Review: love, laughter and letters in Pride and Prejudice

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a theatrical adaptation of an infamous novel must offer something new. Or at least that’s what I thought before entering Simon Reade’s remaking of Pride and Prejudice. With many adaptations – from the BBC Television serialisation, to the Hollywood blockbuster franchise Bridget Jones – each adds a layer of depth to the culturally-absorbed narrative. I was therefore taken aback by the fact that the play contains no plot twists, no alternative universe fiction, and no obvious change to the predicament of Jane Austen’s masterpiece. It follows the standard plot of the novel: five daughters seeking husbands in order to secure their place within the class structure, and procure private property (with vast additions of angst and sass).

Surprisingly, however, this may have made the adaptation just that much more exciting. The stripped back sentiment of the script, complimented by the resounding bareness of the stage highlighted something that often goes amiss: the comedy of the novel. Reade’s awareness of Austen’s comical nature translates perfectly into the performance, taking centre stage in midst of the controversy and agony it induces. In his understanding, “Austen novelised the experience of putting on theatricals – her own form of adaptation and reverse dramatization,” something that clearly comes across during the performance, cemented by the accompaniment of roaring laughter from the audience in almost every scene.

It follows the standard plot of the novel: five daughters seeking husbands (with vast additions of angst and sass).

The theatricality of the narrative enables another aspect to be unveiled – namely, a journey investigating the psyche of inconspicuous characters that many adaptations simply ignore. This is particularly highlighted by the portrayal of Mary Bennet (Leigh Quinn), who in my opinion stole the whole show. From her first entrance, where she disturbs the conceptual wall between the audience and actors, Mary incites a tragically comical approach of self-awareness. Her subtle, yet significant interludes draw attention to the dark undertones of her foreseeable future as a woman resisting to conform to the draconian ideals of patriarchy. The passing image of her faint cries after suffering embarrassment induced by her mother is one of the defining moments of the play – something that may be overlooked when reading the original novel.

This leads to one of the most incredible realisations that occurred to me only after watching the play. Despite having spent copious hours deconstructing Austen’s novel, I have never particularly paid much attention to the connotations behind the domestic workers present within the households. An interesting part of Reade’s production which highlights this is his ingenious use of costumed female servants. Their dual role is not only acting as the silent workers, but also being responsible for rearranging the set mid-performance. This mute, yet partially-visible act haunts the seemingly-joyful scenes of family domesticity, providing dark undertones and constantly reminding the audience of the further repressed oppression that Austen’s novel disregards. Moreover, it adds another layer to the exploration of women’s rights through contrasting the male servants – working for the aristocracy, and often acknowledged by their employers – and the female workers, whose very presence seems to unnerve not only the ensemble, but also the vast audience.

The metamorphoses of the narrative into a dramatic form serves as a reminder of the exploitation of the silent underclasses

My only criticism of the production is an inevitable product of staying true to the original narrative – namely the way in which the play deals with the epistolary element of the novel. Each letter is spoken aloud by its creator, and is something that only begins to feel comfortable after a few awkward moments, including Jane’s first letter. After falling ill and being forced to confinement in Mr Bingley’s estate, Jane’s paradoxical presence in the Bennet household is not only jarring, but also rather confusing. However, as the plot develops, the actors take a more metatheatrical stance to the letter-form, and it is this that enables the act to comfortably fit into the normalised model the production otherwise takes.

Before seeing the adaptation, I could not possibly imagine that such a ‘realistic’ depiction of the novel would ever have the capacity to reshape its original intent. Despite the fact that Pride and Prejudice deals primarily with class and the rights of women, it is only through metamorphosing the narrative into a dramatic form that we are reminded about the exploitation of the silent underclasses, and to me, this alone makes the adaptation worth watching.