If Capt. Wentworth was half agony, half hope waiting to know if Anne Elliot still loved him, I was about 95% agony, 5% hope awaiting the release of Netflix’s Persuasion. My faith in the filmmakers was shot soon after watching the first trailer and hearing the phrase, “Now we’re worse than exes. We’re friends.” My little remaining hope was crushed seconds into the opening scene, in which Dakota Johnson’s Anne Elliot lies face-down on her bed, in the throes of an emotional breakdown with a bottle of wine within arm’s reach.
Enjoying Netflix’s Persuasion adaptation remains possible, with the proper preparation: 1) Know you are watching a Regency-inspired modern romcom, not Persuasion. 2) Watch with others prepared to laugh and endure its more cringe-inducing moments together. 3) If all else fails, consider joining Johnson’s “single and thriving” Anne Elliot in consuming high amounts of alcohol.
With beautiful cinematography, particularly during scenes at Lyme and Bath, Netflix’s Persuasion seeks to appeal to fans of the Bridgerton aesthetic, rather than fans of Austen. Unable to decide whether it wants to be a faithful adaptation or a modern spoof on the story, the effort fails in attaining the reflectiveness of Austen’s original novel, while simultaneously failing to capture the novelty offered by modern Austen adaptations such as Clueless. Clueless, and the viral YouTube series The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, work because they fully embrace their setting. They poke fun at themselves as they explore what an Austen social satire might look like in the modern world. Fans of the novel are in on the joke and can enjoy watching a recognizable plot line transported to a different time.
Netflix’s adaptation feels all too close to the real Persuasion, making the departure from the book’s heart as disappointing as it was awkward. Some scenes are simply strange, such as Anne spilling wine on her head after calling Capt. Frederick Wentworth through the window. Others, such as Anne’s Jim Halpert-style glances at the camera, are out of character. Rather than connecting Anne to the audience, the looks make her come off as just slightly less narcissistic than her sister Mary.
Dakota Johnson did well in the role she was given. That role, though, was not the prudent Anne Elliot. Austen’s Anne is a mature, discerning character, honest and moved by an inner sense of duty. At 27, her singleness is becoming a greater burden as chances of marriage grow increasingly slim. She battles the twin difficulties of playing counselor for a selfish, unsympathetic family and processing the regret of following the advice of Lady Russell, her late mother’s closest friend, to break her engagement with Wentworth as a younger woman.
These strengths and struggles gain little attention onscreen. The writers seek instead to spice up Johnson’s character with quips that sound more like Twitter than Austen. Rather than being suspicious of her conniving cousin, Mr. William Elliot, for being “too generally agreeable,” Johnson’s Anne is concerned because he looks too good. “He is a 10,” she says. “I never trust a 10.” Given the major subplot revealing Elliot’s duplicity is entirely absent from the film, Johnson’s Anne apparently can only rely on looks to make her judgment.
Johnson’s Anne lacks her characteristic grace. She fails to show restraint where situations demand it, and, at multiple crucial points, blurts out details that ought to have remained unsaid. Austens’ mastery of free indirect discourse allowed her to intertwine these unspoken thoughts seamlessly into the narrative, but the filmmakers seem unable to build the same wall between Anne’s inner dialogue and outward actions. Such slips of the tongue are funny in the film, but Persuasion is not a story that lends itself well to humor. The reader is meant to feel the weight of what remains unspoken, which is why Wentworth’s final letter confessing his love leaves such a tremendous impact. Without this silence to build tension, the movie’s climax falls flat.
The key problem is the script writers’ unforgivably superficial take on Austen.
Austen’s Persuasion is slow-burning for a reason. Written near the end of her life, it poses questions about the power and role of influence. Her conclusions are complex. Anne Elliot, despite her years of longing and regret, ultimately determines that it was right to follow the advice of her dear friend Lady Russell, even if the advice was wrong:
“I was right in submitting to her, and that if I had done otherwise, I should have suffered more in continuing the engagement than I did even in giving it up, because I should have suffered in my conscience.”
Johnson’s Anne never considers conscience, or anything else, for that matter. ‘“It’s OK to find love on your own terms, however unorthodox. Don’t let anyone tell you how to live or who to love,” she concludes.
The film seems afraid to grapple with Austen’s complexities because they are opposed to our modern world. Our age struggles to see submitting to the advice of counselors as a virtue, while Austen clearly believes it can be one. To make this a relatable film, the makers seem intent on conforming it to our culture’s assumption that the greatest sin is to let someone else control your destiny.
Maybe, though, we need to be confronted by Austen’s questions of influence. Who has a claim on our lives? How do we handle competing interests and desires that oppose our most trusted advisers? When is the right time to chart our own course? If only Netflix let the real Anne Elliot step up and navigate some of these difficult waters.
Katelynn Richardson is a summer 2022 Washington Examiner fellow.
