O.G. Rom Com

Title: Emma

Rating: 5 Stars

It’s really good that I’m so secure in my masculinity (ahem) that I’m not at all afraid to admit that both my favorite novel and my favorite film of the year so far is a frothy romantic comedy written by a nineteenth century spinster.

I honestly don’t know what it is about Jane Austen. Relatively little happens in her novels (not a single ticking bomb, no nudity except for the occasional glimpse of an ankle, no screaming fits of madness). People barely ever even so much as raise their voice. Emma, in particular, is basically about a supremely self confident and yet horribly inept matchmaker. She tries and fails to set up matches. She upsets matches that are clearly for the best. She doesn’t even know that she herself is in love until it’s almost too late.

The image that I keep coming back to is a precious little ornate jewelry box that a young woman of means would keep her most precious keepsakes in. That is the novel Emma. Since I just reviewed the film a couple of months, I’ve already previously described the plot. Click here to read that post.  The novel is written with precise care. The characters are exquisitely drawn. The comedy is layered in perfectly. The romance builds to its inevitable conclusion.

One reason why it seems so strange that it draws me in is how foreign the world of Emma is. Written in 1816, it is a scarce two years after Waterloo. It’s four years away from the War of 1812. It’s only some twenty-five years or so away from the French Revolution. A lot of crazy stuff is happening in the world. None of that creeps in here. There is no political turmoil.

It’s all drawing rooms, carriage rides, and picnics. The main characters are nearly all young and wealthy. There are servants to tend to their every need. The men do not need to work. A woman’s role here is to get just enough education to allow her to make a match that hopefully elevates her ever so slightly from her current situation.

This is pretty standard fare for Austen. What makes Emma unique is that the eponymous heroine stands apart from that. Her father is extremely wealthy. Having only a sister, Emma stands to inherit the estate. Given her financial independence and her devotion to her father, she has no intention of ever marrying. That leaves her not only outside the normal path for women but puts her into a position of being the puppet master of her local society. She is a very big fish in a very small pond.

This leads her to trouble. With only the occasional disapproving lecture from Mr Knightley, she has carte blanche to engage her stratagems. The two things that keep her from being malignant is that her schemes always unravel (to the lasting ill effect of no one since everyone ends up happily married by the end) and her essential goodness leads her to sincerely regret her actions and to make amends.

The film captures all of this. If anything, and I know that this is a hot take, the film is an even richer experience. I wrote about this earlier, but Anya Taylor-Joy as Emma is wonderful. She perfectly captures the politely blank expression that an upper class English woman must have in social settings and yet still manages to convey all of Emma’s emotions through ever so slight motions of her eyes, eyebrows, and lips. She is the perfect Emma.

In fact, the casting all around is wonderful. Bill Nighy was born to play the ridiculous, hypochondriac, yet still somehow lovable Mr Woodhouse. Mia Goth plays Harriet Smith, Emma’s protege. She plays her with the perfect mixture of amazement, innocence, and joy.

Also, as an added plus to the film, it highlights the classism of English society during that time. The very rich live in a fantasy world. They live in unbelievable elegance and comfort. Mr Woodhouse and Emma live in a fabulous mansion and estate. Mr Knightley lives by himself on an even larger estate and mansion.

Within all of that elegance, these elites are essentially helpless. They can’t even get dressed without help. Their every whim is immediately satisfied by voiceless, nameless servants.

They’re also almost sterile in their desires. For instance, every meal and snack is populated with mounds and mounds of fabulous, delectable food that is either consciously ignored or barely picked at. They can only profess their love for each other in the most indirect of methods.

I know that Jane Austen isn’t the inventor of the romantic comedy. I think that I’m on pretty firm grounds when I say that she perfected it.