Review: Emma (yes, all of them)

Over the last four weeks I’ve discovered the perfect combination of comforts for surviving lockdown: chocolate and Jane Austen – specifically Emma, her fourth published work and arguably her best novel. 

Yet even with nothing else to do, I didn’t have the time or energy to reread the book itself, so I made do with all five adaptations of the story, from the BBC’s miniseries in 1972, the Gwyneth Paltrow vehicle in 1996, the second BBC adaption to come out that same year, their third televised attempt in 2009, and Autumn de Wilde’s interpretation of early 2020.

The story certainly knows how to time itself, averaging one (nearly) every decade, at (rough) ten year intervals.

I’ve often believed that the reason Emma and Pride and Prejudice are over-represented in media is due to the fact Elizabeth and Emma are spirited in a way the ladies of Mansfield Park and Persuasion aren’t. Austen was saying something very different about social expectations and personal fortitude in her treatment of Anne Elliot and Fanny Price, which has inevitably led to screenwriters finding them “less fun”... but perhaps not entirely without reason. 

Elizabeth and Emma are more dynamic characters; they are different women at the end of their stories than they were at the beginning. It’s perhaps due to the internal change required of its main character that Emma is generally considered Austen’s finest work (even if Pride and Prejudice remains her most beloved) with a protagonist that is deeply flawed yet all the more lovable for it. 

According to Austen herself: "I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like", and yet we do like Emma – not in spite of her faults, but because of them. Her snobbery, her meddling, her foolishness – it’s all so entertaining that it’s almost disappointing when she grows out of it.

Austen also deserves credit for taking the familiar beats of a romance novel and turning them inside out. In any other story it’s beautiful, impoverished and musically gifted Jane Fairfax who would be our protagonist, with Frank as the dashing, unpredictable love interest who promises to save her from a life of destitution if only she can endure the secrecy that’s required to survive his formidable aunt.

Emma stands in ignorance of the drama happening right under her nose, never doubting that she’s the main character but not realizing the point of her arc is to realize how wrong she is about everything, and that her true love isn’t the charming, enigmatic Frank but George Knightley: old family friend, next door neighbour and technical brother-in-law. 

All of Emma’s matchmaking attempts end in disaster, she completely misinterprets Mr Elton and Frank Churchill, and is completely wrong about everything. She’s… dare I say… clueless?

Emma Woodhouse is also unique for being the only one of Austen’s heroines who is under no familial, financial or even societal pressure to marry. She has no need to worry about her well-being or that of her family, and her father's desire to keep her close only increases her power. She can do whatever she likes, and so when she does eventually wed, it’s entirely because she wants to. 

It gives the book a lightness of spirit that’s missing from her other works, in which Elizabeth, Anne, Elinor and Marianne have to  actually worry about their futures and financial situations, and I suspect that’s another part of the reason why Emma has been adapted so often. So many readers – rightly or wrongly – look upon Austen as escapism, and as such Emma’s complete lack of poverty or long-term worry becomes the most appealing aspect of her story.

There are three “big moments” of Emma that are particularly memorable, scenes that no one would dare skip in any given adaptation, and so it was interesting to see each of them play out here. First is the argument that occurs between Emma and Knightley in the wake of Harriet’s rejection of Robert Martin, and Knightley’s assertion that “men of sense do not want silly wives.”

A lot of people don’t like reminding that Jane Austen was a woman of her time, and that she had genuine advice to dispense to younger readers on good behaviour and the near-inevitability of marriage. Here there’s a clear argument that people should marry to their stations, and that a woman of unclear birth is foolish in rejecting “a respectable, intelligent farmer.” A crucial element of all Austen's fiction was not that women marry, but that they marry the right man, and this is never more apparent than in Emma and Knightley’s argument on the subject of Harriet.

Then there’s the insult to Mrs Bates at the picnic, which (depending on the adaptation) can be said as a jest, in frustration, or in sheer unmitigated bitchiness, and which is possibly the most important character beat in determining just what kind of person Emma is – easily led, idiotically childish, or just careless with everyone’s feelings. 

