Movie Review: Jane Austen Book Club

When I heard about the premise of this movie, I thought it had major potential. After all, what wouldn't I like? I've read every book by Jane Austen, some twice; I own most of the cinematic reproductions of said books; I am a connoisseur of romantic comedies. In fact, if I come across a romantic comedy I especially like, it's filed away into an elite category known as the R.C. Deluxe.

But I'm sorry to say that the Jane Austen Book Club has no place among the likes of Love Actually, Bridget Jones Diary and You've Got Mail. And why? Because I was never emotionally invested in any of it. While I adore Elizabeth Bennet's fierce attitude in Pride and Prejudice and I empathize with Elinor Dashwood's selflessness in Sense and Sensibility, the members of the Jane Austen Book Club couldn't give me a reason to care about them. Because they weren't nuanced, and they stuck so closely to their shticks, they weren't worthy of my emotions.

As the movie unfolds, the book club forms, including Prudie (Emily Blunt), the prudish (yes, it's that prosaic) French teacher who is married to a meathead and is falling in love with one of her students; Jocelyn (Maria Bello) who breeds dogs and vows to never fall in love; her love interest Grigg (the dashing Hugh Dancy); the earth mother Bernadette (Kathy Baker); Sylvia (Amy Brenneman), who has just been dumped by her husband; and her daughter Allegra (Maggie Grace), the daredevil teenaged lesbian.

Each of these characters fits easily into his or her mold. Prudie wears turtlenecks, Bernadette makes flighty, flaky comments, and Allegra skydives out of airplanes. And in case the audience couldn't figure out just how stubborn Jocelyn is, or how smitten Grigg is, we are hit over the head with their feelings during the monthly book clubs. For example, as one might suspect, Sylvia identifies with Fanny Price from Mansfield Park because Price is such a loyal, caring individual. Could it be because her husband of 20 years just left her? This question is too easy for a high school freshman's English exam.

But the biggest downfall of the movie comes in the first 15 minutes when Sylvia's husband admits that he's seeing another woman and leaving her. As I watched Sylvia's stunned reaction, her contorted face, I wanted to feel for her. I kept thinking about Love Actually when Emma Thompson finds out that her husband may have cheated on her. Joni Mitchell starts to play in the background as the audience is treated to an intimate moment in which Thompson convinces herself, for the sake of her children, that she can't cry, that she has to suffer in silence. During that movie, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

But I guess that's what makes Love Actually an R.C. Deluxe and what makes The Jane Austen Book Club just a waste of eight dollars.










Grigg tries to work his magic on the stubborn dog trainer