Four stars. Rated PG, for no particular reason
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.20.19
Little Women has hit the big screen seven previous times, starting with silent versions in 1917 and ’18. Director Greta Gerwig’s new handling is by far the most sumptuously realized: a passionately heartfelt adaptation that honors author Louisa May Alcott as much as her celebrated 1868 novel.
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| At a time when "economic necessity" grants women little choice but to marry, the March sisters — from left, Meg (Emma Watson), Amy (Florence Pugh), Jo (Saoirse Ronan) and Beth (Eliza Scanlen) — yearn for more satisfying destinies. Can any such dreams be realized? |
Gerwig’s thoughtful script faithfully acknowledges all of the book’s major plot points, but not slavishly; she employs split timelines to heighten key revelations while adding a bit of suspense, and cheekily massages the conclusion to add a bit of Alcott’s own life to the semi-autobiographical finale that embraces her beloved March sisters.
That latter touch is audacious, given how deeply invested so many readers are, in these iconic characters — well over a century later! — but Gerwig pulls it off: as neat an act of eating her cake, and having it too, as has been seen on the big screen for quite awhile.
It’s also noteworthy that this saga feels family-next-door sincere, rather than the stuff of contrived melodrama. Credit goes to Gerwig’s finely tuned ear for authentic conversation and emotions, and the care with which she lifted dialog right off the page, and (significantly) Alcott’s forward-thinking concern with female equality, long before such things became even acknowledged, let alone acted upon.
But even the most carefully crafted dialog relies upon its delivery system. Gerwig scores here as well, having drawn uniformly strong performances from a talented cast headed by Saoirse Ronan (Jo), Emma Watson (Meg), Florence Pugh (Amy) and Eliza Scanlen (Beth).
The film opens as Jo, an aspiring author, successfully places a short story with publisher Mr. Dashwood (Tracy Letts) … but only after succumbing to editing demands that gut the little tale. She’s living in a boarding house in New York City, and has caught the eye of young literature professor Friedrich Bhaer (Louis Garrel).
Believing him a kindred spirit, she shares some of her work … and is dismayed when he judges her stories inconsequential little trifles. Ronan plays Jo’s reaction just right; she’s angry, embarrassed, humiliated and defiant … all while stubbornly overlooking Friedrich’s quiet insistence that she can do better.
Before we can wonder what will become of this budding relationship, Jo is summoned back to the family home in small-town Massachusetts. At which point, Gerwig moves the clock back seven years; we meet the March sisters’ younger selves in 1861, just as the Civil War has broken out. Their father, a pastor, has left to serve as a war chaplain; the girls and their mother, Marmee (Laura Dern), must fend for themselves in humble conditions of genteel poverty, making ends meet as best they can.
(It should be noted that the term “poverty” is applied with a raised eyebrow. Although the girls wistfully lament a Christmas with no presents, their home includes beloved housekeeper Hannah — Jayne Houdyshell, warmly robust — and they never seem to want for food.)
Entertainment is home-grown, often in the form of larkish costume plays written by Jo, with plum starring roles for the slightly older Meg, and giggling supporting parts for the younger Amy and Beth. The group dynamic is strong and believable; the girls playfully squabble one moment, then fall into each other’s loving arms in the next.
But the mutual devotion is undercut by genuine tension at times, often — in these younger, flashback years — between the headstrong Jo, quick to anger, and the mischievous and self-centered Amy.
Gerwig cuts between timelines as the film proceeds, allowing us to see how the girls’ older selves are shaped by significant earlier events. Jo dominates the story — as befits a fictional character who inspired generations of young readers to embrace their own artistic dreams — and Ronan delivers a beguilingly complex performance. We read Jo’s thoughts in the flicker of Ronan’s gaze, or the twitch of her mouth; at times her emotions are painfully raw.
