Here's Why Pride and Prejudice Will Never Translate Perfectly to the Screen
Yes, Netflix is making a new P&P adaptation. And I have Thoughts. (What a shock.)
The Janeite world is buzzing right now with the news that Netflix is slated to adapt Pride and Prejudice for the small (laptop) screen. Or the large screen, if you have a smart TV. Or the even smaller screen if you’re watching on your phone in bed at night when the kids are asleep.
Few details are available yet. The series is probably still a long way off; it is a series, not a two-hour film; Dolly Alderton is reported to be writing the screenplay; Daisy Edgar-Jones might be playing Elizabeth Bennet. Though Netflix hasn’t confirmed this, it’s likely they’re trying to cash in on the lucrative success of Bridgerton. And it’s unlikely that they actually read any of the critical reviews of their 2022 Persuasion.
I know how cynical I sound. Honestly, I wish I COULD be excited about a new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice (even if I chose to ignore the fact that lots of other classics could use a new film adaptation!) but I think there’s a crucial aspect missing from every P&P thus far and that missing aspect is why no film version truly gets it right.
(I need to preface this by saying the adaptations of P&P that I have seen are as follows: [portions of] 1940, [most of] 1980, 1995, 2005, and 2013 [The Lizzie Bennet Diaries]. It is possible that this missing element I’m about to describe exists in some other adaptation of which I know not.)
It’s the narrative.
It’s the prose.
The voice of Jane Austen. That’s what’s missing.
P&P’s structure relies heavily on a literary convention Austen herself developed: that of free indirect discourse, the device by which the narration tells us what a character is thinking without literally saying the words “she thought.” The character’s perspective is seamlessly incorporated into the omniscient relation of the facts, in lines such as “his behavior to herself could now have no tolerable motive” when Elizabeth contemplates George Wickham’s wickedness.
As far as I know, no major film adaptation of P&P has incorporated an omniscient narrator. And without the narrator’s sardonic perspective in the film adaptations (even 1995, my flawed favorite), memorable lines must be given to the characters. Obviously, this is an age-old practice in translating page to screen; but when the voice of the narrator is so strong and witty, we lose something when she is lost.
The famous “it is a truth universally acknowledged” line is often spoken by Elizabeth Bennet. The problem is that Lizzy doesn’t really deserve it; that kind of remark is a step above her, at least at the beginning of the story. Making her the dry, droll, detached observer does not truly fit with the biased, subjectively-judging young woman that she actually is before character development takes hold. Elizabeth Bennet is “as delightful a heroine as has ever appeared in print,” but her perspicacity grows as the plot progresses, and as that plot opens she is not yet ready to speak with such incision about her narrow community’s social mores.
(This flaw affects other characters, too. I have complained before about the nice-ification of Mr. Bennet. The narrator decidedly does not speak of him that way.)
The limitation of Austen’s female-centric narrative voice is that we do not see male characters without the presence of a woman, and quite frankly that’s how it ought to be. Not in a “men shouldn’t be seen OR heard” sort of way (though I could be convinced…) but because this particular book was a revolution in the literary world: it gave ultimate voice to women, from a woman, and slyly poked fun at the social conventions of the day. P&P is a satire first and foremost, not a romance. It is funny. It is irreverent (in ways our democratic 21st-century minds don’t always catch at first glance). It is a master of the genre that Austen herself invented and perfected, and to erase her voice from the story is to remove a load-bearing wall.
As I discussed these thoughts with my best friend Melody on our way to the 2024 JASNA AGM (yes, I will be writing about that quite soon), she pointed out that we ought not to expect a film adaptation to be what a book already is. “If the movie were just as good as the book, we’d have no reason to read the book,” she said. “And the book IS always better, so we should keep coming back to it.” And the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. (She often is. Except when I am. The good news is that we frequently agree. I suppose that is why we have remained best friends for thirteen years.)
I am not trying to denigrate every P&P adaptation. I love some of them most ardently. (not 2005 though. Sorry.) I think wonderful things can be done on the strength of characters and plot alone. I think the visual medium can help bring a story to life in ways that are different from the page. But for a stubborn, purist reader like myself, no film can ever be perfect.
Because Andrew Davies, Aldous Huxley, Deborah Moggach, Hank Green, and even Dame Emma Thompson will never be Jane Austen. Films of P&P are the shadows of Plato’s cave. Sometimes those shadows are divinely beautiful! But until we embrace the fact that P&P’s genius is enmeshed with its intrinsic bookishness, we'll never get it quite right.
And I’m okay with that, because returning to the book will always be an option.
P.S. I mentioned earlier, I will presently write a recap of my experiences at the JASNA AGM and try to convey my delight and gratitude at being able to attend this year’s event. Once again, I want to thank everyone who has been reading this Substack and made it possible for me to go!
Recently, I wrote a guest post at
on another literary topic near and dear to my heart: Anne of Green Gables.
In a funny little twist, this is actually an argument in favor of a film adaptation and enumerates my reasons why the 1985 Anne miniseries actually enhances my enjoyment of the novel!
"The famous 'it is a truth universally acknowledged' line is often spoken by Elizabeth Bennet. The problem is that Lizzy doesn’t really deserve it; that kind of remark is a step above her, at least at the beginning of the story. Making her the dry, droll, detached observer does not truly fit with the biased, subjectively-judging young woman that she actually is before character development takes hold."
^^^THANK YOU.
Such great points here, Amy!
To shift to a different novel for a moment, it strikes me that one reason the Romola Garai version of Emma is so appealing (even though it's actually not my favourite, and I know I'm in a minority with my fave :-) ) is that it starts with the narrator's voiceover assessment of Emma's birth and upbringing, straight from the book. If I recall correctly, I don't think there is that kind of authorial intervention anywhere in the rest of the miniseries, but it works so well at the beginning to encapsulate who Emma is and how the narrator feels about her.