When I say I have just finished the novel, I mean I finished watching the movie. I happen to like Jane Austen novels that have been turned into movies. Austen films are very popular nowadays, and there are scads of her reprinted novels available. The covers often feature a scene from a movie, but that is a very misleading. I suspect that many a reader – even very accomplished readers – will be disappointed with the print versions.
The movie versions are fabulous. There is colour, texture, panorama. There are gorgeous costumes, beautiful architecture, and rich landscapes. Characters are well-fleshed out and the dialogue ripples and dashes. The plot lines are . . . well, the plots are thin. The plots do not unfold so much as they ooze out with painful predictability.
In guy parlance, Austen films are chick flicks. As far as the plots go. But even guys can appreciate the other production values. And as a bonus – never alluded to in the print versions, of course – there are the boobs. The revelation of dazzling charms in low-cut gowns.
(To be concluded in the next post)
[Image right: Typical Hollywood portrayal of author Jane Austen]