Well. I've finally seen the latest version of Pride and Prejudice. And, as to be expected, I have Thoughts on it. The music was lovely. The costuming was rather well done. The photography was beautiful. And the film was a stagey melodrama.

There is almost nothing of Jane Austen there. In fact, I rather think Bridget Jones's Diary had more of Austen than this film did. The language was parsed and pared, words converted whenever possible to their "modern" counterpart (heaven forfend we use "manner" instead of "way"!), and where was my absolute favorite quote? The most beautiful quote in the entire book? Nowhere to be found. For that matter, there wasn't any proper Regency behavior in sight either.

Since when are young men allowed in rooms with unmarried young ladies in their nightrail? What on *earth* is Lady Catherine doing at Longbourn in the middle of the night? And why would an avid walker like Miss Elizabeth go outside barefoot in the damp, early morning? She should know better. But then, several of the characters are twisted away from their actual selves. Georgiana is positively extraverted. And Wickham is utterly earnest, with very little of charm and address. One rather wonders, actually, how he managed to sweep Lydia off her feet.

I felt the entire time that I was supposed to be watching a Great Romance but that I was so aware of its Great Romance-ness that I couldn't actually sit back and enjoy it. It was as though the director and the screenwriters were jumping up and down yelling, "Ooh! Ooh! This is an important part!" Look, they'd say, Look! See how she hates him? But look how he luuurves her! And Cue Rain! And passionate declaration! Passionate argument! And she regrets it! She loves him! And now, here he comes, Marching Across the Moor! Just to see her! So romantic! Sigh!! Every time I was ready to feel something with these characters, I'd be jolted into awareness of my own head.

I wanted to wince with Elizabeth at Collins' proposal. Instead, all I could think of was that camera zoom on the wildflower in his hand. Why is the flower important, I wonder? I wanted to feel Elizabeth's horror at Darcy's declaration. I wanted to feel Darcy's nervousness and passion. Instead, it's all I can do to keep a grip on what they're shouting at one another. I wanted to feel Elizabeth's regret and awakening to her own vanity and pride, but instead I'm left wondering why she's staring at herself in the dark: she hasn't even received the letter yet. And when I wanted to feel Elizabeth's embarrassment at trespassing in Pemberley, when I wanted to feel her awe at all of which she might have been mistress, I was cringing at the rapid Camera Cut of Darcy's Discovery. I laughed when Jane's letter was read! Which was their intention. But I don't know *why* it was their intention! And when Elizabeth seemed deepest in despair, I rolled my eyes. For is despair limited to the English moors? And must there be mist on those moors? And when they declared their love? I wondered why they were in love. I wondered when it had happened. Did I miss it?

These characters were supposed to have grown and changed. But Elizabeth suddenly loves Darcy, and Darcy is suddenly acceptable. But she doesn't seem aware of her own faults. And Darcy seems just as proud and difficult to like as he was in the beginning. What's the point? The whole ending scene seems awkward and abrupt because it shows an Elizabeth and Darcy we should've seen all along.

I did enjoy most of the minor characters, though. I loved Mr Collins. And Mr Bennet. Even Mrs Bennet and Mary and Charlotte. I adored Charlotte in this. But she was not terribly Charlotte-like, either.

It's just a movie. I know. But I went in hoping to like it and finished feeling as though it were a waste of great potential. Which is probably the most frustrating bit of all.