Charmless PRIDE a Miscast Muddle

Rating: 5/10 (22 November 2005)

Thank goodness no fiber of Jane Austen's being is extant on the planet to bear witness to this, the least successful adaptation of her most famous novel.
An Austen enthusiast, I had misgivings when I entered the theater to see this film. Alas! they were sorely justified.
The problem, I suspect, is that director Joe Wright took pains to avoid the 1995 mini-series adaptation of this famous book...totally missing its single best screen translation. And the memory of that version is the single biggest hurdle to the film-goer here some ten years later. So what's the problem, you ask? In a word: Keira. Miss Knightley is almost too beautiful to be believed and, at times, the soft cinematography framing her seems best suited--with her in it--to a soap commercial. Previous Elizabeths weren't necessarily bereft of beauty or assets, but the earlier filmmakers were smart enough to cast actresses who would slowly grow on and win over an audience--to work the sort of magic on us that Elizabeth works on the aggrieved and lovelorn Darcy. Keira (bless her!) is a fine actress, but she seems to contain none of the tempestuousness found in a Greer Garson or Jennifer Ehle. She is out of her depth here. She merely sighs and looks off placidly, her big eyes almost eerily space-alien-like.
Matthew MacFadyen ("Hey, it's the dude from SHAUN OF THE DEAD!!") plays a stern, yet impenetrable, Darcy, and he--like Keira--gives us no qualities to dig for and slowly warm to. He must secretly rue the day Colin Firth ever laid his eyes on the 1995 script.
The supporting cast, however, is unimpeachable. Brenda Blethyn gives us a meddling and endearing Mrs. Bennet (though several decibels below Alison Steadman's screeching and haranguing--and comically masterful--Mama). Tom Hollander's Parson Collins is a dull and odious popinjay; Claudie Blakley's Charlotte is sweet; Dame Judi Dench's Lady Catherine gives the marvelous Barbara Leigh-Hunt's portrayal a run for its money. And Donald Sutherland gives us a wise and warm-hearted Mr. Bennet...which is liable to put a lump in the audience member's throat in the final minutes of the film. If there's justice, he'll be nominated for his work here.
The cinematography is beautiful, and Wright attempts some artful and interesting moments (including Eliza in her swing), yet the film ultimately falls flat. The last third, instead of being painstakingly rendered, as in the BBC mini-series, feels compressed, and there are elisions and collisions of scenes and text--by screenwriter Deborah Moggach--which have an artificiality to them. (See Elizabeth's revelation of Lydia's misfortune.)
Hindered by some miscalculations of casting, this version's necessity to telescope such a beautifully-intricate work of art cripples it, and, unable to support the weight of its maneuvers, the film topples into implausible dullness. The tacked-on ending also feels wrong. Austen got it right the first time: never show us the characters beyond that magic point of completion. It merely becomes pointless voyeurism.