Badly Done, ('20) Emma!

Critiquing the 2020 Emma adaptation in a hot take served cold

Over a year ago, I watched the 2020 adaptation of Emma. After penning the following, I closed the file and forgot about it.  But now that an even worse monstrosity looms (Persuasion 2022), it's time to remind people that butchered plotlines, however prettily attired, are hardly a worthy tribute to Jane Austen. Enjoy. 

This essay has spoilers and anatomically correct language about marble statues

From February 2021: 

Have you ever known, in your very being, that you would hate something, but you finally watched or read it just to be fully justified in your opinion?

That's me and the 2020 Emma.  

I just watched it, and it...exceeded expectations. It was a greater abomination than I'd ever imagined. 

If you enjoyed it, I'm sorry. You might have bad taste. 

No, it wasn't the infamous Knightley bum scene that ruined it for me, nor the hyperbolic comedy that bludgeoned the audience with slapsticks to make sure that we did not miss a single joke. "Heh heh, you know how Mr. Woodhouse is worried about drafts? What if we stack more and more wooden screens around him? Heh heh!"

Actually, I take it back. Those did ruin it for me.

I might still have forgiven the movie if I had rooted for any of the characters. I was bored and disgusted with them all. Except Miss Bates. I liked Miss Bates. 

The movie could have been so good. I appreciated that starring actress Anya Taylor-Joy and director Autumn de Wilde leaned into Emma's snobbery. She's a hard character to like in the book, and previous adaptations with Gwyneth Paltrow or Romola Garai made her a tad too adorable (I love those adaptations nevertheless). The audience should have to work to see Emma's good qualities under the proud exterior. 

This audience member just couldn't make the effort. In her various adaptations, I have disliked, admired, and laughed at Emma, but this was the first time I have felt apathy toward her. Whatever critics have exclaimed, the "liveliness" of this adaptation isn't sourced from its leading lady. Expect no vivacity from this Emma. Wit occasionally. Beauty constantly. Boredom inevitably. 

Emma's rudeness borders on the awkward, and her sporadic impropriety is incongruous for the queen of Highbury society. Emma is the sort of character who, if she's rude to you, it should feel intentional, not just like she doesn't know what to say. On top of that, she acts in this vaguely sensational way that does not suit her character. Caught up in the moment, she dances with Frank Churchill in the middle of a busy street. Come ON! This is Emma freaking Woodhouse, not Marianne Dashwood! 

Then there's Mr. Knightley. You've seen him principled, charming, and grumpy, but have you ever seen him boorish? He looks like Shaggy from Scooby Doo had a baby with a Civil War general. And it's not just his stupid, adolescent face and scraggly sideburns. He sulks and throws fits in private. He rushes through his lines in public. There is nothing gentlemanly about him. 

Worst of all, in the scene when he calls out Emma's cruelty to Miss Bates, he doesn't say, "Badly done!" 

SIR! That line is non-negotiable! Why not just throw away Mr. Darcy's line about how ardently he admires and loves Lizzie? Oh, wait, Joe Wright already did that. 

They neatly did away with Mr. Knightley's and Emma's age difference, casting a much younger actor and omitting any lines referring to his sixteen years' seniority. It says something about modern audiences that they couldn't handle an age difference in a romantic relationship, but they *could* handle all of the actors having zero chemistry. If it weren't for the obligatory "pan the room at the end to see all the new marriages," you'd forget that half of these people get married. 

That's because Hollywood has yet to learn that long looks and steamy kisses do not a romantic story make. Jane Austen has a devoted following because of her dialogue. If the actors can't sell the lines, then throwing in a dramatic chase scene and some longing looks won't make me believe they're in love. Drunk, maybe. But not in love. 

Squishy-Squashy Plot

Case in point: the ball at the 2-act mark is one of my favorite parts of the novel. After Mr. Knightley kindly dances with Harriet, he and Emma talk quietly together. Their conversation reveals their mutual respect and Emma's willingness to admit, if only to him and herself, that she has greatly misjudged some people. It also reveals, or hints, that Mr. Knightley feels more than friendship for her as he asks her to dance with a tiny bit more tenderness than she sees. 

Emma does not yet know her own feelings. Never knowing her own heart while attempting to manage everyone else's, Emma doesn't realize yet that the happiness, companionship, and repartee they share are signs of how attached she is to him. 

But this movie knew better. Before they dance, Emma holds his hand much too long; her breath catches as she looks in his eyes. This movie then reveals its estimation of your intelligence by throwing in an even more obvious scene. After the ball, Mr. Knightley races across the landscape to come to Emma's house at dawn. She spies him out the window and rushes to the courtyard, where they stand for a long moment, looking at each other. 

At this point, not for the first time and not for the last, I shouted, "What am I watching?!" 

You might as well throw out the final third of the movie at that point. The two leads know that they're in love with each other?! Mr. Knightley is "the last man in the world, who would intentionally give any woman the idea of his feeling for her more than he really does," so the story is over. 

