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CALL it
the return of romance or just a love of Empire
waistlines, but it seems you could make anything Jane
Austen wrote—a captioned doodle? a grocery list? a
penmanship exercise?—into a box-office smash. All six of
her novels have become feature films or miniseries; in
January a Masterpiece Theatre project will
introduce new adaptations of four; and in theaters now
is yet another Austen-related work.
This
time, it’s personal.
Becoming
Jane,
starring Anne Hathaway, is a romantic dramedy based on
the life of the author herself. To which fans might say:
Holy Mr. Darcy’s wet smock! And to which Jane Austen
scholars are saying: Uh-oh.
Jan
Fergus teaches a course titled “Jane Austen and Popular
Culture in the 21st Century” at
Lehigh University in
Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. She’s written two Austen
biographies. But will the movie draw Fergus at the
multiplex? Not likely: “I would not be able to sit
through what looks like a tissue of fabrications and
nonsense.”
Why the
fuss, you ask?
The main
drama in Becoming Jane—loosely based on Jon Spence’s
2003 biography, Becoming Jane Austen—comes from
her secret-wet-kisses, let’s-run-away-together romance
with Tom Lefroy (played by a devilishly dishy James
McAvoy). It’s all very be-still-my-beating-heart. And
though we hate the idea of the truth getting in the way
of a good chest-heaving historical chick flick, here are
the scant facts:
True, a
20-year-old Austen did flirt with a law student named
Tom Lefroy when he visited in 1795. But the most dirt we
have on the pair is that they danced at three Christmas
balls before he went back to school and that Austen was
“too proud” to ask his aunt about him two years later.
In fact,
the author’s life is short on provable facts all around.
She died (unmarried) of an illness (undiagnosed) at 41.
Her sister, Cassandra, destroyed most of her letters.
Her only authenticated portrait is a rough sketch done
by Cassandra, who was not an artist.
Being a
Jane devotee is thus an ascetic pleasure. It means both
gleefully analyzing the 200-year-old ephemera that
remains and getting one’s knickers in a twist when other
fans don’t agree with your theories. Very few authors
have fans who refer to themselves with gaga diminutives
of the writer’s first name: Austen scholars are called
Janeites (by themselves—not even by mocking Hemingway
profs).
And so
it is a truth Hollywood-ily accepted that a film
director who decides to make a Jane Austen love story
could be in some very deep trouble.
“It was
very... daunting,” says director Julian Jarrold
diplomatically. “Austen fans can be quite passionate. We
had various communiques with the Jane Austen Society.
They were afraid we would dumb her down or turn her into
a chick-lit writer.”
But
Jarrold didn’t let the wrath of the Janeites dissuade
him. The filmmaker was propelled by a desire to see Jane
find love—something her fans can sympathize with, too
(more on that later).
The
press materials released with the movie hedge any bets:
The film “spins the few known facts” of a “seemingly
brief” and “apparently rapid” romance into a “boldly
imagined” love story about Austen and the man who
“perhaps, might have stolen her heart” and “awakened”
her talent.
It is
this definitive love story that inspires such
consternation.
“The
idea that Tom Lefroy sparked Jane’s brilliance is
totally foolish,” says Deirdre Le Faye, author of
Jane Austen: A Family Record. “She came from a very
smart family. By the time she met Tom, she was already
an accomplished writer.”
And yet,
there Movie Tom is, roguishly criticizing a young Jane’s
sophomoric writing and introducing her to grown-up
novels like the racy Tom Jones—which historians say
Austen had actually read long before meeting Lefroy.
We won’t
suggest it’s antifeminist. We’ll just suggest Elinor
Dashwood would be appalled.
(At
least the film fills in biographical gaps with relevant
material: As you watch wealthy Tom and underprivileged
Jane frolic through English balls, pretending to hate
each other but wittily falling in love, resist the urge
to call them Mr. Darcy and Lizzie Bennet. Indeed,
Variety’s review calls it “an ersatz Pride and Prejudice
in all but name.”)
“It’s a
very masculine production; you can tell it was
male-directed,” says Park Honan, emeritus professor of
English at the University of Leeds and author of Jane
Austen: Her Life. “And it has an unfounded view of
creativity, supposing you must be in love to write about
love.”
Lest you
think he is being an overly prissy academic, Honan, who
also wrote a biography of William Shakespeare, points
out that he saw the movie Shakespeare in Love six
times.
“[That
movie] has irony to it,”
Honan says. “It laughs at itself. No one would walk out of it
wondering if Shakespeare had really had an affair with a
woman named Viola.” It has irony where Becoming Jane
has sentimental earnestness, something that
Honan
says could easily confuse Austen neophytes.
Just ask
the Jane Austen Society in
London,
where the film opened in March. Its members have already
begun receiving queries from viewers anxious to learn
about Austen suitor Mr. Wisley.
(There
is no Mr. Wisley. He is a romantic foil invented for the
film.)
Foils,
fabrications and fudging aside, we’re rooting for the
doomed couple, but why? We’re perfectly able to handle
the writerly miseries of other artists—Shakespeare
losing Viola or, more realistically, Hemingway drowning
in drink—so why the burning need for Jane to find love?
Because
Jane loved love. Emma Woodhouse and the Dashwood sisters
did not just find good matches, they found wildly
perfect soul mates. We want Jane to find love because
thinking of her living without it makes us feel sad, and
vaguely guilty for reveling in those fictional romances.
And
because Jane played by the rules. She did not abandon
her family (Shakespeare), act promiscuously (Wilde), or
become an alcoholic (HemingwayFaulknerFitzgeraldSteinbeck).
She was the type of well-behaved person our meritocratic
society believes deserves happiness. A loveless Jane
Austen? How Dickensian.
These
fanciful wishes for Austen might explain why the British
press was mostly kind to the film: The Daily Mirror
called it “delightful and nicely made”; the Times deemed
it “giddy as champagne bubbles” despite the “few
liberties” taken.
And
there are some Austen scholars who welcome the movie.
Leading
the pack is Spence, who was tsk-tsked for suggesting in
his book a deeper romance between Austen and Lefroy than
had previous scholars. (Not nearly, however, as
passionate as the film implies; read: Frenching in the
courtyard!) “The film captures Jane Austen’s spirit and
her values,” Spence says. “I think she would have rather
liked it. Besides, could you really make a movie where
Jane flirts with a man and then never sees him again?
What kind of a movie is that?”
Movie
quality aside, there is also the likelihood that the
film will draw popular attention to Austen—the woman,
not just her work. “Yes, it’s a blend of fact and
fiction,” says Marsha Huff, president of the Jane Austen
Society of North America. “But hopefully some people
will be inspired to dig a little deeper and find out
which parts are true.”
Therein
lies a quandary. When your entire career is spent
toiling in relative obscurity, studying the life and
slim six novels of a dead writer, how do you react to
your one moment in the spotlight? Do you quibble about
factual liberties taken? Or do you excuse its foibles in
the name of “Please, oh please, allow Jane one
clandestine affair!”
Jarrold
not surprisingly insists that it’s possible to do both.
“We have this image of Jane Austen as a middle-aged
spinster,” the director says. “But there was a time when
she was young and vibrant.” Veracity aside, he says, “in
terms of human relationships, [the story line is] true.”
In some ways the idea of a stoically teary-eyed Jane
makes us appreciate the happy-ended worlds of her
heroines even more.
Even the
doubting Le Faye hopes some good can come from the film.
But, says the author: “It still ought to be marketed
with a health warning.” |
