The Dashwood sisters give this sober romance its warmth, and the central performances make it worth an evening. Uneven courtships and a shortage of humour keep it from being quite as engaging as it should be.
Georgia Oakley’s Sense and Sensibility works best when it concentrates on the Dashwood sisters. This is a good, sometimes over-solemn romance, worth seeing for Daisy Edgar-Jones and Esmé Creed-Miles. The affection between Elinor Dashwood and Marianne Dashwood feels convincing enough to hold our attention even when the courtships do not. Making that closeness central gives the adaptation a clear purpose, though it need not have been quite so sparing with the jokes.
Daisy Edgar-Jones gives Elinor Dashwood a restraint that does not make her seem unfeeling, while Esmé Creed-Miles allows Marianne Dashwood’s passions to be inconvenient as well as appealing. Neither performance needs the other sister to look foolish in order to make sense. We were moved by their tenderness towards each other; the difference in their temperaments never makes them seem like strangers sharing a surname. Esmé Creed-Miles is particularly good at making an excess of feeling seem entirely reasonable to the person experiencing it.
The men are a less even collection. George MacKay brings a gentleness to Edward Ferrars that suits Daisy Edgar-Jones, and their rapport makes a quieter attraction persuasive. Frank Dillane finds humour in John Willoughby, providing welcome company in a film that can be rather determined to remain serious. Herbert Nordrum’s Colonel Brandon is less convincing: the reserve feels awkward, and we struggle to find much warmth behind it. That unevenness matters when a romance asks us to care about several attachments.
Fiona Shaw’s Mrs. Jennings helps with the shortage of amusement. She brings welcome liveliness, and her presence makes the prevailing solemnity seem more like a choice than a necessity. Diana Reid’s screenplay is earnest about the sisters’ feelings, but less effective at finding comedy in the people around them. A little more social mischief would have helped, particularly when the romantic relationships are not compelling enough to carry our attention on their own.
Arnaud Potier’s cinematography gives the period setting a muted, unshowy appearance, supported by Francesca Di Mottola’s production design. The surroundings feel inhabited rather than arranged solely for us to admire them, which helps the performances. The compositions are carefully considered, although the grey tones can become monotonous and make different emotions look much the same. There is pleasure in this less decorative approach to period romance, but the pictures sometimes insist on melancholy more firmly than the performances require.
At 132 minutes, the film occasionally feels longer than its material demands. The pace of Izabella Curry’s edit sometimes seems too cautious for Esmé Creed-Miles, whose energy suggests a livelier film. Roger Goula Sarda’s music cannot quite make the less convincing courtships matter, although the difficulty is chiefly in the characterisation and casting. The sisters remain engaging enough to keep the slower passages from becoming a serious obstacle.
A period romance can accommodate awkwardness, desire and a sense of humour without sacrificing tenderness. Georgia Oakley handles the tenderness most securely, particularly between the two women whose affection makes the romantic disappointments worth caring about. Their differences give the film more interest than its consistently sober manner suggests. Give it an evening if the bond between sisters interests you as much as the question of who marries whom.