Pugh does equally well with her reading of Amy, who transforms from unrepentant brat to a surprisingly thoughtful and perceptive young woman. It’s a tough challenge, because Amy’s monstrous act of revenge against Jo, at one key point, is beyond unforgiveable. And yet we do ultimately forgive her, in great part because Gerwig’s cross-cutting has revealed the degree to which Amy will mature into a much better version of herself.
Eldest Meg always is regarded as the most traditionally “feminine” of the sisters, and Watson makes it clear that she’s comfortable with such a choice. The point is made sharply during a passionate exchange between Meg and Jo; the latter — dismayed by her sister’s desire to marry humble tutor John Brooke (James Norton, recognized from TV’s Grantchester) — wants Meg to join her in New York, to become the “famous actress” that Jo believes is her destiny.
Don’t dismiss my choices because they’re not as grandiose as yours, Meg gently chides in response: a moment that Watson sells with touching sincerity.
Scanlen is luminescent as the slightly withdrawn Beth, who gives voice to her passion via her talent at the piano. She’s often the gentle voice of reason: the only sister who can get through to Jo. Even at Beth’s happiest, Scanlen makes her feel unsettlingly fragile; we worry about her.
Timothée Chalamet is radiantly irresistible as ne’er-do-well Theodore “Laurie” Laurence, the dashing “boy next door” who initially flits, butterfly-like, between Meg and Jo. Laurie lives with his wealthy paternal grandfather, Mr. Laurence (Chris Cooper), who worries that his grandson is destined to become a wastrel. Chalamet amplifies this concern, his dancing gaze implying hedonistic tendencies.
Meryl Streep is appropriately feisty as the wealthy and “ancient” Aunt March, who resignedly “gives up” on each girl in turn, when they succumb to love or other impractical things.
Cooper is particularly memorable as the elder Mr. Laurence, who benevolently keeps an eye on the March household. He still mourns the loss of a granddaughter, and generously encourages Beth to visit, so she can play the departed girl’s piano.
That’s a moment of true magic, when Beth shyly walks to the Laurence mansion, and approaches the gorgeous piano in the downstairs ballroom. She pauses — we feel the girl holding her breath — and Scanlen’s eyes positively sparkle with unspoken excitement. As she begins to play, Mr. Laurence silently descends a nearby staircase and sits on a bottom step, transfixed and grieving the absent granddaughter; we read all of this on Cooper’s face.
Another great sequence comes much later, when Jo yields to authorial inspiration and spends days and nights crafting the first few chapters of her first major work, shuffling pages back and forth on the floor of her attic workspace: a brilliant evocation of the writing process, nimbly assembled by Gerwig and editor Nick Houy.
Cinematographer Yorick Le Saux deserves credit for the film’s often incandescent glow; rarely have candle-lit sequences looked more gorgeous. He’s equally adept at exterior, sun-lit tableaus; at times establishing shots have the painterly qualities of the canvases the older Amy produces, in her desire to become a world-renowned artist.
Alexandre Desplat’s orchestral score is a character unto itself. Bold, classically oriented melodies cleverly interweave with (for example) the gentler keyboard filigrees that often accompany Beth’s scenes.
Engaging as all this is, Gerwig isn’t entirely successful at juggling the two time frames; it’s sometimes difficult to determine which narrative path we’re occupying. The length of Jo’s hair helps at times, but even that isn’t consistent. And while Ronan and Watson have no trouble playing Jo and Meg in both time streams, it’s a stretch to imagine Pugh and Scanlen as the pre-teen Amy and Beth.
Furthermore, folks unfamiliar with the novel will leave this film convinced that Beth is the youngest March sister … when, in fact, she’s one year older than Amy. (The fact that Pugh is three years older than Scanlen doesn’t help.)
That said, all eventually becomes clear, building to a thoroughly enchanting — and satisfying — conclusion. By which point, if you’ve not fallen under the spell of these characters, and Gerwig’s slyly “enlightened” take on this classic saga … well, obviously you’re watching the wrong movie.
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