Catherine: The Day After
Not too much fussing in the press after NA07. While AustenBlog visitors seem mostly pleased with it, the newspaper writers are not as impressed.
The Times didn’t hate it, but thinks they missed the point.
Some say that Jane Austen cannot be trusted in Davies’s hands, that her two inches of ivory (as she described her canvas) get crushed in his ape-like mitts. This underestimates the robustness of masterpieces and misjudges Austen, who wielded a pen so sharp that it could hit Davies where it hurt.
[. . .]
Davies was not wrong to source her wanton imagination in a wannabe libido. He overegged it, of course, because he is Andrew Davies. While we never exactly see her reading one-handed, there is no doubting why she is so annoyed when her sisters interrupt her alone with a book in the long grass.
Oh dear Jane. Poor, dear, sweet, naïve Catherine. What has been done to you?
His horror sequences were flat, however, and Northanger Abbey, which should be up there with the Addams Family mansion, looked no more sordid than some Holiday Inns that I’ve visited.
Um…the Abbey wasn’t creepy at all. That was the point.
An abbey! — yes, it was delightful to be really in an abbey! — but she doubted, as she looked round the room, whether anything within her observation would have given her the consciousness. The furniture was in all the profusion and elegance of modern taste. The fire-place, where she had expected the ample width and ponderous carving of former times, was contracted to a Rumford, with slabs of plain though handsome marble, and ornaments over it of the prettiest English china. The windows, to which she looked with peculiar dependence, from having heard the general talk of his preserving them in their Gothic form with reverential care, were yet less what her fancy had portrayed. To be sure, the pointed arch was preserved — the form of them was Gothic — they might be even casements — but every pane was so large, so clear, so light! To an imagination which had hoped for the smallest divisions, and the heaviest stone-work, for painted glass, dirt, and cobwebs, the difference was very distressing.
See how that works? It’s a parody! Back to the article…
Davies, meanwhile, failed to get over Austen’s real point, that the complications and pitfalls of the class structure in Bath were far more horrifying and unknowable than potboiler gothic. Austen’s first novel was a horror story, you see. But dammit, this was a free and easy adaptation. On a cold spring weekend, it made you believe the sap might yet again rise.
*coughnotherfirstnovelcough*
For perverts who, instead, get their rocks off on ideas, BBC Two played against Northanger Abbey the last part of Adam Curtis’s weirdly brilliant documentary trilogy, The Trap: What Happened to Our Dream of Freedom .
It’s a shame that a Jane Austen adaptation is not considered attractive to “perverts who…get their rocks off on ideas.” What a picture of intellectual poverty!
Oh well, moving on. The Telegraph also passes on some rather lukewarm praise for the film.
Indeed, for anybody heretical enough to be suffering from Austen-fatigue, the real life here was perhaps a little too prosaic – or at least predictable. Certainly, as Unsuitable Suitors go, John Thorpe wasn’t a very good one, and didn’t fool either Catherine or us for a minute. As a result, although the early scenes and some of the subplots were always engaging, the main storyline increasingly began to drag as we followed Catherine and Mr Tilney through their obligatory misunderstandings to their inevitable reconciliation.
The proposal of marriage at the end was definitely stirring. Even so, I must confess that for my money it didn’t come a moment too soon. Last night’s Northanger Abbey was a perfectly acceptable costume drama – but not one than ever really caught fire.
Hmm…the hilarity of John Thorpe as a possible lover for Catherine doesn’t seem to come across. It certainly does in the book. He’s one of Jane Austen’s funniest characters.
We wonder…can we Janeites be quite so desperate for a “good” movie of NA that we’ll grasp whatever we’re given with both hands and thank ITV for it without examining it too closely? Hmm. Meanwhile, we’ve always got Da Man.
“But you never read novels, I dare say?”
“Why not?”
“Because they are not clever enough for you — gentlemen read better books.”
“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid. I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe’s works, and most of them with great pleasure. The Mysteries of Udolpho, when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again; — I remember finishing it in two days — my hair standing on end the whole time.”
