I wandered into the newly released Jane Austen adaptation “Emma” more out of mild curiosity than genuine expectation or interest. Film has been kinder to Jane Austen than to any of her female contemporaries, and since the renewed thirst for costume dramas in the 1990s, adaptations of her work have seemed constant. And, yet, a new Emma seemed a curious choice for the directorial debut of American photographer Autumn de Wilde. It’s not just that in many ways, Austen’s Emma for all its delights seems out of place in 2020. Between 1995 and 1996 three adaptations of the novel landed on screen, with the contemporary “Clueless” being probably the best remembered. Since then, there have been numerous additional small-screen adaptations so what could a new “Emma” illuminate about the text, or the world it’s premiering in?
In truth, “Emma” has little to say about the world and the curious thing is that de Wilde’s complete disinterest in any particular ideological or cultural specificity tying this story “to the times we live in” proves a bizarrely compelling source of endless charms and pleasure. The adaptation by Man Booker Prize winner Eleanor Catton is faithful in structure, so the story remains the same. Emma is a charming, rich and self-centred young woman living in Georgian-Regency England who idles her time away by making matches for the people in her neighbourhood of Highbury. Her latest project, finding a beau for her impressionable friend Harriet, leads to complications when Emma is forced to recognise the fallibility of her own hubris. It’s straightforward, and simple stuff. The centre of the comedic concern in “Emma” is one that is deliberately steeped in the fanciful. And de Wilde cottons to this immediately.
Her “Emma”, by design, is an eclectic film that functions on the overtones of the absurd that run throughout. The film itself never become a full absurdist tale, instead de Wilde provides moments throughout where the projected period elegance of the era is consistently ruptured by moments too absurd to ignore – one sharp, early moment observes a character being dressed by his servant that borders on ridiculousness even as de Wilde plays it with the right tenor of sly amusement so as not to be overbearing. “Emma” is in sharp control of a tone that is masterfully concerned with flights of fancy as central, rather than peripheral. Even letter moments where emotional heft threatens to upend the comedy are undermined by a sharp veer into the ridiculous. Late in the film, a confession of arduous love is interrupted by a physical malady that immediately provides delight.
de Wilde’s cast is attuned to her sensibilities, and none more so than Josh O’Connor in a supporting turn as the ingratiating Mr Elton, the village vicar and potential beau to Harriet. In a film of well-modulated performances, it emerges as best for the way O’Connor uses his physicality to present the figure of a ridiculous man but perversely repulsive but charming despite it. O’Connor has proved his worth in the past few years as one of the finest actors of his generation, and with his sharp comedic work here reaffirms his talent. But, the entire cast is working well here. On the fringes of the story, Bill Nighy and Miranda Hart are offering riffs on comedic sidekicks that build to emotional crescendos. But, of course, any “Emma” depends on its Emma and Anya Taylor-Joy with her sly gaze and wilfully opaque expressions is a dependable centre for the film. She’s ably supported by Johnny Flynn as her romantic and intellectual foil, Mr Knightley, who provides the film’s sole pillar of calm amidst the crazy antics around him.
If de Wilde’s take on Emma problematises the relationship between the textual and the filmic in ways that seems to resist Austen’s literary intentions, this seems extraneous. It’s not so much a question of fidelity as it is a fact that de Wilde’s rapturous take on the film makes it difficult to observe the characters with any ironic detachment. Textually, Austen’s “Emma” engages in sustained – but covert – critiques of her heroine’s lavishness and inability to recognise the exigencies of class in Regency England. Emma is no role-model but a charmingly indolent girl compromised by her privilege.
But this Emma is so sumptuous in form and in action, critique goes out the window when you find yourself succumbing to the artful postures of the film’s hilarity. These characters feel too charming for us to critique or admonish. Too fanciful for us to attach real world limits to their desires. So, the film is less effective in the middle section, where it tries credibly, but not as sharply, to interrogate its conceits. Instead, its strengths are better observed in the long stretches of fastidious pleasures borne from a world that feels magically removed from our own functioning with a heightened sense of the droll. This is a world punctuated by the aesthetic. Isobel Waller-Bridge and David Schweitzer compose a score that is restlessly playful throughout, acting as use guide to the film’s playful digressions. The film looks as idyllic as ever, depending heavily on its production design which projects an atmosphere of splendour that seems removed from our world. And it is removed from us. For all the human emotions of love and pain at work, this “Emma” is best considered as a magical sojourn to a dreamscape unbound by our own reality. Improbable and beguiling throughout.
