Was Mia Wasikowska any good in your opinion?

Cheer up kid, if your views are unpopular with one poster-so what ? Keep posting , it keeps me entertained.
I have been shot down once or twice ,but I don't give a flying f--k.I just bang on in when I feel like it.
Some posters, male and female get the hump if you happen to disagree with their opinions, I thought the idea of these boards is to discuss , to agree or disagree.
Banging on about Jane Eyre is hardly like discussing global warming , nor as important.
If a poster disagreed with my opinion I would not expect to get verbally abused, there is no mileage in it.
Dare I mention Mia Wassername? I knew nothing of her before JE11, so I have no axe to grind. My opinion of her Jane Eyre: not a lot. And did you notice that she was forever swallowing as though she had something stuck in her throat.


Who's your fat friend?

My encouragement may not be the one you value (at least as of now) but I agree with the view that if you want to keep posting here, there's no reason to stop, no matter if someone disagrees with you or not - and I'm definitely including myself in that statement. So what. I couldn't disagree with you more when it comes to Mia Wasikowska (I've probably made that pretty clear) but I do respect the fact that you have a different opinion, the key word is "respect", at least for me. The appreciation of art can sometimes seem like a blood sport (I agree, though, it's not akin to global climate change) but even in boxing there are rules of engagement - so we take our lumps, but don't take it personally. At least that's how I feel about it. There's no reason to leave any thread as far as I'm concerned. That doesn't mean we won't tangle again, but I don't consider you "intellectually deficient" for not liking the 2011 Jane Eyre - I just wonder where the level of spleen comes from. But you'll do whatever you choose.

Dear Alfa,

I am aware this is not the Mad.Bov. board, but things seem to have become somewhat entwined.
The mood got soured elsewhere.
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I always seem to be messaging from a state of ignorance, I have never read MB, but I will be watching a film adaptation this evening.
Poking into the MB board I was amazed at the vitriolic nature of some of the postings.

"Bugger me" as our friend Oscar would say, where has all the humour drifted off to?
Dear Alfa I can see why you are p....d off and so would I be, I just don't understand why a simple dislike of a particular actor/actress can stoke up so much ill-humour .

At home I have 9 adaptations of JE, including a dreadful one made in 1934.In 1964 when none of you young things were not even thought of, I was watching the, IMO,best ever version , 4 part mini-series in glorious black and white, with Richard Leech as Rochy and Ann Bell as our eponymous heroine.I first read the book 50 years ago at 18 years old. This does not make me as expert on JE but I do think I have earned the right to have an opinion or two.

And they are here:
Mia had a hard act to follow, and she failed dismally.She didn't get Jane's charactor at all, she obviously didn't take the trouble to read the book [smacks of Ciaran Hinds]'
The photography was superb, shooting in the natural light a brilliant idea.
I have been to Haddon Hall 3/4 times ,once quite recently, so I do know what I am talking about. If you want to see some decent photos I took go into Pat Marshall on Face Book.
I like Fassbender,even only because rumour has it, he is well stocked in the nether regions, although this was not evident from the film. Even the skin tight white strides didn't reveal anything out of the ordinary, so, yes, it may be only rumour.
The final scene, a total cop-out

All above just my opinion.
Lets keep all in prospective, there's a lot of good stuff to look forward to in December and then 2014. The Hobbit part 2 in Dec. and Mad Bov in 2014.Wacko!!

I am truly looking forward to watching Bovary, handbags at 30 paces.
Alfa, don't let the bores [which they are] get you down.

Before I depart this board, I watched , for the second time David Griffiths' Birth of a Nation", now THAT is controversial!!

Happy watching and posting my friends.
Pat

















Who's your fat friend?

"...will not submit to what she knows is not right..."

Yes, spookyrat, I understood what you meant. And your above quote from the Todd McCarthy review is an important one re our Jane. She has a strong sense of justice - a sweet soul, but a spine of steel. I like this bit from the review, too.

"Crucially, the scenes of Jane and Rochester getting to know each other, with her becoming captivated by his powerful personality and with him increasingly appreciating her ability to cope with his quicksilver intellect and diabolical mood swings, are among the film's best, well establishing a strong link between them."

They are in kind of a spiritual, emotional and intellectual dance, but it's almost a form of therapy, too, for Rochester. Very interesting. To me the light of the fireplace is a visual theme used throughout the film, including the title and credits, which are also illuminated by the same fire's glow. As with the book, I feel this reflects a theme of coming to love, to enlightenment. Not to get TOO symbolic on ya.

Certainly, spookyrat.

When you read the book, you will see the agony that Jane goes through - both during her parting scene with Rochester and, later, on the road. She is fleeing temptation as much as anything else. Her thoughts of self-recrimination as she contemplates what will now happen to Rochester is heart breaking:


A mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary direction to Millcote; a road I had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led: thither I bent my steps. No reflection was to be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. Not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. The first was a page so heavenly sweet-- so deadly sad--that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. The last was an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by.

I skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. I believe it was a lovely summer morning: I know my shoes, which I had put on when I left the house, were soon wet with dew. But I looked neither to rising sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. He who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and I thought of drear flight and homeless wandering--and oh! with agony I thought of what I left. I could not help it. I thought of him now--in his room--watching the sunrise; hoping I should soon come to say I would stay with him and be his. I longed to be his; I panted to return: it was not too late; I could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. As yet my flight, I was sure, was undiscovered. I could go back and be his comforter--his pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. Oh, that fear of his self-abandonment--far worse than my abandonment--how it goaded me! It was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when I tried to extract it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. Birds began singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems of love. What was I? In the midst of my pain of heart and frantic effort of principle, I abhorred myself. I had no solace from self- approbation: none even from self-respect. I had injured--wounded-- left my master. I was hateful in my own eyes. Still I could not turn, nor retrace one step. God must have led me on. As to my own will or conscience, impassioned grief had trampled one and stifled the other. I was weeping wildly as I walked along my solitary way: fast, fast I went like one delirious. A weakness, beginning inwardly, extending to the limbs, seized me, and I fell: I lay on the ground some minutes, pressing my face to the wet turf. I had some fear--or hope--that here I should die: but I was soon up; crawling forwards on my hands and knees, and then again raised to my feet--as eager and as determined as ever to reach the road.

....Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agonised as in that hour left my lips; for never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love.






Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain.