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Fashion is
gentility running away from vulgarity and afraid of being overtaken by it. It
is a sign the two things are not very far asunder. (William Hazlitt, 1830) While
fashion is a concept that the twenty-first century can relate to, gentility,
the status of the gentleman, and vulgarity seem to have been taken out of the
equation and been replaced with money, with haves and have-nots. This
omission from the public’s cultural lexicon makes it increasingly difficult to
decipher the complex class relations, the struggle between gentility and
vulgarity, at work in Jane Austen’s novels. And this gap is nowhere more
clearly seen than in the most recent film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.
But what does getting class so spectacularly wrong actually signify? I
will argue that in denuding Pride and Prejudice of its complex
consciousness of class, the novel is transformed from a brilliant analysis of
social and marital politics to a generic fairy tale, from a great work of
literature to just another romantic comedy. In
interviews conducted prior to the general release of the film in 2005, Joe
Wright frequently referred to “British realism,” citing Austen’s Pride and
Prejudice as “the birth of social realism, of observation” (Fetters).
In one of those interviews, Wright also states that he “wanted to be true” to
Austen, but at the same time he “wasn’t particularly interested in the temples
that had been built around her”: I wasn’t
interested in the monolith that has been erected over her and her books. I
was interested in being true to her spirit and the spirit of her stories.
That was what was important to me. (Fetters) Wright almost
declares his intention of ruffling feathers by privileging “realism” and “the
spirit of her stories” over what, I can only assume, are the interpretations
and analysis generated by generations of scholars. Essentially, Wright
opens the question of what an adaptation should do. On
seeing the trailer for the first time, one of my colleagues suggested that the
film should be called “Pride and, like, totally Prejudiced.” In some ways
it is Clueless—i.e., an adaptation
with a modern sensibility—in period costume, a formulation that goes some way
to suggesting what this film sets out to do. It is perhaps helpful here
to consider Trevor Ross’s discussion of canonical works as “intrinsically
meaningful” but also the subjects of continual reinterpretation and adaptation:
“Interpretation enables reproduction of these works in changing contexts,
whether by showing their ongoing thematic relevance or by instructing new
readers on their language, references, and so on.” What is at stake here
is determining the most important aspect of Pride and Prejudice, what
the viewer must take away from this two-hour film. Should social comedy
and social criticism be emphasized along with the romance, or should we be
presented with the love story, pure and simple? In
order to deal with social criticism and bring out the subtle social comedy of
the novel, some understanding of class is essential. Unfortunately, class
is in some ways an elusive concept for many modern readers, let alone the
“non-literary” audience the film will appeal to (Tookey). One key to
unlocking the mystery is money. Though it is difficult to translate
eighteenth- and nineteenth-century incomes into twenty-first-century figures,
determining the contemporary buying power is rather easier. Edward
Copeland’s chapter “Money” in the Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen is
a useful reference for deciphering what characters’ incomes mean. The
Bennet family, for example, has two thousand a year. According to Copeland, At two thousand
pounds a year (the landed-gentry income of Mr. Bennet . . .),
domestic economy must still hold a tight rein, especially in Pride and
Prejudice where there are five daughters in need of dowries. Mrs.
Bennet is noted as a poor economist; Mr. Bennet is better, though still
inadequate considering his daughters’ situation. (136) To discover
precisely what “domestic economy” might mean at this level, one need only look
to what those aspiring to gentility further down the income chain can afford.
On £500 a year, the Dashwood ladies can retain only “two maids and a man” when
they leave Norland (SS 26), though
Copeland suggests it is possible to have a cook, a housemaid, and a boy on
less; £700 can support a carriage (136). J.
A. Downie further elucidates the Bennets’ social and financial position. Looking
to the text for clues to determine the status of the “principal inhabitants of
Longbourn village,” Downie observes that the Bennets are in possession of a
cook (when Mr. Collins begs to know which of his “fair cousins” was responsible
for the excellent dinner, Mrs. Bennet assures him “with some asperity that they
were very well able to keep a good cook” [65]), a butler (the butler directs
Jane and Elizabeth to “‘the little copse’” when Mr. Gardiner’s express comes [301]),
and a footman (who delivers Jane “a note” from Miss Bingley [30]). Mr.
Bennet must wait until the servants have withdrawn to expose Mr. Collins’s
conversational follies. There are also “two housemaids” who report to
Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper (317) (Downie 70). This tally only accounts
for the indoor servants explicitly mentioned in the text. In examining
Lady Catherine’s visit, Downie seizes on her observation that the Bennets’
“‘park’” is “‘very small’” (352). But this comment comes from a woman
used to the splendors of Rosings and Pemberley (the park at Pemberley is ten
miles around). Small it may be, but a park is a park,1
and would require a gardener
and assistants in addition to the hands for the home farm. As Downie
observes, “[q]uite clearly, the Bennets live in a country house of some size”
(71). Yet,
in the 2005 Pride & Prejudice, the
Bennets appear more like peasants in a manor house than members of the gentry.