The last is not necessarily a singular scene, but the way in which each adaptation handles the Values Dissonance of the sixteen-year age gap between Emma and Mr Knightley. I noticed with interest that most seemed a little queasy about it, even taking into account the difference in expectations of the time. How it all pans out is rather interesting…

Emma (1972)

I’m nothing if not a completist, and on realizing there was a seventies version of Emma, I tracked it down simply for the sake of saying I saw all available adaptations. It’s pretty much what you’d expect from a low-budget BBC production, in which all the acting is extremely jovial and earnest, the costumes and hairstyles are hideous, and the majority of the production takes place on sets, in which any window looks out on obviously painted backdrops. If the action moves outside, the quality in visual clarity drops exponentially, and you watch as the actors become bathed in blurry shades of orange.

Okay, it’s not that bad. In fact there’s a certain charm about the way it’s staged, almost theatrical in nature, in which the actors occasionally speak over each other’s lines or miss their cues.  

Doran Godwin is fine as Emma, very pert and bright-eyed, but John Carson ended up being one of the better Knightleys, reminding me a lot of Robin Ellis as Poldark in his mannerisms and mode of speech, and capturing what I think Knightley should be: a man of great integrity who also possesses no small amount of chill. A few Knightleys are played with too much intensity or grouchiness, but Carson (like Jeremy Norton) hits the right note of friendly but detached interest in the nonsense going on around him.

Robert East is a rather callow but surprisingly sincere Frank Churchill (his behaviour at the picnic is treated as lighthearted mischief) whereas poor more Ania Marson’s Jane Fairfax is smothered in heavy makeup so as to convey the character’s sickliness (and amazingly, I've seen this same actress in my concurrent rewatch of Killing Eve, as the translator in the pilot episode).

Fiona Walker also makes for a great Mrs Elton, being an overbearing loudmouth without turning her into a caricature, and Mr Woodhouse is less tedious than usual given that his hypochondria is directed at other people rather than solely himself.

I ended up watching this last of all the Emma adaptations, though it was chronologically first, and so have the power of hindsight with which to judge the three most important elements of the story. The age gap between Knightley and Emma probably wasn’t something Jane Austen thought twice about on writing the book, and though other adaptations are a little self-conscious about it, this one breezes through like it’s no big deal (which it isn’t, I’m just interested by the way modern audiences cringe a little at it).

Peak romance here, guys.

The argument between Emma and Knightley about Harriet’s future prospects is less about Harriet as it is (in the narrative sense) about Emma and Knightley themselves, with Emma’s snobbery in believing her association with Harriet is enough to cover for the mystery of her birth parents up against Knightley advocating for sincere but class-appropriate matches where no one reaches above their station.

By modern standards, we’re inclined to side with Emma’s argument rather than Knightley’s, though the narrative clearly puts Knightley in the right – yet what’s more interesting in a filmic sense is how this argument is staged and performed, which can be anything from a restrained conversation to a full-blown yelling match. The one featured here is certainly the most sedate, with the two participants barely getting hot-under-the-collar about it. She’s a little haughty, and he’s mildly disapproving, and they don’t even raise their voices! 

The scene ends with Knightley calmly leaving on realizing he’s not going to change her mind. Things have certainly taken a turn for the dramatic since then!

But it’s the insult given to Miss Bates at the picnic that is the most important moment in Emma’s growth. It is the equivalent of Elizabeth declaring: “till this moment I have never known myself”, after reading Darcy’s letter, for it is likewise the moment in which Emma realizes what kind of person she is – and doesn’t like it. 

Again, this version downplays the moment, with Emma delivering the line as a fun little joke and getting a big laugh from Mr Weston in response. She doesn’t notice the effect it’s had on Miss Bates, because Miss Bates herself barely reacts to it, making this the only version in which Emma doesn’t realize how badly she’s screwed up until Mr Knightley calls her out. 

As such we don’t really feel the powerful aftermath of the picnic, in which Emma is forced to reassess who she is and what she wants to be – which in turn leads to her realization that she loves Knightley, a reciprocation that she now doubts not just because of Harriet's attachment to him, but because her cruelty to a vulnerable friend has made her unworthy of him.