JK! It's not over. Before hearts can be outpoured, Frank Churchill interrupts them by carrying in a frightened Harriet. To save time, the director had moved her roadside gypsy attack to the early morning after the ball "on her walk home."

That's right. Emma didn't give her friend a ride home in her carriage after an eight-hour party that ended at four AM. 

You broke the girl code, Emma. Now go sit and think about what you've done. 

Aside from destroying the story arc with such shenanigans, this movie uses the same tired tropes we see in other "innovative" adaptations. 

For example, at Mr. Knightley's house, Emma observes a nude statue carefully. I wouldn't have thought anything of this moment except that it's a truncated version of a nearly identical scene from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice. I call it, "sexual awakening by seeing a marble penis and/or nipple." It's like the directors needed some easy, visual shorthand to remind us that these female protagonists were virgins. Sound sexist? Yes, but how else would they make it culturally relevant?

Remember, Hollywood thinks you're dumb.

Anyway, as she watches the statue, Frank Churchill sneaks up behind her to start flirting with quite a bit of innuendo, which Emma returns. Cringe. This is REALLY not Emma's style. Emma enjoys being flattered, but if she thought he was talking dirty to her, she'd never speak to him again, marble genitalia or no marble genitalia. 

Bad Characterization, Bad Casting, Bad Acting

With the other characters, they erred by giving Harriet too much gumption and Jane Fairfax none at all. Jane does not have a personality besides "piano." Granted, she is a difficult character to get right. Emma thinks she's boring, and Jane hides a lot of her emotions to avoid betraying her secret engagement. But this Jane didn't seem secretive, just dull. 

Harriet is too piercing in her criticism: she accuses Emma of wanting Mr. Knightley for herself and of forcing her to give up Robert Martin in the first place. It's a little too on the nose. We don't need Harriet to remind us that it's all Emma's fault. Besides revealing that, once again, the director thought we wouldn't have picked up on the main plot if a character weren't screaming it at us, it's a huge misread of Harriet's character. Unlike Emma, Harriet never assumes the worst of anyone. She believes that Emma always means well, even when she should trust her less. This drives Emma's character development: Harriet has some qualities that Emma lacks, graciousness among them. 

Three casting decisions made no sense. The first was casting as Frank Churchill the hot-but-not-handsome-or-charming Callum Turner (War and Peace), who gives off frat boy scumbag vibes in every scene. Frank Churchill is only tolerable if his mischief has no malice. 

For Mr. Woodhouse, they cast Bill Nighy (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy). He's a great actor, but he is way too energetic and sarcastic for the hypochondriacal Mr. Woodhouse. 

Finally, Mr. Elton is supposed to be handsome, suave, but a little too obvious in his flattery. This Elton, played by Josh O'Connor (The Crown), was awkward and showy, with some really frightening bursts of temper. When Emma rejects him, he pounds on the carriage roof while shrieking, "STOP! THE! CARRIAGE!" Really, dude? Really? That's your interpretation of this suave character? Interesting choice. 

The few things I liked: 

The movie had a few redeeming qualities. The soundtrack was lively and set each scene well. The costumes and sets were gorgeous. Miranda Hart wasn't the best Miss Bates I've seen, but she did a nice job of being very sweet and very annoying. Finally, my favorite part of the movie was when Emma gave her painting of Harriet to Robert Martin at the end. That was a nice touch. 

Why It Matters

As I said, I wrote this for my own amusement but didn't want to post it at the time. Amidst crises and mandates and people dying, raising my voice to criticize a badly done Emma seemed unimportant, even petty. I prefer to share about inspiring characters. It's easy but unfulfilling to take cheap shots, so I closed the file and ignored it for a year. When I reopened it, I decided that it was important, even if I did overdo the snark a little. 

Criticizing Jane Austen adaptations matters because Jane Austen matters. Were her stories just pulpy intrigues about flimsy heroines wearing flimsier dresses, dipped in passion and married off to hunks with money and sideburns, I'd step back and let the Autumn de Wildes of the world have their fun. Heck, if Austen were just a witty, Victorian prude in need of some "modernization," I couldn't be bothered to complain about the movies. 

Jane Austen's stories may be love stories, but they are not romances, at least not in the modern sense. The modern romance genre focuses on physical chemistry to the exclusion of character development; it makes the romance the central motivator of the characters; and it reduces the romantic lead to a two-dimensional prize. Modern romances are escapist fantasy in the most negative sense. Modern romances can still make for fun stories, but they will not stand the test of time. It's why their authors need to churn out so many, year after year, because no one in their right mind would ever read the same pulp twice.

Because there are so many silly, tawdry, and often raunchy romance stories out there, the entire genre of literary love stories has been tarred with the same brush. This lamentable guilt by association is as old as the novel itself. Jane Austen said, over two hundred years ago, "There seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them." She continues that a novel is "only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language." 

That's the bar that Austen set for herself and for the novels she loved. That's why she has endured: human nature does not change with the fashions, and an author who can tell a true story will be read long after people forget the relevant political and cultural essays of the day. 