Of the Bennets’ house, Wright reveals, personally I was
brought up in a very messy house. And I think it’s more beautiful than
sterile, clean environments. I like mess; I think it has life. And
I think if you’ve got five daughters all living in a house together and you haven’t
got enough money for the servants to be constantly looking after the place, and
you haven’t got the money to upkeep the house in the way it should be kept,
then your house is going to get pretty messy. (Dawson) The pig wandering
through the house probably does not help either. (I simply cannot imagine
that Mrs. Bennet and her nerves would have countenanced a farmyard intrusion
into her domestic domain!) There is a difference between clutter and
squalor; however, this distinction is not in evidence in the Bennet home in
Wright’s adaptation. Wright
feels that the mess adds “to the drama of the predicament that the family were
in. It felt earthy and that felt real, and it gave you a contrast between
the Bennets and Mr. Darcy and the Bingleys” (Dawson). The Bennets’
predicament—at least their financial predicament as Wright views it—is not a
lack of ready money. The real financial concern of the Bennets is a lack
of future security through their failure to have a son: When first Mr.
Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless; for, of course,
they were to have a son. This son was to join in cutting off the entail,
as soon as he should be of age, and the widow and younger children would by
that means be provided for. . . . This event had at last been
despaired of, but then it was too late to be saving. (308) Their more serious
predicament, however, is their precarious social standing, which comes, not
from reduced financial circumstances as the film would suggest, but from Mr. Bennet’s
mésalliance. In choosing the daughter of an attorney, Mr. Bennet
marries beneath his rank, a social mismatch that is reinforced through
differences in temper and education. As Downie observes, “Mr. Bennet has
married beneath himself, and this, in turn, threatens to compromise his
daughters’ standing in society” (72). And this standing is threatened
both through the dubious connections Mrs. Bennet gives to her daughters, and
through her lack of propriety. Socially speaking, gentility, instead of running
away from vulgarity, has married it. The subtleties of the Bennets’
social position are lost in the translation to the big screen. And
there’s the rub—the problem of trying to separate the fashionable from the
unfashionable, the genteel from the vulgar, and convey the difference to the
audience. In
the film, as in the novel, estates are used as signifiers of social status, and
this attempt to define status is where the film does the most damage to
Austen’s social criticism. Wright
states, how much money a
character is worth, all of that kind of stuff you can get too bogged down in.
So we tried to find ways of expressing that visually through design and through
the choice of the houses—each house is chosen as a symbol of their wealth and
their status, but also as a symbol of their character as well. (Dawson) If a ramshackle
house situated in the middle of a farmyard is meant to signify the heroine’s
class, Darcy’s Pemberley—the beautiful Chatsworth—perhaps overcompensates as a
sign that he is rather above Elizabeth’s touch. And this visual gap
between Darcy’s obvious wealth and gentility and Elizabeth’s now oppressively
vulgar origins belies her later declaration that “‘[h]e is a gentleman; I am a
gentleman’s daughter; so far we are equal’” (356). This assertion of
equality, however, is excised from Elizabeth’s bizarre midnight encounter with
Lady Catherine. The abbreviated confrontation that appears on screen
differs markedly from its textual companion: while in the novel Lady
Catherine speaks of Elizabeth as having “‘upstart pretensions’” and lacking
“‘family,’” “‘connections,’” and “‘fortune,’” but is willing to admit that she
is, despite her maternal relations, “‘a gentleman’s daughter’” (356), her
latest screen incarnation dismissed Elizabeth on the grounds of her “inferior
birth” and the taint of Lydia’s patched-up marriage. But
what of Wright’s love of “realism”? It would appear that realism for
Wright is a twenty-first-century variety of realism, rather than something
resembling Austen’s reality. Complex social relations have been reduced
to the lowest common denominator, catering to an audience who can only
distinguish between posh and not posh. By lowering Elizabeth to
impoverished aspiring pseudo-gentry and equating Darcy’s standing with that of
the Duke of Devonshire, any assertion of equality becomes preposterous, and
Austen’s tale of gentrycentric pride and prejudice is deflated into a
saccharine Cinderella story. By making the Bennets so visually
impoverished and shabby-sans-genteel, the audience is at no loss to
understand why Darcy finds the Bennets wanting. His prejudice, however, is
not simply rooted in their financial circumstances and lack of connections.
As he reveals in his post-Rosings proposal letter, he objects to the vulgar
behavior of various members of the Bennet family: “‘The situation of your
mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total
want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by
your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father’” (198).
