Stop Romanticizing Mr. Darcy From Pride & Prejudice

Pride and Prejudice is perhaps one of the most beloved period pieces in pop culture today (see: Pride and Prejudice Zombies) and its main male character and brooding, mysterious, and misunderstood hero, Mr. Darcy, held as the seminole romantic interest in literature. I love this book and movie for many reasons and think it’s perhaps one of the greatest contributions to the English literary canon, but I can’t say that any of them is due to any possible romantic swooning caused by Mr. Darcy. I don’t think he’s a very swoon-worthy romantic hero at all. Mr. Darcy is flawed, still arrogant, and prideful, though his love for Elizabeth outweighs his faults in the end. Here are a few reasons why Mr. Darcy is not swoon-worthy:

There are many instances in which he is not only perceived by Elizabeth as being disagreeable, but actually seems to be quite an insolent and insensitive person. Darcy first comes off as being pompous when Mr. Bingley asks him to dance and suggests Elizabeth as being suitable, to which Darcy responds, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me”– which, of course suggests that he thinks of himself highly enough to deserve a woman of some elevated standard of beauty. This remark takes place within earshot of Elizabeth– a fact which I’m sure Darcy is fully aware of, because he had to physically turn around, meet her eye, and then exclaim it. This makes the encounter all the more provocative, as it suggests that Darcy was in a high enough standing that he didn’t care if Elizabeth heard him insult her or not. This whole situation takes place before the characters really even know each other and without fully developed motivations toward one another; thus, this is good indication that this is Darcy at his purest state: insensitive, and privileged enough to not have to hide it.

When Darcy does slowly develop feelings for Elizabeth, he is ashamed of himself and even disbelieving in his sinking so low. He justifies himself poorly: “Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?—to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?” What a hero! For loving her despite her decided inferiority! For admiring her without withholding his offense to her family and connections! Darcy, in this part of the book, is still quite fixed in seeing Elizabeth as being far beneath him; his pride is not so much decreased by his love for Elizabeth so much as it does coexist with it.

By the end of the book, Darcy is no different. There is no indication of his perspectives on class actually shifting. Darcy himself changes very little– it is only our perception of Darcy which changes, making it seem as though he has had a dramatic character arc. In reality, it is our initial biases which have been proven wrong (and by “our”, I mean both Elizabeth and the audience). This is perhaps the brilliance of the novel as a whole– without ever fully changing Mr. Darcy, Austen creates the illusion of change by entirely altering our perception of his character.

Despite all these flaws, I do find Darcy to be a compelling and exciting character– I just don’t think he’s quite as romantic as we cut him out to be. It’s important to recognize that he came from an extremely classicist society and retained his pride in his social station throughout the entire book. He has some very promising qualities– he loves those that are close to him, is extremely loyal, helps his friends at the drop of a hat. But to romanticize him, I think, is a gross misinterpretation of the book.

Alternate Endings

A clip from the 2005 film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice showing Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy staring at each other at a dance.

Last night, I turned on the quintessential go-to Jane Austen adaptation, Pride and Prejudice, while I made dinner. I was looking for something mindless and British to watch while I cooked and it was recently added to Netflix for all of you romantics out there to fawn over, so I thought it would be the perfect choice. It wasn’t until I got a message from my friend exclaiming, “YouTube the last two minutes!” that I realized there even was two different endings, one for the UK and the rest of the world, and one for the dreamy, Darcy-obsessed Americans across the pond. (Side note: Darcy isn’t the be-all and end-all Austen man. There are others who are much more interesting! I promise.)

In the UK’s ending, after Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett realize they do actually like each other, despite all of the various reasons they should not, Mr. Bennett grants his permission for Lizzie to marry Darcy and the story ends. It’s all happy and good and the credits roll and no one has anything to say about it. In the US version, though, there is one last scene at Darcy’s home, Pemberley. In this scene, in order to satisfy American audiences, we see a romantic and intimate scene between Elizabeth and Darcy, and we see the only kiss in the film. Americans were happier as they thought it was more realistic that two lovers might actually kiss on screen, but the British found it to be downright silly. If you’ve ever read Pride and Prejudice, you know there was no kissing in the book. It didn’t fit with Jane Austen or the time she wrote in. So, while the UK ending might seem unfinished to us Americans, the US ending doesn’t feel right to the British, or to many of the people who have read the book.

