Sense and Sensibility is in theaters on October 16.
Georgia Oakley’s Sense and Sensibility is one of the most eye-catching films you’re likely to see this year, but as an adaption of Jane Austen’s first novel — which she published anonymously; its authorship was originally “By A Lady” — it feels, ironically, cinematically anonymous. There’s an awkwardness to its unfolding, thanks in large part to how it engages with the novel’s tone — or rather, how it fails to — resulting in a film that barely splits the difference between social farce and genuine romance. It’s certainly watchable, but when it comes to such esteemed material, is that enough?
Sticking closely to its source, the late eighteenth century plot follows the plight of the Dashwood family — primarily sisters Elinor (Daisy Edgar-Jones) and Marianne (Esmé Creed-Miles) — when their patriarch dies, leaving them with little and forcing them to vacate their lush estate. Along with their mother, Mrs. Dashwood (Caitríona Balfe), and younger sister Margaret (Bodhi Rae Breathnach), the girls soon relocate to a more humble abode. Elinor and Marianne then become respectively smitten with eligible bachelors amid the complications of procedure surrounding marriage, engagement, and inheritance in Georgian England.
These societal confines determine the movie’s dramatic contours as the headstrong Elinor reminisces about her summer spent with the dashing Edward Ferrars (George Mackay), and the more sprightly Marianne becomes acquainted — by way of a classic, bumbling meet-cute — with the roguish John Willoughby (Frank Dillane) while rejecting the advances of the too-uptight Colonel Brandon (Herbert Nordrum). As questions about the sisters’ financial compatibilities clash with the men’s white lies and half-truths, things gradually fall apart.
A key problem with the film’s unspooling emerges early on as the Dashwoods lament their lack of riches moving forward, courtesy of a selfish half-brother, the cartoonishly scheming John Dashwood (Tom Brooke), and his equally sinister wife, Fanny (Stacy Martin). For most movies, a picturesque setting backed by melodic, dreamlike strings would be an unequivocal strength, but in this version of Sense and Sensibility, the movie’s inviting aesthetics fit jaggedly alongside its borderline satirical tone, which doesn’t end up solidifying.
There are occasional jokes and exaggerations played completely straight amidst painterly visual compositions, resulting in a clumsy dissonance that leaves this iteration halfway between class satire and captivating drama. Arnaud Potier’s 35mm photography results in gorgeous natural surroundings and a sense of vivid visual contrast, but the behavior it actually captures is a tad malformed. A key element of the novel — and of previous adaptations like Ang Lee’s 1995 Oscar winner starring Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet — is a bubbliness underscored by a complicated sisterly dynamic. While Edgar-Jones and Creed-Miles seem to play younger, more age-appropriate versions of the Dashwoods, their personalities are reliant on exposition to explain who each of them is and why they’re apparently so different.
The filmmaking rarely emphasizes elements of their personalities; it’s a failing that becomes especially apparent during an attempt at a comedic beat when a minor supporting character, Lady Middleton (Chloe Pirrie), discusses the weather. It’s a gag meant to highlight how boring she is, but very few of the characters around her have much more life or energy to them themselves. There are certainly standouts who deliver alluring, energetic performances, from Fiona Shaw as the talkative, kindly aunt Mrs. Jennings to the Dashwoods’ larger-than-life neighbor, Sir John Middleton (Turlough Convery), but they also overshadow the leads by several degrees despite their attempts to inject the sisters’ dynamic with life and mischief.
The camera is never close enough to conjure real emotions or removed enough to highlight the era’s class absurdities.
Oakley’s filmmaking creates a distinct sense of place and time, but the movie’s emotional moods are often at the mercy of humdrum drama lacking in judicious close-ups and other shot selections to shake things up a bit. These stilted scenes by and large play out at an unobtrusive distance of lukewarm medium shots; the camera is never close enough to conjure real emotions or removed enough to highlight the era’s class absurdities.
It’s an adaptation stuck in the middle, unable to decide between contemporary commentary on outdated social mores or full-tilt absorption into the era’s drama. Are these women justifiably aggrieved or silly for caring too much about status? You can certainly decide for yourself, but the movie’s lens doesn’t seem to gesture at one conclusion or the other despite both possibilities lingering in the ether, making it hard to be fully invested either way.