A lot of this has to do with screenwriters being afraid of making their main character unlikeable, so her selfishness, class snobbery and willful blindness are often toned down, though in this case the results are mixed. This Emma catches on almost immediately that Frank isn’t all he appears, and so is remarkably guarded around him, while her treatment of Harriet is terrible: twice saying they can’t be friends if she doesn’t do what Emma wants her to, and then after telling her to stop talking about Mrs Elton because it’s making her feel bad about the botched matchmaking, announces they’re going to visit Mrs Elton at the vicarage.

Way harsh, Emma. In any case, this is a perfectly sufficient adaptation of the material, just one that’s confined to interiors and played out largely through dialogue. With six episodes that are each a whopping forty-five minutes long, this is easily the longest adaptation out there, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of watching adult programming as a child and wondering how on earth they could find shows about people just talking to each other so interesting.

Emma (1996)

This take on Emma was designed to be as soft and romantic as possible, with nearly all of the potential bite taken out of the story. And honestly I don’t mind, as watching this is to be transported into what is practically a fairy tale world, where nothing bad ever happens and life is an endless string of picnics, garden parties and afternoon tea.

The symbolism is pretty on-point, whether it’s Emma missing the bullseye at archery practice or the film opening on a spinning globe dangling from Emma’s hand. It’s a wedding present painted with scenes of the village and its people, which leads nicely into Greta Scaatchi opening narration, which tells us everything we need to know about this time, place, and Emma’s role within it: “In a time when one's town was one's world, and the actions at a dance created greater interest than the movement of armies, there lived a young woman who knew how this world should be run.”

That’s the film, the protagonist and the vibe of this movie all captured in one quote.

Paltrow plays a softer, kinder Emma than all of her fellow actresses in the same role, and it’s made explicit (more than once, and almost too-defensively) that her match-making comes from a well-meaning place. You can tell that she genuinely loves the people around her, and they love her in return – without a doubt this is the best depiction of Emma and the former Miss Taylor. The latter is used as a confidant, largely to get across Emma’s thoughts and feelings, though it has the added bonus of making them seem truly close.

As such, Emma’s act of taking Harriet under her wing feels like a wish to emulate her friend and become a “Miss Taylor” for someone else. Toni Collette plays Harriet as a sweet-natured idiot, but with an emphasis on the sweet-naturedness, to the point where Emma demonstrates humility without any need for Mr Knightley when she breaks the news of Elton’s engagement, witnesses Harriet’s gracious disappointment, and tells her: “Harriet, I had always hoped that I might have something to teach you. Now I see that I shall be lucky to resemble you in any small way.”

It’s not a quote from the book (or in any of the other adaptations) but it’s indicative of this take on Emma – someone who needs very little emotional growth. Her faults, whatever they are, are the result of entirely good intentions. Perhaps her worst moment is her impossibly selfish prayer towards the end, when she asks God if He could at least ensure that Knightley stays single, but even that is played mostly for laughs.

For better or worse, that’s the tone, though perhaps there’s an argument to be made that it isn’t true to Austen’s satirical leanings, or that it speaks of a certain level of fear on behalf of the screenwriters in making Emma too unlikeable. But that light treatment of the material is everywhere, with humour strewn throughout that only gently pokes fun at the gentility, such as everyone poring over a letter to comment on the penmanship, or the amusing scene in which Emma is trying to overhear Mr Weston’s news, only to be interrupted constantly by Mr Elton. When she finally gets rid of him, she turns back to hear: “and that was the end of the letter!”

Speaking of whom, Alan Cummings is funny and callow, but doesn’t play Elton as much of a clown as others do – you can see why Emma would initially think he’d be a good match for Harriet. Likewise, no one can beat Sophie Thompson’s Miss Bates for natural-sounding prattle, and Juliet Stevenson is without a doubt the best Mrs Elton –she makes herself utterly appalling without going ridiculously over-the-top as many others do.

Oh, and James Cosmo as Mr Weston. Believe it or not, I hadn’t really noticed it was him until this rewatch, but I’ve been a big fan of his these last few years, and you can tell he’s a sweetheart. If we ever meet, I'm going to ask him to adopt me.

The quickness of pace works in the film’s favour, though the subplot that suffers most is Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax’s little drama (though they do better than John Knightley and Isabella, whose appearance barely constitutes a cameo). You can’t really blame Emma for not noticing the warning signs, as both Frank and Jane play things very close to their chest – in fact, this the one and only adaptation that has the picnic drama emerge as a result of Frank trying to protect, rather than goad, Jane; by swiftly changing the subject and diverting attention from Jane to Emma.

