greeting. Clearly the two men have a history! You can tell because of the manly smoldering and brooding and snubbing! But what could this history possibly involve? Whatever it is, since Wickham is friendly and complimentary, and Darcy is standoffish and rude, Lizzy is sure it must be Darcy’s fault.

  The Bennets and Mr. Wickham are invited to dinner with family friends, and Wickham tells Lizzy all about his history with Darcy. Guess what? There is a history! And it is totally Darcy’s fault! You see, Wickham, who is the son of the steward of Darcy’s father, grew up alongside Darcy as though they were brothers. Before he died, Darcy’s father left Wickham a living that would have allowed him to serve in the church, but when the father died, Darcy gave the living to someone else, and Wickham was forced to join the military instead. Bad, bad, Darcy! Lizzy is enraged on Wickham’s behalf and feels completely vindicated in her original judgment of Darcy as a snobbish, conceited, selfish jerk who she now thinks of as not just a jerk but as an outright villain.

  Chapters XVII–XXIII: In which there is a ball at Netherfield, a proposal, a refusal, a jilting and an acceptance.

  Mr. Bingley throws a ball at Netherfield. Lizzy is distressed that the oh-so-charming Wickham is not there, and she is so surprised when Darcy asks her to dance that she accepts almost by reflex. They end up having a rather hostile conversation in which Lizzy needles him about his falling-out with Wickham. While the last ball was all about pride, this one is all about prejudice, as both Darcy and Lizzy question each other’s abilities to form accurate impressions of other people.

  Speaking of impressions, the Bennet family is busy making the worst impression possible at the ball. Mrs. Bennet mortifies Lizzy by speaking loudly and openly about how surely Mr. Bingley will propose to Jane any day now, and it will be so nice to have Jane married to a rich man, and how Jane’s marriage will doubtless lead to rich husbands for the other girl
s. Mr. Collins mortifies Lizzy by introducing himself to Darcy in violation of etiquette. Mary mortifies Lizzy by singing and playing very badly. Mr. Bennet mortifies Lizzy by chastising Mary for singing and playing too much.

  At last the mortifying ball is over, but Lizzy’s mortifications have not ended, for Mr. Collins proposes to her. Lizzy refuses him politely, and he responds by complimenting her on playing hard to get. She has a very difficult time persuading him that she is truly not interested. Mrs. Bennet is hysterical about the rejected proposal but Mr. Bennet is supportive in a typically sardonic manner, “An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do” (321).

  Shortly after the ball, Mr. Bingley and his whole party leave Netherfield with no notice and with no plan to return. Mr. Bingley does not tell Jane goodbye, although his sister sends a note, which is the Regency equivalent of breaking up with someone by text message (in fact, he doesn’t even send his own message). It seems that the promising romance between Jane and Bingley has come to an unexpected and completely unexplained end. On the other hand, Mr. Collins has news: he is to marry Lizzy’s friend Charlotte Lucas. Lizzy is horrified while Charlotte—who has little money, is not pretty, and is twenty-seven and fed up with living with her parents—is pragmatic. Mrs. Bennet is absolutely outraged and is henceforth convinced that Charlotte spends her days mentally contemplating all of the Bennet’s possessions, which will someday be hers. Doom!