​Why is it that the British get tv shows and indies right where Americans consistently fail? Is it because the  culture of oversized and overdumbeddown can’t do subtlety right? Bet that’s at least some of it. Because time after time I watch really enjoyable, quietly appealing treasures made by BBC and co. with regular people doing regular (or sometimes irregular) things and it nearly always works in an infinitely superior manner to its American very distant cousins.
Take one of my favorites, The Detectorists, as quiet as a show gets, about two male friends who bond over treasure detecting in English countryside. Odd looking couple of Toby Jones and Mackenzie Crook, mismatched in age as much as appearance, but matched by their mismatch much as by their odd passion. They got three (albeit BBC length…meaning short) seasons out of it, all strangely compelling, quietly charming and somehow (despite having never detectored a single thing) relatable.
Now there’s Truth Seekers, from the geeked out mind of Simon Pegg and his well rounded bestie. The well rounded bestie being the star of the show here, the plot revolves around a cable network installer obsessed with paranormal, whose latest partner inadvertently makes his life way more exciting and ghostladen than he ever might have hoped for. Again, not the sort of show Americans might go for, no lookers in the cast, no flash, no pizazz/cheap thrills, no laugh tracks, it isn’t even geared for laughtracks, the jokes here are way too subtle for that, mostly (minus maybe the urine drinking). But it works so well. The subtlety adds a strangely realistic dimension to otherwise very much out there proceedings. Plus as the show progresses, the grander conspiracy is unveiled and it’s pretty awesome. Short and sweet, it leaves you wanting more, just as it ought to, and theorizing on the goings on, much as it should. I’ve a theory, two actually…do you?
And to continue with supernatural and British, check out Extra Ordinary…the title that ought to be one word, a story different enough to command its own grammar. A retired paranormal investigator turned driving instructor is reluctantly dragged back into ghost busting when a handsome, if bedraggled, single dad begs her to help him deal with the belligerent ghost of his long dead wife. Barry Ward is doing most of the comedic heavy lifting here with striking aplomb, from gross gags to mimicry, all so good. And there’s Will Forte to take care of the rest in a hilariously disturbing toupee covered turn as a has been pop star who sells his soul to the devil. The entire thing is funny because its realistically awkward and low key, although it features surprisingly good special effects for the presumably restrained budget.
Or take the perfectly natural Sometimes, Always, Never…a quiet exploration of grief, a son and brother disappeared and a son and father left behind. Bill Nighy in all his sartorial splendor (the man actually plays a tailor here) and Sam Riley are the ones left in the aftermath and this is a story of them dealing with a closure free situation of having a loved one walk away and never return. Great quiet drama, much like quality tailoring…understated, minimal, great use of color.
So there you go, my incomplete ode to subtlety of BBC, long may it live and prosper, and all the things they do right.
The best they can do across the pond in that respect are mostly mumbling along, propagated by my beloved Duplass brothers. It isn’t the same and at times not even close, but it is a welcome alternative to the loud unoriginal dumb brashness or quaintness of the typical American cinema. Still waiting for someone to make that great again. But then again…maybe it’s best to leave it well enough alone.

​Victorians may have been a bunch of pervs, but they did it with panache. Kind of like British people who can say all sorts of sh*tty things in their awesome accents and get away with it. Mind you I’m not judging the Victorians, I actually believe that it is very dangerous to judge people outside of the historical context of their times, though it seems to be terribly popular these days, when suddenly everyone developed an overactive morality and unleashed it on their predecessors with alarming gusto. Oh how those who live in glass accommodations love to throw things.
Anyway, this apparent digression is to say that a movie about a young woman being essentially groomed through moral lessons by a man 16 years her senior into marriage is still perceived as romantic in this day and age somehow, so #MeToo to you too. And yes, we are talking about Emma, the latest in a series of profoundly unnecessary and inferior remakes the powers that be unleashed in 2020.
Emma is handsome, clever and comes from money. That much we know and the movie poster tells us. She’s also a relentless meddler who inexplicably (or maybe explicably because we are told she is clever) thinks she knows something about life, love or marriage and so she meddles in lives of those around her and they endure, because (presumably) she is so charming. And the thing is, yes, Emma is meant to be charming, that’s kind of the entire thing…otherwise she’d be a tedious brat. The 1996 version got it perfectly and didn’t even need a British actress to do it. The 2020 version went with Anya Taylor Joy and what a joyless selection that turned out to be. Sure, her cut glass accent is perfect and her youth is suitable, but her resting bitch face (and I’m sorry to talk that way about a young person, but there’s just no other way to explain it) is just so freaking offputing that at best she looks like the meanest girl in high school. That isn’t just the case with Emma, that’s literally her in every movie. Just a sort of mean glare and a snobbish demeanor.
The rest of the cast is a veritable who’s who of British young and weird looking. Now you’re thinking…this review is too much about superficial attractiveness. It isn’t meant to be, it’s just an observation. The cast are goofy (in a very specifically British way) looking young actors plus a peculiarly blonde Johnny Flynn’s Mr. Knightley, who just looks like a musician which he is, and shows his butt in the movie for no apparent reason whatsoever. I can’t speak to his and Emma’s chemistry, that’s something normally difficult for me to discern. Suffice it to say, it might be there, because Emma sneers less when he’s around…though pouts more. There’s also Bill Nighy bemusedly walking around as his dapper self, apparently just for a paycheck and a perfectly wasted Gemma Whelan as the former governess.
The direction is fine, considering, which is to say you got gorgeous scenery and a terrific source material, so it would actually take work to screw it up. Terrific source material meaning Jane Austen’s writing is ever so clever and funny and fun, albeit profoundly vapid since it mainly and almost exclusively obsesses with romantic prospects. Emma, for all her handsome cleverness, is only ever meant to marry Mr. Knightley. Who has apparently known her since when exactly? Ewww? Not nearly as creepy as Victorians who formed obsessions with young girls who didn’t grow up to marry them. Sure. Then again that gave us one of the greatest children’s stories of all time. Anyway…
It would all be perfectly well in service of a story had it been charming. Kind of like the things Emma says and does and gets away with on her presupposed charm. But the thing is Emma 2020 lacks the prerequisite charm, glow and ebullience. Taylor Joy acts like…well, like a model she originally was before turning to movies. Cosmetically pretty, looks good in clothes and all the concomitant warmth of a mannequin. And the movie lacks charm too. Especially, strikingly, obvious by comparison to the infinitely superior 1996 version. There is no conceivable reason to remake a movie like Emma, it’s classically set so it doesn’t age. And yet…and yet...
The thing is, even Clueless once upon a time understood the source material enough to make it fun. But not this one.
​Avoid if possible. This Emma Woodhouse is much too wooden for the vivaciousness of Austen’s book.