The Columnist Manifesto

I've made no secret about my general attitude of contempt for movie remakes -- they are almost invariably a waste of celluloid. And I feel the same way about theatre remakes.

There are individual exceptions, of course, and a broad categorical exception: the Shakespeare exception. Every generation, it seems to me, has an absolute right to reinterpret the true literary classics, which after all are enduring because of their power to speak to people of different times and social contexts.

I also think there's a more qualified version of the Shakespeare exception: if you feel you have a fresh take on Shakespeare, even if the last one was produced just recently, I say have at it. I loved Ethan Hawke's quirky Hamlet, for instance, because he gave me new ideas about what the play means. For the first time, it struck me that it was a play fundamentally about teen angst -- and that, far from a trivial punch line, teen angst is a serious and enduring feature of the human condition.

Well, in addition to a Shakespeare exception, I believe there's a Jane Austen exception. Jane Austen's novels have the power to reach us through free adaptations like Emma Thompson's free-wheeling Sense and Sensibility and even far-out inspired-by versions like Clueless. And like Shakespeare, Jane Austen is an actors' writer: the best actors want to take a whack at her iconic characters, trying out their own version of Elizabeth Bennett.*

I think you see where this is going. I'm on record as not a Keira Knightley fan, and it was with pretty low expectations --dampened by thumbs-down reviews by Austen-afficionado friends -- that I finally rented the recent Pride and Prejudice last night.

And with apologies to the lovely Jennifer Ehle and the six hour BBC version, I have to say that this Pride and Prejudice is my favorite. There were brilliant atmospheric touches, like the shabbiness of the Bennett home and the crowded balls, and the slightly outdated quality of the Bennett girls clothes. And the script editing -- where to cut back to fit the time constraints, and where to fill in some material not in the novel -- all worked for me.

But what made this version for was that, for the first time, someone objected to the idea that Elizabeth Bennett falls in love with Darcy by falling in love with his big house. There was never any chemistry between Ehle and the wooden Colin Firth -- we just had to suspend disbelief and take it at face value that these two were falling in love. The story always carried their performances along.

Knightley and that dude who plays Darcy totally sold me that these two had the hots for each other at the get-go, and Knightley's ability to meld come-hither eyes with a sarcastic mouth was amazing.

And stop grousing about her Academy Award nomination, you soreheads!

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*I will go so far as to say we need remakes of the great ones. Laurence Olivier's stiff, drama-queenish renditions of Hamlet and Mr. Darcy are totally outdated and have little to say to our time.