My boyfriend Matt good-naturedly "refused" to see THE JANE AUSTEN BOOK CLUB. There's a part of me that can't blame him (and I absolutely, 100%, on-the-record let him off the hook); I really kind of wanted to slip into it--as I imagine myself doing with chamomile tea--on my own. In actuality, I watched it with my signature 32oz. half-Diet, half-Coke.
I'm sorry I did. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely LOVED this movie--it's smart, gentle, funny, big-hearted (a false adjective I normally loathe), and very, one must hope, true to life. And there's art in it too. As the film progresses, each of Austen's novels offers some very specific instruction for each character. It's a typically gorgeous cast, and there's one awkwardly joyous note at the end, but the performances are strikingly honest and true. One of the plot-lines follows Emily Blunt as a quietly drowning French teacher who has lost touch with not only her husband, but herself. There's a moment toward the end of her story that will bring any woman (or gay, or straight man, I suppose) who's still discovering her partner isn't the man she imagined him to be, to tears.
That's the moment I wished Matt were there. I needed to hold his hand.
There are some less-successful moments as well. There's a young lesbian who seems designed to typify excess and impulsiveness, but her storyline reads the most predictable, and boring, of all. It's as if someone cried "Get youth into the book!" and the author, or screenwriter, gave in. The actress who plays Alegra is pretty at least.
But not as pretty as Hugh Dancy. Man. I can see why Claire Danes dumped Billy Crudup for that. Yum. Maybe Matt should have been there after all.
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