He suggests the “tell Miss Woodhouse three things” game as a response to Mrs Elton insisting that Jane take a governess position in another county – which is also the one and only clue the film gives us as to their history together.

As for the three scenes of note, the argument between Emma and Mr Knightley is done during the aforementioned archery practice, with the iconic scene of Emma aiming and missing the target, followed by Mr Knightley’s wry: “try not to shoot my dogs.” It’s notable because the two of them argue so politely, with Knightley eventually choosing to leave the conversation than squabble further.

Likewise, Emma’s insult to Mrs Bates at the picnic comes as a result of frustration, having just been insulted herself by Mrs Elton (as opposed to following Frank’s lead in deliberating provoking the rest of the party). This means that once again Emma is portrayed more sympathetically than usual, though the disappointed reactions of Mrs Weston and Mr Knightley clearly strike her more deeply than any words.

As for the age gap, it is mentioned between Mr Knightley and Emma, though more elegantly than in other adaptations – mentioned in passing and largely in jest, but also in a way that suggests Knightley is a bit self-conscious about it and trying to feel out Emma’s opinion on the subject (does she think it’s weird…?) In any case, Jeremy Norton lives up to his character’s name as a knightly individual whose finest moment is clearly calling Emma out on her behaviour towards a less-privileged person despite being in love with her.

His general criticism of her behaviour is also less pronounced than in other versions, and it comes across more as light teasing than the potential grooming of a much younger woman. This is also perhaps the one version of Emma in which I think Knightley is in love with Emma right from the beginning, and so has a vested interest in the type of person she wants to be. And when he says: “it’s our imperfections that make us so perfect for one another,” it’s a concession to the fact that nobody is perfect, and the criticism is going to abate as they head into married life.  

This Emma plays as a romantic comedy more than any other: Emma’s internal dialogue, her one-sided competition with Jane, the way Mrs Elton doesn’t allow her husband a word-in edgeways: it’s all played for laughs. The only hint at a more serious world is that Emma’s reconciliation with Mrs Bates doesn’t come easily – or even on-screen.

But for the most part, this is a film that loves you; it just wants to wrap you up in its warmth and charm and delightfulness, and make you feel good about the beauty of the world. The score is lovely (extra points for the music Mr Elton gets when he storms off in a high dudgeon), all the actors manage to hit just the right consistent tone (often those playing the broader comedic characters stick out like sore thumbs) and the cinematography is beautiful: every ray of sun, arranged flower or decorated music hall suggests a romantic world that has never really existed.

Emma (1996)

This is the other adaptation of Emma that came out in 1996, and although there were plenty of people who claimed this was the better and unfairly overlooked version, I beg to differ. There’s nothing wrong with it, and the longer run-time means that it can delve a little more deeply into certain details and subplots, but it lacks the sparkle and warmth of the Gwyneth Paltrow version.

Of course, I may be biased there, as I’ve watched Paltrow’s Emma dozens and dozens of time, and with that level of familiarity your mind grows fond of what you’re used to, in both the characters and the story beats. For instance, I got the sense that Paltrow’s Emma and Toni Colette’s Harriet were genuinely good friends, and that Norton’s Mr Knightley held Emma in genuine romantic affection from the beginning of the story – all strong character dynamics that were conveyed in a much shorter span of time.

If the movie had an unrealistic rose-tinted glow to it, this miniseries has a rather stagy air that was somehow more difficult to connect to. There’s no lived-in quality to the setting, so you can never quite forget that you’re watching actors performing in a period drama.

Kate Beckinsale plays Emma, and is so young that it’s disconcerting (sorry, I last saw her in the most recent Underworld films), with Mark Strong as Mr Knightley, Olivia Williams as Jane Fairfax, and Samantha Morton as Harriet Smith – all of whom are the most recognizable performers. This adaptation is notable for the “dream sequences” that Emma indulges in throughout the story, in which her romantic fantasies are briefly dramatized, and for a particular emphasis given to Frank and Jane’s relationship, which plays out before Emma’s eyes but beneath her notice. 

