There have already been several film adaptations of Louisa May Alcott’s beloved 1868 novel Little Women, and why not? After all, who ever gets tired of Jo burning off Meg’s hair? But the latest, from Greta Gerwig, is so clever and spirited and vigorous and engaging it knocks all the others into a cocked hat. This version is, I had read, Little Women for ‘a new generation’ but just so we’re clear, the ‘old generation’ like it perfectly fine. They love it, in fact. There’s life in us yet. Sometimes.
This has a stellar cast and stars practically everyone: Saoirse Ronan (Jo), Emma Watson (Meg), Florence Pugh (Amy), Eliza Scanlen (Beth; oh God, Beth), Laura Dern (Maaaarmeeeeeeee) and Meryl Streep as a wonderfully scene-stealing Aunt March. It doesn’t begin like the book, or the other adaptations, with Jo grumbling: ‘Christmas won’t be Christmas without presents.’ Instead it starts midway through, with Jo in New York trying to sell her stories to a gruff, mutton-chopped publisher (Tracy Letts, ffs), who informs her, tellingly: ‘If the main character is a girl make her married by the end. Or dead.’ The narrative then criss-crosses back and forth through time in a way that also incorporates the life and dilemmas of Alcott herself. Quite how this is accomplished is too lengthy to explain here. All you need know is that it properly works.
Little Women was not, I should say, my favourite book growing up. That was The Incredible Journey or maybe Old Yeller. (Oh God, Old Yeller.) But it must have stuck as the March sisters all came flooding back. There’s Meg, who is mild and sensible and the least remarkable (Watson’s performance is the least remarkable, so that is fitting) and Jo, who is boyish and loud and literary, and Amy, who is selfish and a bit of a bitch, and Beth… can we just agree to never mention Beth again? Thanks.
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