Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier are dancing across my television screen. We've watched the 1940 version or Pride and Prejudice several dozen times at least, but somehow, tonight, as the sun is setting and dinner is digesting, this old friend is warming my heart in new and unexpected ways.
Suddenly, Darcy doesn't seem quite as supercilious, quite as cold. He's fallen haplessly, hopelessly, impossibly in love... and he's a clod about it. Jane's simper isn't grating on my nerves, and Mary's goggle-eyed dorkiness has a lovely overlay. I can't stop smiling.
I'm giggling at Edna Mae Oliver's condescension as if I've never seen her before. We're mimicking Mr. Collins as the clarinet announces his arrival
Greer Garson is too old to play Lizzie, and she steals every scene she's in, but even that isn't dampening my enthusiasm. It's not a complete balm against the insanity that is Donald Trump's assault on American justice, on the Democrats' insistence on eating their young, but it's helping.
There really is no bottom to the awfulness. I'm up to 142 episodes of Stargate on the dvr so we can divert from the news.
ReplyDeleteAnd it just keeps getting worse.
Deletea/b