Jane Austen‘s stories have endured for more than two centuries, their romantic misunderstandings, rigid social expectations and quietly devastating heartbreaks proving remarkably timeless. It’s little wonder filmmakers continue to revisit her work, even when the challenge of bringing something new to such familiar material becomes increasingly difficult. With Sense and Sensibility, director Georgia Oakley isn’t necessarily looking to reinvent the story, but rather remind audiences why it continues to resonate. The result is a handsomely crafted, emotionally engaging adaptation that finds its greatest strength not in the pursuit of romance, but in the bond between two very different sisters.
Following her acclaimed debut Blue Jean, Oakley turns her attention to Austen’s 1811 novel, with Daisy Edgar-Jones and Esmé Creed-Miles stepping into the respective roles of Elinor and Marianne Dashwood. Following their father’s death, the sisters, alongside their mother (Caitríona Balfe) and younger sibling Margaret (Bodhi Rae Breathnach), find themselves displaced from their comfortable family estate when their inheritance proves considerably less generous than anticipated. Forced to adjust to a more modest existence, the women must navigate a society in which financial security and romantic prospects are frustratingly intertwined.
It’s familiar territory, particularly for anyone acquainted with Ang Lee’s beloved 1995 adaptation, and Oakley, working from Diana Reid‘s screenplay, largely adheres to the established narrative. What distinguishes this interpretation, however, is its willingness to embrace the emotional messiness beneath Austen’s carefully observed social conventions.
Creed-Miles is particularly impressive as Marianne, a young woman whose romantic idealism extends to almost every aspect of her existence. She’s impulsive, passionate and wonderfully untamed, seemingly more comfortable embracing the elements than adhering to the expectations of polite society. There’s an appealing physicality to Creed-Miles’s performance, her Marianne practically bursting with feelings she has neither the desire nor the ability to suppress. It’s a striking contrast to Edgar-Jones’s more measured Elinor, whose composed exterior frequently disguises an equally complicated emotional life.
Edgar-Jones brings a lovely understated quality to the role, allowing moments of vulnerability to emerge without compromising Elinor’s inherent restraint. More importantly, the chemistry between the two actresses feels entirely authentic. Their disagreements carry the familiarity of siblings who know precisely how to frustrate one another, while their affection provides the film with its most affecting moments. Though romantic entanglements drive much of the narrative, it’s the relationship between Elinor and Marianne that ultimately gives the story its heart.
The supporting cast similarly understands the assignment. George MacKay lends a gentle awkwardness to Edward Ferrars, while Frank Dillane‘s Willoughby possesses an appropriately roguish quality, even if the film perhaps reveals too much of his questionable nature before allowing audiences to be completely swept up in his charms. Herbert Nordrum‘s Colonel Brandon, meanwhile, is afforded considerably less attention, leaving his romantic trajectory feeling somewhat underdeveloped.
It’s Fiona Shaw, however, who threatens to steal the entire picture as the gloriously outspoken Mrs. Jennings. Bringing an infectious comic energy to proceedings, Shaw delights in the character’s complete lack of subtlety, providing welcome levity whenever the romantic complications threaten to become overwhelming. Balfe also makes a warm impression as the Dashwood matriarch, balancing maternal concern with an endearing sense of flustered uncertainty.
Visually, Oakley’s film is suitably sumptuous without feeling overly polished. There’s a natural, lived-in quality to the landscapes and interiors, with the earthy cinematography and windswept countryside complementing Marianne’s restless temperament. The production design captures the beauty of the period while never entirely allowing us to forget the restrictive society operating beneath its picturesque exterior.
If there’s a frustration, it’s that Sense and Sensibility rarely ventures far enough from the familiar to fully justify another adaptation. Certain secondary characters and relationships feel hurried, while some of the narrative’s more interesting tensions are introduced without being explored as deeply as they could be. At over two hours, the film occasionally feels caught between wanting to honour every significant story beat and finding the space to establish its own identity.
And yet, there’s something undeniably appealing about the sincerity with which Oakley approaches the material. Rather than attempting to modernise Austen through unnecessary revisionism, she trusts the emotional intelligence of the original story, allowing its observations about love, class, independence and the sacrifices expected of women to speak for themselves.
A beautifully performed and warmly affecting adaptation, Sense and Sensibility may not dramatically alter our understanding of Austen’s classic, but it finds enough freshness in its central performances to make the journey worthwhile. With Edgar-Jones and Creed-Miles providing a compelling emotional centre, and Shaw supplying a deliciously entertaining supporting turn, this is a familiar romance that understands its most enduring love story has always been the one between its sisters.
THREE AND A HALF STARS (OUT OF FIVE)
Sense and Sensibility is now screening in Australian theatres.
