But! Now I remember what I was going to complain about!

I tuned into Masterpiece Theater's much-advertised "complete" run of Jane Austen adaptations this past Sunday. Part of me was exited (Persuasion! Possibly my favorite of her novels!) and part of me was wary (I once walked out of a theater showing an adaptation of this same novel wherein our heroine was shipped off to her sister's house on the back of a farm cart) but all of me was happy at the idea of successive Sundays of Austen in front of me. (And! Persuasion! I've never send a really good adaptation of it, but hope springs eternal.)

At one point in the production, the heroine took a header while fording a fence. That was the movie's second biggest pratfall, because by that time the entire production had already gone head-over-heels into a steaming pile of miserable failure. The adaptation was short, 90 minutes, but that was a clear 89-1/2 minutes too long.

Anthony Stewart Head turned the petulant, spoiled, irresponsible father into a passionate tower of anger, entirely ruining the contrast between that character and Hero Wentworth.

Sally Hawkins turned Anne Elliott from a modest, but principled young lady into a schizophrenic--half doormat, half ill-bred hoyden (I mean, who's idea was it to have her chasing Wentworth through the rooms and streets of Bath?) with the worst dress sense I've seen in a character since Tara on BtVS.

Rupert Penry-Jones tried, with commendable energy, to bring passion to the mix with an admirable portrayal of Wentworth but with Hawkins all-but diving behind doors to prove how shy and unworthy she was, he was unable to force the production to life.

In fact, all that was really proved was that Anne had been right to break up with him and that he was a fool for continuing to pine after such a wimpy dishrag.

Mrs Clay was a nonentity, Louisa and Henrietta were indistinguishable for 90% of their screen time, at least one major speech was included but moved to a time and place in the plot that robbed it of 98% of its purpose, and, all-in-all, the main thought in my head today is, "that was 90 minutes of my life I'll never get back again."

In retrospect, I blame the director. (Surely whoever wrote the adaptation didn't take such liberties with the mores and morals of the times?) I don't know who it was, possibly someone more comfortable with cops-and-robbers scenarios than the subtle prose of Austen. Someone for whom a movie is not complete without a big chase scene--which would explain Anne's final, frantic foot-dash through the streets of Bath, fortuitously meeting up with various characters offering valuable (if late) exposition along the way.

We will pass, with averted eyes, past the grotesque memory of that painfully forced and highly inappropriate public kiss and the gratuitous new ending scene with the happy couple waltzing on the front lawn of their new home.

In closing, we will say that I've seen a lot of bad adaptations of Persuasion and I'm happy to say today that last place now has an entirely new occupant.

I did a quick Google and find myself wishing we'd been giving the opportunity to see this adaptation instead of the drab travesty that was aired.