It is a truth universally acknowledged that no matter how many adaptations of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice exist, there will always be more. If the BBC’s epic standard isn’t to your liking, perhaps you’ll enjoy the Bridget Jones Diary twist on the tale. If you’re looking to avoid Colin Firth altogether, you could rent the 2005 Keira Knightley vehicle. Or leave England behind for the colorful Bollywood musical version. There’s even a recent reprinting of the original with added zombies.
If you’re wise, however, you’ll visit PCPA’s Marian Theatre, where a living, breathing version of the beloved classic novel—adapted by Joseph Hanreddy and J.R. Sullivan—will entertain and inform both die-hard Darcy fans and novices who think they’ve probably read some version of the story, maybe in an English class (but are actually confusing it with Sense and Sensibility).
Put simply, this is a love story. To be more precise, it’s a story about love. Or maybe “romance” would be a better word. It’s certainly a more complicated word, and the paths the characters follow in their search for a 19th-century happily ever after are anything but straightforward. A complex web of propriety and precedence entangles all the main players, mostly young singles navigating what passed for the dating scene in England at the time: balls, extended tours of estates, formal dances, and a near-constant evaluation of status, net worth, future prospects, and conversational subtext. Marriages were seen more as economic and social alliances than love connections, and parents casually discussed the order in which they could dispose of their daughters, happily thrusting them into the arms of any bachelor with a pulse—and, more importantly, a sizeable inheritance.
Elizabeth Bennet, played with subtle grace and fire by Megan C.C. Walker, is the second oldest of five girls. From her first moments on the stage, gazing out of a set of windows onto a pastoral scene that serves as a pastel backdrop for the entire production, we see she is set apart from her sisters: the older Jane (a warm Karin Hendricks), who soon nurtures a crush on a visiting neighbor, Charles Bingley (an also warm Evans Eden Jarnefeldt); the bookish Mary (Kelsey Sloan, fading into the background by design); and the overly flirtatious Kitty (a bubbly and giggly Tamara Chambers) and Lydia (a giggly and bubbly Jillian Van Niel).
Elizabeth could be mistaken for an anachronism, a confident, intelligent, and witty woman, whose strength of character keeps her from bowing to the crush of courtship around her. Remember, though, that she was born from Austen’s mind in the 1790s. Still, she is feminine enough to be wooed, but canny enough to avoid false sentiment—and human enough to fail somewhat at being wooed and avoiding false sentiment. In other words, she is a real, relatable character, as written then and as acted now.
The Bennet brood is fussed over by a high-strung mother (Polly Firestone-Walker, all nerves and sighs) and a bemused, sometimes confused father (the versatile and reliable Peter S. Hadres). As the patriarch, he has final say in his daughters’ suitors—as well as a keen interest in their prospects. Upon his death, his estate will turn over to his closest male heir, a simpering cousin by the name of Mr. Collins (Michael Jenkinson, whose crisply enunciated histrionics, fawnings, and misapplied vocabulary are a nearly show-stopping highlight). At one point, he prefaces his praise for a meal with the line, “Allow me to regurgitate my compliments.”
Stalking around the perimeter of the matrimonial machinations and maneuvering is Bingley’s friend, the lordly Mr. Darcy (Quinn Mattfeld). He is unapologetic in his frank and unflattering assessment of provincial life and the people who live it. His bluntness immediately sets the spirited Elizabeth against him, though she seems to relish their initial banter, her mouth tilting into a private smirk each time she realizes her wit has hit home and wounded his considerable pride. He is obviously drawn to her as well, as he returns again and again to converse with her despite his apparent vanity.
If you can guess the course the two leads take and think it’s a love-worn cliché, consider that Austen practically invented it.
Not to be glib, but the rest is details best seen unfolding in person. Trust and affection wax and wane—and in some cases wax again. There are ruffians and scoundrels, rumors and secrets, public humiliations and private heroics. The whole stage simmers with stories. PCPA regulars and newcomers alike literally dance through the production, guiding audience members through scene transitions as if reaching out a hand and inviting everyone to float along with the notes from the pianoforte at stage right.
This is director Roger DeLaurier’s 50th production with PCPA, and his breadth and depth of experience shows. His team’s various talents combine in cunning ways: As Jenkinson’s choreography weaves characters seamlessly into new locales, subtle lighting shifts from Jen “Z” Zornow provide visual clues in lieu of laborious set changes. Projections like ornamental screens or wallpaper change from house to house, estate to estate, and what’s essentially an open set with minimal props—a chair here, a folding card table there—becomes the Bennets’ modest house, then Darcy’s palatial homestead. DeAnne Kennedy’s scenic design is deceitfully simple, as is Elisabeth Rebel’s sound design and Frederick P. Deeben’s costume design. The cream-colored dresses the Bennet girls wear create a monochromatic backdrop as easy to set pieces against as the tree-lined painting forming the horizon. When a dramatic character such as Bingley’s haughty and snippy sister Caroline (Rachel Tietz) glides in, the richer colors and blacks in her outfit signal her outsider status—as a member of a higher social circle, to be sure, but also as a person perhaps not destined for the happiness our more modest heroines see on their own rosy horizons.
Finally, as a critic possessed of a Y chromosome, allow me to short-circuit an objection or two I hear forming: If you’re the sort of person who thinks masculinity dwells only in an alley rigidly defined by explosions and car chases (both of which I enjoy immensely, if only vicariously), you can learn a thing or two from Austen’s keen insight into both men’s and women’s minds. Romance is manly. Despite how it may seem based on pop culture and shallow stereotypes, Pride and Prejudice is not a “chick flick”—or whatever the stage equivalent of such a thing is. It’s a “person flick,” one well worth the investment of tickets and time as an education, an entertainment, and an evening.
Executive Editor Ryan Miller likes his Austen and his zombies, but not necessarily together. Send comments to rmiller@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Apr 21-28, 2011.