“Yes,” added Miss Tilney, “and I remember that you undertook to read it aloud to me, and that when I was called away for only five minutes to answer a note, instead of waiting for me, you took the volume into the Hermitage-walk, and I was obliged to stay till you had finished it.”
“Thank you, Eleanor; — a most honourable testimony. You see, Miss Morland, the injustice of your suspicions. Here was I, in my eagerness to get on, refusing to wait only five minutes for my sister, breaking the promise I had made of reading it aloud, and keeping her in suspense at a most interesting part, by running away with the volume, which, you are to observe, was her own, particularly her own. I am proud when I reflect on it, and I think it must establish me in your good opinion.”
“I am very glad to hear it indeed, and now I shall never be ashamed of liking Udolpho myself. But I really thought before, young men despised novels amazingly.”
“It is amazingly; it may well suggest amazement if they do — for they read nearly as many as women. I myself have read hundreds and hundreds. Do not imagine that you can cope with me in a knowledge of Julias and Louisas. If we proceed to particulars, and engage in the never-ceasing inquiry of ‘Have you read this?’ and ‘Have you read that?’ I shall soon leave you as far behind me as — what shall I say? — l want an appropriate simile. — as far as your friend Emily herself left poor Valancourt when she went with her aunt into Italy. Consider how many years I have had the start of you. I had entered on my studies at Oxford, while you were a good little girl working your sampler at home!”
“Not very good I am afraid. But now really, do not you think Udolpho the nicest book in the world?”
“The nicest; — by which I suppose you mean the neatest. That must depend upon the binding.”
“Henry,” said Miss Tilney, “you are very impertinent. Miss Morland, he is treating you exactly as he does his sister. He is forever finding fault with me, for some incorrectness of language, and now he is taking the same liberty with you. The word `nicest,’ as you used it, did not suit him; and you had better change it as soon as you can, or we shall be overpowered with Johnson and Blair all the rest of the way.”
“I am sure,” cried Catherine, “I did not mean to say any thing wrong; but it is a nice book, and why should not I call it so?”
“Very true,” said Henry, “and this is a very nice day, and we are taking a very nice walk, and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! it is a very nice word indeed! — It does for every thing. Originally perhaps it was applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or refinement; — people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised in that one word.”
“While, in fact,” cried his sister, “it ought only to be applied to you, without any commendation at all. You are more nice than wise.”
Yes, Henry is indeed the nicest hero of all. 
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Yes, I’m not sure most reviewers of this will realise, or possibly even know, that this is such a funny novel. One criticism I have of the the film probably (although on the whole I liked it) is that it didn’t really capture the humour.
I actually disagree with Catherine. I thought the humour of the novel was there. The interaction between Tilney and Catherine Morland was full of humour and chemistry.
I really enjoyed NA2 and not because I was “desperate” to like it.
Perhaps I was desperate, after the dismal let-down of the previous week’s Mansfield Park, but I found this adaptation at least more entertaining than irritating. Mansfield Park is so full of ideas—about class, about memory, about “improvement,” about morality and compromise—and none of those ideas made it to the screen. It seems like such a foolish and impossible undertaking, to translate an author like Jane Austen for the screen. So much of the sly and engaging voice is lost in the transfer to a visual medium. Ideas are so often replaced with images. Sometimes, a combination of a great actor (Emma Thompson) and a great filmmaker (Ang Lee) can create something that stands as a work of art on its own—but it’s still not the same as the book itself, for which there can be no substitute. The recent Northanger Abbey lit up a few pleasure receptors in my brain, which is perhaps all it was meant to do (it was, after all, on ITV); but now I’m re-reading “Emma,” and my entire brain is lighting up.
[Speaking of Catherine in the tall grass, has anyone read Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick's essay "Jane Austen and the Masturbating Girl"? It's listed in the bibliography in the latest Oxford World Classics edition of Northanger Abbey.]