I draw this distinction between the modern romance genre and Jane Austen's novels. Unlike the bodice-rippers that bear superficial resemblances, her love stories are true. 

In Jane Austen, the characters fall in love and get married, but the heroines do not self-absorbedly pursue their hearts' desires. To be brief: Elizabeth Bennet's main motivation is the happiness of her most beloved sister; Elinor Dashwood and Anne Elliot try to keep their families solvent and honorable despite their plummeting fortunes; Marianne Dashwood wants to express the beauty she feels so palpably; Fanny Price wants to do her duty to her benefactors; and Emma Woodhouse tries to bury her loneliness by orchestrating other people's happiness. They struggle and redefine their hopes as events conspire against them. Catherine Morland alone wants a gothic, romantic adventure, but she embarrasses herself in its pursuit. In short, all of Austen's heroines want happiness, and even the younger, sillier ones are too wise to think a husband is all they need.

Austen did not live in some idealized world where everybody properly valued marriage. Many people, especially among the upper classes, treated it as a social and commercial transaction prizing money, prestige, and beauty. Partners rarely considered their ultimate companionship and compatibility. Austen's novels critique such mercenary attitudes toward a sacred union. More than one heroine turns down a lucrative marriage proposal to the wrong man, despite knowing that she will not get a better offer, and that remaining single will consign her to poverty in later years.

But the alternative to mercenary marriages is not purely romantic. Falling in love is easy. Being married for a lifetime is hard. Just as in life, romantic love is but one piece of the story. Marrying the hero won't grant the heroine happiness, and not because she's already complete. She isn't complete; but falling headlong into a foolish attachment would only add to her problems. (Looking at you, Marianne.) However, marrying the right man will make her a better and happier woman.

Unlike in the modern romance genre, Austen's heartthrob heroes are not mere female fantasies. If they appear so, it's because fans gloss over their flaws and add qualities that are simply never mentioned in the books (like how Darcy looks with his hair wet). Most of the heroes don't declare love "on-screen," and even the most admirable heroes are not really romantic, even when declaring their love (Captain Wentworth excepted). Let's face it: these would not be men who continue to "date their wives" or "keep the romance alive"; but they are men who love their wives nonetheless.

I'd be lying or dense if I said that there isn't anything worth swooning over in these books. I clap and squeal when Lizzie realizes Darcy has saved her family's reputation, or when Mr. Knightley declares his love for Emma, or when Captain Wentworth writes the most beautiful love letter confessing that he has never been able to stop loving the worthy Anne. These moments crown the clever plots and lifelike characters with the "happily ever after" that every good comedy needs. 

These romantic climaxes are so important to the stories that they are my main criteria for judging an adaptation. The 2020 Emma blunders through them, alters and omits the carefully crafted words of the book, and overcompensates with a two-minute make-out session. I wish I were exaggerating. To what end? When every second of screen time is precious, why spend so much on something so tangential to the plot? So people in love like to kiss each other. Earth-shattering. What a shame we had to miss out on weightier scenes to make room for this nonsense. Heck, even two minutes of silent eye contact would have communicated more to the audience than two minutes of breathy kissing, and it probably would have gotten the actors an Academy Award. 

I digress. 

My point is, a truly captivating love story implies the constancy of a lifetime together, even if the curtain falls right after the wedding. We are built for faithfulness. It is dangerous to go alone, and so, hopefully, we have many friends on our journey. In life, many of these friendships come and go as we move and grow, but marriage can be the friendship that stands through every changing decade. All of Jane Austen's marriages imply happy companionship, but I would argue that Emma does this most. After all, Emma and Knightley have known each other for two decades. They are acquainted with the other's habits, flaws, and virtues. They admire each other deeply even before they fall in love, but neither admiration nor love makes them blind to faults or immune to teasing. Their marriage will be full of humor, good works, arguments, misguided plans, forgiveness, and friendship. 

Call me old-fashioned, but this goes for any love story: if I can just see the romance and not the friendship, I walk away sad. What a sad life they have ahead of them. 

Thank you for joining me today. 

Adaptations I Enjoy

This is not a comprehensive list. I am not a Jane Austen expert, much less a Jane Austen adaptation expert. There are probably some good ones I have not seen, and other good ones which I have seen but still have not included. My standards will seem too strict to some and too lax to others. The following miniseries and movies I have found to be faithful to the plot, characters, and tone of the works, while allowing for the inevitable creative license that accompanies adapting a book to the screen. Not all of them hit it out of the park. An asterisk means it’s one of my favorites.

Mansfield Park (1982)

*Pride and Prejudice (1995)

*Sense and Sensibility (1995)

*Persuasion (1995)

*Emma (1996) (the Gwyneth Paltrow version)

Emma (1996) (the Kate Beckinsale version)

Northanger Abbey (2007)

Sense and Sensibility (2008)

*Emma (2009)

*Love & Friendship (2016)

Adam Buck