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It is a truth universally acknowledged that Fay Weldon's five-part adaptation
of Pride and Prejudice is the most faithful screen version to date of Jane
Austen's original novel. Elizabeth Bennet is presented as the central character
(it was her face alone that adorned the cover of the VHS release), and the
unfolding of the plot is seen always from her viewpoint. For Alistair Cooke,
writing in 'A decade of Masterpiece Theater', "this adaptation demonstrated a
fine ear for the spare, exquisite language of the original, and a ready talent
for taking Jane's maliciously cheerful view of social pretension" - it also
reminds us how funny the novel is. Weldon faced the usual problem of how to
incorporate the authorial voice, and opted to introduce it into lines of
dialogue or in voice-over, an approach borrowed by many later Austen
adaptations.
Where Weldon was at her most radical was in her treatment of Mr and Mrs
Bennet. She preserves the irony of showing, in a story where marriage is
everyone's goal, the truly unhappy and unequal union between them. Her version
of Mr Bennet retains his sarcastic humour but adds an alarming bad temper and an
ill-disguised contempt for his wife. Mrs Bennet is allowed to be the still
pretty and vivacious woman with whom Mr Bennet presumably fell in love, and
although annoying and ceaselessly talkative, she is not quite the foolish
creature of the novel - often what she says actually makes sense. Weldon allows
her several sotto vocce criticisms of Mr Bennet which are not in the original,
and there is a general air throughout of the women resignedly putting up with
the often strange behaviour of the men in their lives. Otherwise Weldon takes
remarkably few liberties with the text.
Although it lacked the big budget production values of later versions, the
series was very well cast, boasting early appearances by Clare Higgins (Kitty)
and Tessa Peake-Jones (Mary); a surprisingly young Lady Catherine in Judith
Parfitt, whose haughty froideur and angular elegance make her a plausible blood
relation of David Rintoul's unbendingly proud and aloof Darcy; and the wittiest
and sprightliest Eliza (Elizabeth Garvie) yet seen on screen. Slow, stately and
studio bound it may be, with none of the smouldering romanticism or jarring
modernity which have swamped later versions, but it endures surprisingly well.
Janet Moat
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1. A truth universally acknowledged (3:32)
