Review: Little Women

Little Women (U)

USA 2019 135 mins  Dir: Greta Gerwig  Cast: Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Florence Pugh, Eliza Scanlen, Laura Dern, Timothée Chalamet, Meryl Streep, Tracy Letts, James Norton

How do you justify the existence of the eighth cinematic iteration of a much-loved 19th century novel? Greta Gerwig’s strategy is to hire the best young (white) female cast available, shake up Louisa May Alcott’s semi-autobiographical storyline to privilege themes at the expense of narrative, and add a light dusting of modish wokeness – but not so much as to deter those who simply crave another warm wallow in the period costumes and manners of this familiar group hug of a family.

Always the most interesting of the March sisters, and the one with the greatest modern resonance, headstrong, rebellious aspiring writer Jo (Gerwig’s Lady Bird star Saoirse Ronan) is introduced as a young adult living in New York, where she attempts to flog a story “for a friend” to Weekly Volcano editor Mr. Dashwood. As played by Tracy Letts, the whiskery, enjoyably disdainful Mr. Dashwood is such great fun jousting with the spirited Jo, whose talents he clearly recognises, that you can’t help but wish there was more of him. But he does get to pass on that great piece of scene-setting literary advice to Jo’s ‘friend’: “If your central character is a woman, make sure she’s married at the end. Or dead. Either way.”

We also meet a couple of the other March siblings as they forge their way into adulthood: May (Pugh), enjoying the high life in Paris while studying painting and serving as companion to haughty Aunt March (Streep); and impecunious Meg (Watson), who’s married to schoolteacher John (Norton). Then it’s hold on to your bonnets as Gerwig whisks us back and forth in time, with many a telling elision underlining her directorial skills and teasing out the differences in character and ambition between the March sisters. Newcomers to the story – if such there be – may be forgiven for feeling a little lost and confused by this daring device, which offers only distinctive colour palettes and the length of Jo’s hair with which to orient themselves. But traditionalists will be delighted to find that none of the big set-pieces have been pruned: the petulant burning of Jo’s manuscript, the gift of the piano, that icy mishap, etc.

Gerwig’s faith in Saoirse Ronan’s talents is amply repaid as she brings a fiery intensity to the role of norm-defying Jo as well as real emotional power to the character’s love triangle entanglement with poor little rich boy next door Laurie (a well-cast Chalamet, Ronan’s Lady Bird co-star). But Florence Pugh nearly steals the whole thing as the previously under-developed character of Amy, who not only becomes much more complex and relatable than the spoilt brat with which we’re familiar but also gets a proto-feminist speech about “marriage as an economic proposition”. Other siblings fare less well. Emma Watson’s Meg is somewhat outshone and there’s not much that Eliza Scanlen can do with the tragic, saintly, Dickensian figure of Beth. Among the grown-ups, Laura Dern really draws the short straw as thinly characterised perfect matriarch Marmie. At least Meryl Streep seems to be having fun, giving it the full Maggie Smith as snooty, cantankerous Aunt March, while hinting at the love for her nieces beneath the disapproving surface.

As ever, the ‘poverty’ endured by the March family is of the most genteel variety and while the sibling rivalry is often acute, it inevitably progresses towards another of those big warm hugs. The civil war simmers away outside their cosy, Christmassy greetings card abode, and there’s just the briefest of nods to the issue of slavery. As for the ending – best not given away here – Gerwig deviates from the novel’s conservatism to address Mr Dashwood’s initial contention and Jo/Louisa’s capitulation to it in a way that is both elegant and facilitates the simultaneous possession and consumption of cake.

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