This insistence on spelling out what is so deftly and quietly implied in the novel drains the film of urgency-except for the case of Mr.
All the subtext is dragged out in the open, in conversations that sound like they were mainlined from TikTok. But the film has no time for such subtleties. One of the central themes of the book is the gap between who you are and how others perceive you, and the tension of whether two people who once loved each other so much can still understand the workings of each other’s minds.
She breaks both their hearts out of a sense of duty, and when Wentworth returns eight years later, Anne quietly endures the belief that while her love remains, his has turned to ashes. Anne Elliot, daughter of a baronet, is persuaded at age 19 to end her engagement to Frederick Wentworth, a young naval captain she loves deeply, because she comes to believe the marriage would be precarious for him as well. It’s not about the first flush of love, but about the loss of it, and the devastating quiet of resigning yourself to that fact. In tone and setting, Persuasion is different from Austen’s other novels. Elliot, which feels like it was beamed in from a different movie. Nowhere is this clearer than in Henry Golding’s exuberant portrait of Mr.
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But what’s almost as frustrating as watching the movie desecrate its source material are the flashes of what could have been. Count me among the pitchfork-wielders when it comes to Netflix’s Persuasion, the mess of an adaptation that mangles the spirit of Jane Austen’s exquisite, late season novel beyond recognition.
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