Umm, ‘Catherine’s wanton imagination’ ? Alot of people remark, perhaps these fantasies weren’t exactly what Jane Austen had in mind- I found the tub scene frankly silly and contributed nothing to my understanding of NA. Catherine reading The Monk is more AD than Jane Austen. I am reluctant to justify a JA adaptation by saying more viewers will read Jane. Modern audiences are entitled to better… excellent JA adaptations (say, by filmmakers like Ang Lee and Emma Thompson) not only encourage people to read Austen but have an added benfit of allowing Jane’s readers to appreciate her novels on screen… Certainly, I don’t think NA2′s Catherine was as innocent or modest as Austen’s Catherine. General Tilney reminded me of a bear but I guess he’s bearlike in the novel. I thought the Allens were good, Isabella well played although her seduction not in charecter for a gold digger. Frederick Tilney was dull as ditchwater !
Oh Robert! The title of that essay makes me cringe enough that I don’t even want to read it. There are some words that should never be combined in the same sentence .. “Jane Austen” and “mastur_ _ _ _ _ _” are a good example. I’m sure the shock value will get the author a certain amount of press, after all, it got her into the Oxford Classics bibliography.
And for all you chilluns out there who are going “tut tut”, allow me to clarify that while I am “in my prime” (as Miss Jean Brodie proclaimed), I am not a spinster, prude, or puckered up ole Janeite with no sense of humor. I’ve marched, protested, done sit-ins, even burned a bra or two for freedom of speech and thought. But things like this make me sigh and wonder what the hell-o?
Robert, the article is about Marianne Dashwood and references medical texts of the time that affiliated self-gratification with too much sensibility, both being bad for you. I believe the premise was that Jane Austen, by making Marianne so sensibility-ridden that she nearly dies from it, is suggesting that she engages in self-gratification. (I think that’s right, someone correct me if I’m wrong.) Interesting that you bring it up in this context…that sort of damns poor Catherine, doesn’t it? And I don’t think Jane Austen meant to do that at all. Certainly she had some lessons to learn–all of Jane Austen’s heroines do, except perhaps Anne Elliot who had learned hers before the novel opens. Catherine was a bit silly over Udolpho (which is hardly “hot stuff”–Radcliffe wrote The Italian as a Bowdlerized version of The Monk, she didn’t exactly go in for that sort of thing) but she was not the type to expire from excessive sensibility.
Deb R., I read the essay today, although my eyes tend to glaze over when anyone mentions Foucault. In the early 1990s, the essay was often cited as evidence that academia had become completely degenerate. In what is for the most part an impenetrable academic style, leavened with cunning innuendo, it reveals Marianne Dashwood’s dirty little secret. I found some of it quite interesting, as far as I could understand it, but I certainly won’t “tut tut” you for your aversion to the idea.
Mags, Sedgwick has some interesting things to say about reading Jane Austen’s novels as narratives of “chastisement,” in which a girl has to be taught a lesson. It seems to me that Catherine’s Gothic fantasies could be seen as a form of mental self-gratification, and that many of Catherine’s real-life experiences are of deferred gratification—the walk to Beechen Cliff is deferred, her reading of the laundry lists is deferred, her getting together with Henry Tilney is deferred. Isabella, who balks at deferring her gratification (because James has to wait to receive his living), is the one who falls from grace.
Are you talking about the movie or the book? Because Catherine’s fantasies in the book are not of the heated variety–she just wants to go to a creepy old castle and have a look round for a black veil. In fact, Jane goes out of her way to point out that Catherine is not a victim of excessive sensibility–remember that when she first sees Henry with a pretty young lady on his arm, rather than assuming the young lady is Henry’s wife and falling into a swoon on Mrs. Allen’s bosom, Catherine immediately assumes she is the sister he spoke of. There seems to be confusion between Austen creating Catherine as a parody of a heroine and Catherine’s actual behavior, which is pretty normal until she goes to the Abbey.
I will also add, it’s a mighty boring heroine who doesn’t have something to learn in the course of a novel. Even Jane Austen said that Anne Elliot might be too perfect (I don’t agree, of course).