This is possibly the most ungenerous depiction of Frank, and I’m sure I read somewhere that the screenwriter considered him a psychopath, so he’s certainly played with a weaselly charm that’s put in stark contrast to Mark Strong’s Knightley, who is socially awkward and rather stodgy, and the version that’s the most vocally disapproving of Churchill.

Unfortunately, there’s no huge amount of chemistry or even affection between Emma and Mr Knightley, and he has a really weird tendency to drop the fact he once held Emma in his arms when she was a baby into conversation, including during the scene when their romantic feelings for each other come to light. Dude. Please. Do not do that. I don’t care if it’s faithful to Austen’s vision, it’s the one thing in the text that has aged horribly.

He’s also a lot more badgering of Emma's behaviour here than in any other version, in a way that’s not tempered by any humour or banter from Emma. Paltrow and Norton’s characters clearly enjoyed each other’s company, and mutually tease each other, but Strong’s Knightley is constantly having a go at her – not in a fun teasing way, but with such relentless hectoring that you dread what marriage holds for them.

Unsurprisingly, the early argument between them about whether or not Harriet should marry Robert Martin plays out deadly seriously, with raised voices and genuine fury on Knightley’s behalf. I love Mark Strong, but there’s probably a reason he largely sticks with villain roles these days.

He legit looks like he's gonna kill her.

Here Emma’s insult to Miss Bates plays out as a bad joke, which nobody finds amusing besides a smirking Frank. We’ve all been the bearer of a bad joke that hasn’t landed properly, and so Emma’s real lack of character comes when she resentfully tries to defend her behaviour to Knightley (all the other Emmas know full-well they’ve screwed up, and offer a half-hearted defense at best). Beckinsale’s Emma isn’t really ashamed or upset until Knightley tells her she should be, which is perhaps taking her emotional immaturity a step too far.

Umm… what else? The quiet competition between Emma and Jane plays out through a silent dance of cautious looks, and this version definitely boasts the most annoying Mr Woodhouse, whose hypochondria is at its worst here. I felt genuinely sorry for Mr Knightley choosing to move in with this guy, and if a mysterious death were to take place later down the road I wouldn’t be at all surprised.

There’s a brief examination of class issues, with the adaptation opening and closing on chicken thieves breaking into the estate, several shots of servants struggling to prepare picnics and tea parties for their employers, and a harvest festival held to announce the engagement, in which upper and lower classes mingle together. It’s at this point Emma invites Robert Martin and his family to Hartfield, demonstrating the end of her social snobbery – though hilariously, he doesn’t look at all keen on the idea.

It may sound like I’m down on this miniseries, and I’m really not – but watching so many versions in such a small timeframe meant that a couple had to fall through the cracks, and aside from being the only one in which Emma isn't depicted as a blonde – this one doesn’t really stand out in any significant way.

Emma (2009)

Despite being released more than ten years after its predecessor, there was still the risk that this Emma wouldn’t have anything new to say. It ends up leaning into two unique takes on the source material: first by establishing the similarities between Frank, Emma and Jane (in that all three lose their mother at a young age) and second by having Mr Woodhouse’s hypochondria have a negative effect on Emma’s life. No longer the happy nursemaid to a doting father, Emma is instead stifled by her father’s constant worry and her own lack of experience in the world outside Highbury.

Yet despite introducing Emma, Frank and Jane as children in the prologue, in which we see the latter two differentiated from Emma by virtue of being send from their homes to be raised by others, the subsequent story doesn't have much to say about this established link between them (beyond depicting this Emma and Jane as the only versions of their characters to become on-screen friends by the end).

Frank and Jane are certainly given more focus here than in other adaptations, depicted as squabbling lovers that are struggling under the burden of secrecy – but they’re treated as a genuine love match, and Frank is treated more generously by the narrative than he really deserves (though that’s always the case with men like Frank, isn’t it).

When it comes to Emma’s longing to see the world outside the restrictions her father places on her, it’s thanks to her marriage to Mr Knightley that she’s finally taken to the seaside for the first time in her life. Yeah… it’s a bit weak.

