Masterpiece’s airing of Emma ended last Sunday night, and all seven of us felt a little sad and aimless afterwards. “Now, what do we do?” asked Ruth. I wish the show and its co-producers would begin airing longer series, for I love the masochistic pleasure of being strung along, week by week. When I teach serialization, I tell students about how novels were woven into the fabric of the Victorians’ daily lives. And though we can never experience serialization in the same ways as they did, television series like those on Masterpiece do provide us with a modicum of that pleasure. Having said that, though, I’ll also note that one disappointment I had with this particular series was its structuring; I’d have preferred Emma to be divided into two rather than three episodes because one hour simply isn’t enough time to settle in. It’s like taking a ten-minute bath. What’s more, the ending of episode two felt abrupt, unsatisfying.
Among the highlights, however, was Emma and Knightley’s dance at the ball. I vividly recall the close-up of their gloved hands before they began, the nervousness on her face, the sheer pleasure they showed in being with each other. We were all delighted with the series’ conclusion, too, applauding the decision not to show us their wedding. At first, we thought this rather curious. But as we chatted, we began talking about how refreshing it felt not to see yet another Austen couple coming out of a church and going into a carriage. Instead, this series’ ending allowed Emma and Knightley a brief reprieve from the sweet but stifling world of Highbury. Here, the series concludes by showing Emma’s delight at seeing the ocean for the first time. It thus ends by moving her outward, beyond her father, beyond the confines of her gilded cage, suggesting that this may be the beginning of a less provincial Emma.
I also liked the quiet way in which the series handled her departure from her father, preparing us for that departure with a poignant scene wherein Mr. Woodhouse admits that perhaps he is a “foolish old man.” In his most recent book, film scholar Thomas Leitch argues that one way to approach an adaptation is to consider how it “improves” or “corrects” its source material. If Austen’s flaw as a novelist principally resides in her treatment of male characters, this series’ characterization of both Knightley and Mr. Woodhouse—and the two actors’ impressive performances—go a long way toward correcting that flaw.
What I didn’t like was the series’ treatment of Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill. She was bland as unbuttered toast, and he was drawn much too broadly as a cad. Let me say at the outset that I don’t think Austen handles their characterization all that well either, but some of the best adaptations of Austen—Ang Lee’s Sense and Sensibility (1995) comes readily to mind—recognize Austen’s mistakes and strive to correct them. This series just compounds whatever dissatisfaction we might feel with both those characters. I was especially grumpy with them during the Boxhill episode, for I was so distracted by Churchill’s behavior—much of it way too audacious for the time period-- that the cut of Emma’s insult to Miss Bates, and the heartbreaking, gradual awareness registered in the other woman’s response—just slipped by me. Miss Bates’ response to Emma’s insult is one of the most powerful moments in the book—and the most powerful moment in the 1996 version, thanks to Sophie Thompson’s performance. Here, it just gets buried.
One last thing: we adore Laura Linney, but we feel she is being wasted on the show. Let her move, give her a setting, and for God’s sake, take her out of that black dress. She’s a smart woman speaking to a smart audience; why not give her introductions substance?