If Darcy’s snobbery and prejudice are mitigated by visual cues, or altogether
removed, he has nothing to learn, and Elizabeth’s indignation becomes less
insulted pride than the resentment of a woman scorned. The
“unequal” match of Elizabeth and Darcy is tempered by the fact that they are
indeed, strictly speaking, social equals. The disparity in their fortune
and connections, their respective matrilineal inheritances, complicates and
obscures their equality through their fathers. Their recognition of
spiritual/mental/personal equality, one with the other, is necessary to
overcome superficial inequalities, but also suggests that the complex social
signs of status do not completely define a person. Gentility and seeming
vulgarity are indeed not that far apart. This complicating of class and
blurring of social boundaries is reinforced by the Gardiners in the novel.
When Darcy is introduced to the Gardiners at Pemberley, Elizabeth is amused by
the irony of Darcy seeking an acquaintance with “some of those very people,
against whom his pride had revolted, in his offer to herself,” and assumes that
he has mistaken them for “‘people of fashion’” (255). Despite his
surprise at the connection, Darcy finds the Gardiners to be models of
intelligence, taste, and good manners. In the final sentence of the
novel, Austen stresses that the Gardiners “had been the means of uniting them”
(388), and I would argue that their role has as much to do with bringing Elizabeth
into Derbyshire as it does with illustrating that birth alone does not
determine gentility. But as they appear in this adaptation—far older and
poorer than they should—Elizabeth’s uncle and aunt are hardly fashionable and
in no way genteel. Their function is reduced literally to bringing
Elizabeth to Pemberley. Once that task is accomplished, they simply
present yet another objection that Darcy’s love must overcome rather than
providing a reality check for his patrician prejudice. In
the 2005 Pride & Prejudice, the subtle investigation of class and
status, along with much of the novel’s comedy, is hijacked by overriding
passion and romantic sensibility, sweeping any of the political possibilities
of the novel under the rug of Elizabeth and Darcy’s love story. The
“realism” that rules in the film is fantasy, while the realistic elements of
the novel that preoccupy scholars and students are dismissed as part of the
“monolith” constructed around Austen and her works. Which is the valid
interpretation, and what is the significance of choosing one over the other?
While these questions could no doubt fill a book, I want to suggest that in
simplifying issues of status and equality—which, as Gurinder Chadha’s Bride & Prejudice (2004) has
demonstrated, are indeed twenty-first-century concerns—Wright’s film assumes
that the romance is the only interesting part of the novel, that it is the
“story.” This adaptation exposes the tension between the novel as a work
of art—as a great novel that has been and will continue to be studied and
interpreted as a key to unlocking the human experience as well as historical
realities—and its popular conception, and indeed popular appropriations of the
novel, its “chiclit-ification,” if I may. It is this popular perception
of the novel as romance, as love story, rather than an attention to its
statements about society and marriage, that is presented on screen, reducing
Austen’s masterpiece to “the romantic comedy . . . of 2005” (Tookey). NOTE 1. Aside from considering the definition of Park—“Any large enclosed piece of ground, usually comprising woodland and pasture, attached to or surrounding a manor, castle, country house, etc., and used for recreation, and often for keeping deer, cattle, or sheep” (OED)—Downie observes that the ornamental part of the Bennets’ property includes a copse, a “‘prettyish kind of a little wilderness,’” and a hermitage, in addition to several “‘different walks’” (352-53). Works
Cited Austen,
Jane. The Novels of Jane Austen. Ed. R.W. Chapman. 3rd
ed. Oxford: OUP, 1933-69. Copeland,
Edward. “Money.” The Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen.
Ed. Edward Copeland and Juliet McMaster. Cambridge: CUP, 1997. 131-48. Dawson,
Cherryl. Interview with Joe Wright.
2005. 24 Feb. 2007 <http://www.themoviechicks.com/fall2005/mctpride.html>. Downie,
A. J. “Who Says She’s a Bourgeois Writer? Reconsidering the Social and
Political Contexts of Jane Austen’s Novels.” Eighteenth-Century
Studies 40 (2006): 68-84. Fetters,
Sara Michelle. “It’s Austen All Over Again: Director Joe Wright Makes Pride
& Prejudice for a New Century.” 2005. 24 Feb. 2007
<http://www.moviefreak.com/features/interviews/joewright.htm>. Pride & Prejudice. Dir. Joe Wright. DVD. Working Title,
2005. Ross, Trevor. “The Canon.” The Oxford
Encyclopedia of British Literature. Ed. David Scott Kastan. 5 vols. New
York: OUP, 2005. Tookey,
Christopher. “Keira captivates in Pride
& Prejudice.” Daily Mail 6 Sept. 2005. 28 Feb. 2007
<http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/showbiz/showbiznews.html?in_article_id=361513&in_page_id=1773>. |