Georgia Oakley

Sense and Sensibility

25/09/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

If there’s a Jane Austen adaptation available, of course I’m going to see it. The advance press hasn’t been too kind to this latest version, scripted by Diana Reid and directed by Georgia Oakley, but that doesn’t deter me. Am I expecting to love it as much as I do the book? Of course not. Do I think it’ll measure up to Ang Lee and Emma Thompson’s superb Oscar-winner? Again, no. But it’s thirty-one years (THIRTY-ONE YEARS!) since Thompson and Kate Winslet represented the titular traits so it seems reasonable to revisit Austen’s first-published novel and open it up to a whole new audience.

Daisy Edgar-Jones and Esmé Creed-Miles are credible as the older Dashwood sisters, Elinor and Marianne, whose fortunes have taken a sudden tumble following their father’s death. Their half brother, John (Tom Brooke), has inherited Norland Park and, egged on by his ghastly wife, Fanny (Stacy Martin), not only declines to offer his stepmother (Caitríona Balfe) any money but also wastes no time in turfing his three sisters out of the only home they’ve ever known. Thirteen-year-old Margaret (Bodhi Rae Breathnach) is distraught.

Enter kind-hearted distant relative, Mrs Jennings (the ever-fabulous Fiona Shaw), whose son-in-law, Sir John Middleton (Turlough Convery), just happens to have a spare cottage on his Devonshire estate. It’s a bit of a comedown for the Dashwoods but they’re grateful to have somewhere to go, not to mention relieved to escape from Fanny’s mean-spirited carping. All would be well – if it weren’t for Elinor’s unspoken attachment to Fanny’s brother, Edward (George MacKay). Devonshire is an awfully long way away from Sussex…

Still, they soon settle down in Barton Cottage, enjoying the beaches and beautiful countryside and befriending the taciturn Colonel Brandon (Herbert Nordrum). And when Marianne falls (quite literally) for the charming, raffish Willoughby (Frank Dillane), it seems her future, at least, is secured.

Except, sadly, it’s not.

The three sisters are well-cast, and I like the easy, naturalistic way they speak to one another in private. They’re tactile, which cements the realistic nature of their relationship, and their mutual care is palpable. Elinor’s sense (rationality) and Marianne’s sensibility (emotionality) are heightened, the juxtaposition between the two brought into sharp focus. Arguably this is a tad overdone but I don’t really mind.

Reid’s script foregrounds the perilous position of unmarried women in the Regency period, so that we can clearly see what’s at stake for Elinor and Marianne – and how much Elinor is prepared to give up for her principles. I love the party scenes: the dancing is far less mannered and restrained than we’re used to seeing in period drama; instead it’s wild and unfettered, an escape valve for all the lust and passion the characters are forced to repress. I also love the the atmospheric soundtrack by Roger Goula, which draws upon traditional English folk music.

Less successful are the numerous outside scenes. Austen’s interiority is integral to her books, reinforcing the constrained nature of her heroines’ lives. Although the cinematography (shot in 35mm by Arnaud Potier) is undeniably gorgeous, the emphasis on vast woodlands and open vistas belies that somewhat, suggesting an almost Brontë-like connection with the wider, natural world.

In addition, some of the minor characters are criminally underused, most notably Eliot Sumner’s Mr Palmer and Chloe Pirrie’s Lady Middleton. These two intriguing personalities are nicely set up and then given nowhere to go. And don’t speak to me about the barely-contextualised duel, which appears out of nowhere and jars horribly with the rest of the film.

Overall, however, I quite enjoy this iteration of Sense and Sensibility. It’s lively and engaging and successfully embodies the heart of Austen’s novel.

Whatever your persuasion, try to bypass any prejudice. You know it makes sense to see this film.

Sorry (not sorry).

3.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Blue Jean

14/02/23

Cineworld, Edinburgh

It’s hard to remember sometimes, from our current vantage point, just how deeply ingrained homophobia was in 1980s Britain. Writer/director Georgia Oakley’s debut film takes us back to 1988, and the implementation of Margaret Thatcher’s controversial Clause 28, which explicitly banned schools and local authorities from ‘promoting’ homosexuality. I was in sixth form then, and I mostly remember finding it ridiculous – as if, without the clause, there would be advertisements everywhere. “Come on, kids! Be gay! It’s great!” But I only had the luxury of dismissing it as stupid because I was straight. I don’t know how it made the gay kids feel. I didn’t know anyone who said they were gay back then (although, of course, many have come out since). I don’t blame them for keeping schtum. I don’t remember the schoolyard as a place that celebrated difference.

Jean (Rosy McEwen) is a PE teacher. She’s also a lesbian, recently divorced from her husband, and enjoying a new relationship with Viv (Kerrie Hayes). But while Viv is at ease with herself – out and proud and politically engaged – Jean is less confident about her sexual identity. She’s still keen to fit in with the heteronormative world; she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself, either at school or with her family. It’s a matter of survival: however shocking it may seem, she’s right to fear her that job is on the line. She manages by drawing a clear distinction between work and home: she lives in a different town from the one she teaches in, and refuses drinks invitations from her colleagues. Her social life revolves around a gay club and a lesbian commune, and here she’s free to be herself.

Until fifteen-year-old Lois (Lucy Halliday) shows up in the club. She’s belligerent and bold – and she’s also Jean’s student. Suddenly, Jean’s worlds collide. Her carefully segregated life is under threat, and she’s torn between fight or flight.

Oakley’s script gives us a clear insight into the era, and into the overt discrimination that permeated popular culture. McEwen shows us a young woman forced into a choice she doesn’t want to make: she has to be a hero or a failure; she can’t just be; the government’s weird preoccupation with consenting adults’ sex lives has a profound impact on real people. Hayes is heartbreaking as Viv, whose clear-eyed view never dulls her pain, and newcomer Halliday is mesmerising on the screen.

Clause 28 was finally repealed in 2003, and things have certainly improved – although, of course, there’s still a way to go. Blue Jean serves as an important reminder of why we can’t ever relax our vigilance, and why we mustn’t let things slide. People’s lives and happiness depend on it.

4 stars

Susan Singfield