03.24.07
Books, Bras, and Bridget Jones
In her article “Books, Bras and Bridget Jones: Reading Adaptations of Pride and Prejudice,” Olivia Murphy examines the different adaptations of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, particularly focusing on the 1995 BBC adaptation which “brought new readers to Austen’s best-known novel, readers who, for the most part, read outside of any academic context” (21). For Murphy, the 1995 BBC production “operates as a ficto-critical interpretation of the primary text, dramatizing the choices mad in every reading even while offering itself as a faithful re-presentation of the 1813 novel. Throughout the article, Murphy pays special attention to the readings and cultural perception of the mini-series, which she believes “must influence readers and reading of Pride and Prejudice for years to come” (23). Murphy looks at some of the immediate “Austen-mania” that surrounded the film upon its release, such as the Berlie bra company’s claim they provided the bras for Jennifer Ehle. But, in Murphy’s eyes, this heightened sense of sexuality in the mini-series “successfully contradicted the popular image of Austen as a prudish spinster, reasserting Pride and Prejudice’s erotic content above all else…[and] the manner in which that eroticism was communicated carries important implications for our understanding of the adaptation’s reading of Austen’s text and for its won internal ethical orientation” (24).
Murphy address the director and screenwriter’s decision to move many of Austen’s scenes from public spaces to the privacy of the bedroom, which allowed the actors to be depicted dressing and undressing. Shifting setting to allow actors to appear undressed appears in many adaptations in which Andrew Davies served as screenwriter and serves “as a way of hinting at sex where it does not feature in the original novel or cannot be portrayed due to censorship classifications. It also works to make characters more appealing to the audience: see without any protective layer of outdoor clothing, they seem vulnerable, more accessible to us” (25). But Murphy notes this sets up a double standard in which women are objectified and men are empowered. When Elizabeth and Jane appear dressing or undressed, they are discussing their need to marry well, emphasizing their poverty; the mirrors that inevitably surround them in these scenes reinforce the idea that their looks will secure them a man. On the other than, “Darcy’s semi-nakedness, occurring in the context of panoramic shots of his enormous house as his horse is led away by another of his servants, only serves to exaggerate his virtues,” not to mention his power (25).
Murphy also refers to the depiction of Darcy throughout the second-half of the film; the novel does not refer to Darcy from the time he leaves Elizabeth until Lydia’s return to Longbourn. For Murphy, “these extra scenes place the viewer at the apex of the adaptation’s hierarchy of knowledge. As they are able to see the actions of both Darcy and Elizabeth, viewers have an understanding of events and character that exceeds that of any reader of the novel. These changes render Elizabeth less knowledgeable than the viewer about events in the adaptation’s plot that concern her, thereby lessening her intelligence to that of the viewer” (27).
Like many Austen scholars, Murphy examines the film’s interpretation of Austen’s narrating voice, which she believes is impossible to recreate in the film as the many possible interpretations of nearly each sentence would make the film impossible and unpleasant to follow. Murphy believes “it is this very legibility that makes the film pleasurable to watch” (29). Murphy thinks Bridget Jones’ Diary suggests “that viewers of the BBC Pride and Prejudice attempt to reclaim the ironic possibilities of Austen’s original by analyzing their own reactions of the film” (30). These themes are lived out in Bridget’s life as “not only her response…but her emotional incorporation of its romantic themes – is tested by her responses to ‘real’ life” (30). In fact, Murphy observes that, “for the most part Bridget successfully and self-critically maintains a tension between the pleasurable fantasies of faux Austenian romance and the somewhat harsher realities of modern existence” (31). Yet Murphy also believes these themes and sense of irony is lost in the film adaptation in which Bridget “becomes…a target of buffoonery, the accident-prone butt of mainly slapstick comedy that renders her a far stupider, more credulous creature, with whom audiences can no longer comfortably identify, but only laugh at” (31). Murphy believes this comes from a diminishing or complete elision of the political themes and undertones of the novel, and applies this same idea to the BBC mini-series. Murphy concludes her article saying the “too light and bright and sparkling tone of the novel diverts attention from its real political tendencies, just as the beautiful costumes, sets, actors and music of the adaptation divert our attention from…its troubling lack of politically conscious meaning” (35).