You’re right that, in the book, Catherine’s fantasies aren’t so heated. But I think the theme of deferred gratification and disappointed expectation is a major theme in the book. As you know, Vol. 2 of the book begins: “Catherine’s expectations of pleasure from her visit in Milsom-street were so very high, that disappointment was inevitable…” Andrew Davies took the basic recipe, added some sex and brigands, and brought the concoction to a boil. But, enough from me for now. I’m just making up for lost time with all my comments, since I only recently discovered this delightful blog.
“I’m just making up for lost time with all my comments, since I only recently discovered this delightful blog.”
We’re glad you found us – take all the time you need to catch up!
I think Catherine represented the *reader* of gothic novels in general, and their influence on the readers.
JA was parodying the intensity with which people took these books instead of just enjoying them and being light hearted about them, like Henry and Eleanor.
I see no reason or justification for making her all heated up. For goodness sakes, she was *not* reading ‘The Monk’. If she were, I could have given AD the benefit of the doubt.
But that would have distracted the whole idea of the novel JA wanted to write.
Surely JA could not have written about a novel like ‘The Monk’ in the tone she does. Parody it? Which part??
Udolpho has no such lurid scenes.
All this Monk reading has lead to a change in the whole plot.
JUST IMAGINE!!! It is John Thorpe who puts the idea in Catherine’s head about the ‘Mrs. Tilney’ murder.
That’s a total change of the plot!!!
“… rather than assuming the young lady is Henry’s wife and falling into a swoon on Mrs. Allen’s bosom, Catherine immediately assumes she is the sister he spoke of.” Thank you, Mags.
This was one of the numerous details that were either twisted or completely turned around in the adaptation. I found this one particularly offensive because it basically degrades the character of Catherine from what Jane Austen had intended her to be.
I am on my third watching of the DVD now, as I hope to be able to provide a review of it. And while I found it to be amusing at first, the more I see of the details, the less amused I become. Of course, this is all from the point of view of a Jane Austen fan. The rest of the world need not be as critical.
And while I found it to be amusing at first, the more I see of the details, the less amused I become.
So glad it’s not just me. I’m also planning to re-watch later tonight and draft a review.
I’ve only seen 3 of the 6-minute clips over on YouTube (the person who got me the MP disc forgot to get NA for me, so I’m watching it on YouTube instead), and so far it’s been entertaining. I got a kick of seeing Sylvestra Le Touzel as Mrs. Allen, and was looking forward to JJ Feild as Henry. My original thought had been that Carey Mulligan would be a great Catherine and, since I’ve just met her as Isabella, I’m a little disappointed. But I’m open-minded enough to give her a chance.
But, frankly, the one thing that’s really unnerved me after the first 18 minutes is the dream sequence that ends the first episode — Catherine is practically having an orgasm watching the sword fight. What else can I say but typical Dirty Old Man Davies.
I just finished watching NA2. I really enjoyed it except for the scene when Catherine is reading The Monk and when Catherine is in her bath. If both of these scenes were edited out we would have a good version of NA. Those scenes weren’t true to the novel and didn’t have anything to do with the story either. There was nothing in any of the scenes later to make me think that reading The Monk has even affected Catherine any. They were very out of place in my opinion; didn’t belong in this film at all and left me feeling dirty. Do you know of any companies that will edit scenes out of DVD’s?
Other then that I enjoyed the film. The actors were great in their parts and the story kept my attention. I re-read the book several days ago in preparation for this film.
I still can’t get over how this adaptation has blown away the main plot of the book, as well as the main reason for the existence of this novel – the parody of the Mysteries of Udolpho.
I will never forgive AD for choosing ‘The Monk’ so that he could bring in all the lewdness that was shown.
Really – Why does Catherine imagine Mrs. Tilney was murdered? Because John Thorpe tells her!!
So why did she burn the book, when it was actually John Thorpe sowing the seed of suspicion instead of ‘Udolpho’?
Is there any thread binding the sequences together??
I think it should be retitled ‘The girl with the dirty book’.