Romola Garai plays Emma as the youngest she’s ever been – not in age, but in temperament. This production’s desire to deliberately bring a modern touch to the proceedings mean that many of the characters act like contemporary teenagers – Garai for example gives Emma plenty of modern affectations in her hand gestures, facial expressions and body language (sprawling over a sofa for example) which are totally period-inappropriate.

This was a key image in the promotion, which pretty much sums up the tone.

It’s an interesting idea, and it adds to the high-school drama of the Frank/Jane liaison, but it also means Emma comes across as rather ditzy sometimes, and Knightley in contrast feels much older and rather dour. 

This is not Johnny Lee Miller’s first rodeo as an Austen leading man (he was Edmund in 1999’s Mansfield Park) and here he’s sort of a mix of crotchety neighbour and eccentric uncle – though that latter trait might just be Miller’s inherent quirkiness. The age difference therefore becomes apparent, especially in watching the youthful energy of Emma, even though the show itself is rather at pains to avoid mentioning it.

Blake Ritson is Mr Elton, the second most comedic take on the character, Rupert Evans is a diffident and self-absorbed Frank Churchill, and Christina Cole goes full-on mean girl as Mrs Elton, who – by both being about the same age as Emma and played by an attractive actress – becomes more of the rival to Emma for attention and popularity than Jane Fairfax usually is. 

The famous Emma/Knightley argument plays out as one between equals, each with their own insurmountable point of view, though Emma is clearly not taking the subject as seriously as Knightley, and this version cannot help but play into more contemporary romantic tropes (that is, dramatic irony) in which Emma is given the line: “men don’t like girls who argue!” in the face of a man who clearly loves the woman who is currently arguing with him.

As in most cases, the insult to Miss Bates is said thoughtlessly, but it also comes as a combination of getting caught up in Frank’s particular brand of petty humour and Emma's attempt to overcompensate for the Eltons’ rudeness towards her (sort of like: “see, I’M not upset!”) Most versions chose either one or the other – thoughtlessness or frustration – and here it actually takes a few moments for Emma to realize the hurt she’s caused, before frantically trying to divert everyone’s attention elsewhere. But Tamsin Greig is Miss Bates, who probably milks this character for the most pathos. It always hurts when Emma insults her, but this time it really, really hurts.

It’s probably the closest thing we have to a modern retelling that’s not Clueless, with the teenagers (or young adults) actually acting like teenagers, and breaking many of the social mores that are taken very seriously in all other versions of the story – here, Frank rests his head on Emma’s lap at the picnic, something I seriously doubt would have been acceptable in a more realistic period setting. In this vein, the production makes the most of its surroundings, with bright costumes, spacious interior designs, and full advantage taken of the English countryside and its various manor houses.

Emma. (2020)

This latest Emma is treated as a full-blown screwball comedy, with oversaturated colours and enough symmetry to make you think it’s a Wes Anderson film – though in shades of pastel instead of orange. Its visual style gives everything the look of doll’s house, from Emma’s corkscrew curls to the highly detailed – even cluttered – sets, which brings to mind the concept of Emma as a little girl playing with her toys.

She’s a true empress in this version, lording it over the rest of the community. The household staff wait on her with baited breath, crowds of parishioners move aside so she can reach the front pew at church, and schoolgirls fall silent the moment she walks into a room.

There’s a lot of emphasis on her friendship with Harriet (director Autumn de Wilde is on record as saying this was treated as just as much of a romance as Emma/Knightley), with plenty of original scenes between just the two of them, to the point where Emma doesn't feel she can accept Knightley’s proposal until she’s made things right between Harriet and Mr Martin. In this version, Emma is the one who negotiates the reconciliation between her friend and the man she disapproved of, and the film finds a beautiful way to work back in the portrait Emma made of Harriet early on.  

By the year 2020 Anya Taylor-Joy is able to fully embrace the unlikeability of the character in her early pre-maturation stage and so is genuinely calculating, selfish and snobby throughout the first act. Even a little bitchy at times, which is certainly not something any earlier adaptations would have dared to portray. Johnny Flynn is a slightly roguish Knightley (perhaps that has more to do with the actor than the role as written) who is initially the only sane person in the proceedings, until the pangs of love inevitably send him tearing at his clothing and writhing on the floor.