So then what do you do when there are two endings, or as in the movie Clue, three? Do you watch one at random? Choose your favorite? Watch them all? What about when you were a kid choosing your own adventure in those awesome books with the multiple endings? Did you choose as you went like you were supposed to, or did you cheat and read a few alternate ways to go and then decide? Should the creators of Pride and Prejudice have given in to American needs for romance, or leave the movie as they had envisioned it when they first made and showed it in the UK? Should all endings be happy, romantic, and lovely, or is it okay to have something be sad, upsetting, or alternatively realistic?

There’s something about humans that makes us always want to get the best possible ending, but I don’t think we necessarily know what that ending looks like. It’s why college students change their majors over and over in the hope of having the perfect fit. It’s why I add more classes than I need to each semester so I can test them all out just in case I’d be missing out on something. It’s why when someone asks you what you want to do when you grow up the answer changes from astronaut, to veterinarian, to artist, to doctor, to actuarial scientist, and so on. It’s why I’m sitting here in front of my computer unsure how to end this post because I want it to be perfect so it doesn’t let anyone down. But, I don’t know what will let you down, dear reader. I have no idea. So instead of ending this in a finite way with some grand realization about how things should end in books and movies and life, I’d just like to bring up Jane Austen again. What a lady. She wrote six full books and influenced countless writers after her. And isn’t that the best ending after all—a lasting impression from the people who love you?

Sarah’s Five Rules of Remakes

As my girlfriends and I eagerly await the release of the Keira Knightley-Jude Law studded remake of ‘Anna Karenina’ and mourn the pushed back release of ‘The Great Gatsby’ remake (originally slated for December, now pushed back to May), I got to thinking about what makes a great remake and what makes a bad one.

Sarah’s Five Rules of Remakes (for anyone considering a jaunt on the Remake Train)

1. You Must Wait at Least Twenty Years After the Original

I truly admire Keira Knightley’s ouevre, with the exception of Pride and Prejudice (2005), which I remade the 1995 BBC version with the Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle power couple of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.  While I truly adore Knightley and constantly wish that my life mirrored her perpetually period-costume wearing one, I couldn’t help but wonder why the filmmakers deemed it necessary to remake something that was still making waves for its overall merit and especially its famous wet-shirt scene.

2. Remaking a Movie You Previously Starred in and Reprising the Same Role is Lame…

Even if you are Clark Gable, reprising a young, swash-buckling adventurer when you are way beyond your swash-buckling prime is not a good idea.  In 1953, roughly twenty years after the original Red Dust, Clark Gable reprised his lead role that he had previously played alongside Jean Harlow in 1932.  The 1953 remake, Mogambo paired him with Ava Gardner, who was young enough to be his daughter.

3. Your Remake Must Be an Improvement Upon the Original

I gushed about Steven Soderbergh last week, but I am going to gush about him again. I think his treatment of Ocean’s Eleven (in its casting, art design, soundtrack, cinematography, pacing, and dialogue) was a vast improvement upon the original.  Although I am a huge fan of the Rat Pack in all of their swinging, smoking glory, I think their friendly shenanigans served as better concert fare than as the basis of a thrilling, sumptuous casino caper.

4. Relaunches of Franchises are Not Considered Remakes.

I do not consider the 2009 Star Trek film to be a remake, since it did not use the same plot as previous Star Trek films (though it did recycle plot elements from the series) and presented new facets of the characters.

5. Always Be Careful Who You Cast.

In an ideal world, the cast of a remake would be credible and likable actors with cross-generational appeal and box-office potential.  One reason I found the new Ocean’s film to be so enjoyable was the great casting, which made both me and my parents happy.  We were all in agreement that George Clooney carried the plot, engaged with the ensemble in a new and charismatic way, and looked good while doing it.

There are many other stipulations that I have regarding remakes, but I think these are my top concerns whenever anyone hops into the treacherous waters of a churning franchise or established filmic story.