I was probably the only person in the audience who didn’t care all that much for this adaptation. I know I didn’t care as much as one older gentleman who kept obnoxiously laughing at every minor cutesy scene. Besides, I am very fond of the 2017 PBS Masterpiece miniseries, so I cannot help but to compare. I don’t mind Saoirse Roman as Jo. Given all of her past work, she was a natural (if predictable) choice. I still liked Maya Hawke’s version more. There was more substance to her Jo March. Annes Elwy is more of a Beth to me. And I find it hilarious that Emma Watson, who can’t act her way out of a bag, was cast as a wannabe actress Meg. Every time she came on screen I cringed. The only exception for me was Florence Pugh, whose delightful portrayal of Amy overshadowed Kathryn Newton. But I am not surprised, because Pugh is quickly becoming one of my favourite actresses.
Same with the non-titular characters - Laurie, Marmee, Aunt March, - PBS had better casting.
As far as the direction goes, I hated the nonlinear plot. A lot of times it was hard to tell when we were looking at the past, or the present, and how old the characters were supposed to be in each scene. Whenever the director wanted to show sisterly love, she’d put on a scene full of chaos and giggles, and rolling on the floor laughing, and camera zigzagging between the twirling, chattering bodies. I guess chaos is perfect to guise the shallow characterization or underbaked scene setup. It’s a lazy way to show the relationship within the loving household.
The choppy shuffle of the scenes also made Laurie look like a terrible person. He was professing eternal love to Jo one moment, then fast forward one scene, and he is already in love with Amy. There needed to be a sensible length of time allocated for character growth to make sense of his change of heart, but the direction scrapped that idea.
With all of these negative elements, the new Little Women felt too long for me to bear. I was relieved when it was finally over.
Gloria Swanson is a treat to watch in Sunset Blvd. In any other film she would have come off as overly dramatic, but as a washed-up silent era diva she is absolutely perfect with all of the accompanying hand-wringing, dramatic head angles, and intense eye glares. It's old school acting, where theatre was more of an influence than realism.
William Holden's Joe is a typical macho hero of the Golden age: sounding grumpy and slightly shouty, but simultaneously emotionally blank. He typically calls his much younger love interest "kid", grabs her by the shoulders and smashes his mouth into hers as his interpretation of a passionate scene. I sort of dislike him. He takes advantage of Norma's wealth, but then acts like it's a burden, age shaming her to no tomorrow.
At the same time, the movie is a wonderful satire of the realities of Hollywood. How sad that a woman past her early thirties is considered a has-been with no prospects? While not as bad nowadays, the practice seems to persist, with most movie moms with teen children being played by 30-year-olds.
The structure is also neat, being told from the point of view of a murdered man. In the end, this film has an unmistakable tinge of gothic fiction - a tale of a haunted house, where the haunting is the apparition of regret, old glamour gone shabby, and madness. The monologue and snappy lines also put it squarely into a film noir territory - the quality kind, not overdone to death. Billie Wilder was a visionary filmmaker.