Everyone else throws themselves into broad comedy – Mia Goth plays Harriet as an easily-led nitwit, Josh O’Connor’s Mr Elton is an absolute clown, Tanya Reynolds as Mrs Elton is somehow even worse, and Miranda Hart as Miss Bates is… well, Miranda Hart! Even John Knightley and Isabella (the latter played by Chloe Pirrie, who’s popping up everywhere these days) exist on the verge of perpetual hysteria. 

But Bill Nighy is perhaps the best Mr Woodhouse of the bunch, whose hypochondria manages to be genuinely amusing this time around, and is hinted at being a largely imaginary affliction designed to keep Emma by his side.

As with the previous film, the Jane and Frank drama is relegated to a subplot, and all the mystery as to what’s going on there is removed: the fact that Callum Turner is cast as Frank is a pretty big indicator that he’s a cad who cannot be trusted, and for whatever reason Amber Anderson’s Jane doesn’t make much of an impression at all.

Would you trust this man?

Yet for all of this, every character is treated with a fair amount of affection – even Elton gets a little redemptive moment when he officiates at Emma and Knightley’s wedding, and I think we’re actually meant to feel sorry for him when Emma rejects his proposal. That’s the first time that’s happened!

Although there is clearly an age difference between Anya Taylor-Joy and Johnny Flynn, this may be the only adaptation that does not explicitly mention the sixteen years between them (correct me if I’m wrong, I’ve only watched this version once) and so that particular aspect of Emma’s immaturity is done away with. She needs to become a better person, but it’s more to do with improving the way she treats Harriet, Jane and Miss Bates (that is, the women in her life) than it is about becoming worthy of Mr Knightley.

And so although their argument over Robert Martin’s proposal to Harriet is fairly heated (probably on par with the 2009 version, though not as intense as the 1996 miniseries) it goes in rather unexpected directions. Because we see Knightley interacting with Mr Martin before this, it feels like he’s defending his friend rather than (just) criticizing Emma’s judgment. Likewise, he accuses Emma of being “infatuated” with Harriet, with Emma herself insisting she’s not trying to matchmake her friend with Mr Elton but rather that: “I only want her for myself.”

In doing so, it becomes less about Emma’s misjudgment in her matrimonial hopes for Harriet, but who gets custody of Harriet herself: Emma or a future husband.

As for the insult at the picnic, Emma’s behaviour is once again a consequence of Frank’s needling, and is delivered as a joke that lands badly – something she instantly realizes. The camera doesn’t even cut away – the joke and Emma’s horror at what she’s just said both happen in the same shot. (It’s also the only adaptation that strays from the exact line of the book, with Emma saying: “when have you ever stopped at three?” instead of the usual (albeit slightly paraphrased): “that may be a difficulty: for you to number only three.”

And though all the Emmas have been brought to tears over their cruel treatment of Mrs Bates, this one – who has probably been the coldest – is the only one reduced to hopeless sobbing. Moreso than any of the others, this is the moment when Emma realizes who she truly is… and she doesn’t like it.

But despite being the fifth take on the book I’ve watched these past weeks, the film has plenty of quirks to call its own: the long-suffering servants who exist in nearly every interior frame, going about their well-choreographed dance, the folksy and deliberately intrusive soundtrack, the lines of red-cloaked Goddard girls marching about the countryside, and of course, Emma’s nosebleed at Knightley’s declaration of love. The jury’s still out on that one.

***

Emma is the only Austen novel that is named directly after its heroine, and for good reason. As is famously said in the opening paragraph, she was: “handsome, clever and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence, and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.”

As is pointed out a few paragraphs later, it is Emma herself who will be the author of her own distress: her meddling, her ignorance, her blindness - it is these qualities and nothing else that provides the impetus for the plot. If she had just sat back and let events unfold, she would have been much happier for it, and arrived at the same happy ending – but then, we wouldn’t have had the chance to enjoy her journey from foolishness to wisdom.

I have to admit that my favourite is the 1996 Gwyneth Paltrow version, for no other reason but that it’s the one that introduced me to the story in the first place, though each adaptation has something different to offer, whether in style, characterization, humour, romance or dialogue. Whatever else happens, you’re promised a happy ending for everyone involved, which makes it the perfect medicine for lockdown.