The return of Mr Darcy

Indian Express

2 days ago

It is a truth generationally acknowledged that Jane Austen remains one of literature's most enduring influencers. As things go, most people are fools in love. And so, the idea of vicariously participating in other people's romantic misadventures through her work — if only to gauge one's own missteps — holds a timeless appeal. Perhaps that is what explains the periodic resurgence of her classic Pride and Prejudice on screen: It is set to be repackaged as a Netflix series. In the meantime, the writer's 250th birth anniversary is being marked by a nostalgia-laden return to theatres of the 2005 adaptation featuring Keira Knightley.
Austen's staying power, however, runs deeper than costume drama and clever repartee. Her genius lies in dissecting how people perform identity — through class, courtship, marriage and conversation — and how frequently they misjudge one another in the process. The charming narcissist, the ambitious social climber, the well-meaning sibling who cannot keep a secret, the distant father, remain familiar tropes. If anything, in a modern retelling, Lizzie Bennet might host a podcast on dating red flags, and unpack her romantic patterns in therapy. Austen's world is specific, but her insights remain universal, which is why her stories keep finding new forms, and new audiences.
Still, the proliferation of adaptations does invite scepticism. At a time when new voices struggle to break through, the constant tilling of old soil can feel like creative fatigue masquerading as homage. Does the industry's fixation on Austen reflect a reluctance to move beyond the literary canon or are her themes — pride, perception, emotional cluelessness — simply more resonant than ever? After all, whether in bonnets or bustiers, misreading the room is as much hardwired into modern DNA as it was in the 19th century. Two centuries on, Austen still sees young people — and yes, she's still smirking.