A Modern Londoner Struggles to Keep the Prime Directive in Lost in Austen

I’ve been in an Austenish kind of mood lately, so when I heard about the 2008 miniseries Lost in Austen, I decided to check it out. The three-hour-long fish out of water tale finds Amanda Price (Jemima Rooper), a contemporary Londoner in her late 20s, stranded in her favorite novel, Pride and Prejudice, after its protagonist, Elizabeth Bennet (Gemma Arterton), discovers a doorway into her world in an upstairs passageway. Amanda knows this book by heart, but living in it isn’t exactly the fairy tale she’s dreamed about for so long in her mundane modern existence. Immersion in the early 19th century presents numerous challenges, not least of which is trying to follow what my Star Trek geekery compels me to call the Prime Directive. Amanda must not interfere with the way she knows the story is meant to unfold. But how can she avoid it when her very presence is an interference and when Elizabeth has made it impossible for her to return home?

This is a mostly entertaining twist on a classic novel that is probably best appreciated by those who have read it or at least (and maybe especially) have seen the 1995 miniseries. Writer Guy Andrews and director Dan Zeff seem to have great affection for Austen while at the same time wanting to bring their own twists to it. The miniseries looks very much like the 1995 one, with the same sort of attention to detail in costumes, landscapes and other aspects of the setting that root it so firmly in 1800s England. The sprightly score composed by Christian Henson is perhaps where the homage seems strongest.

On the other hand, bringing a modern woman into regency England stirs things up a fair bit. Hence, some characters proceed to act differently as a result of her presence or because of changes she has inadvertently made to the storyline, while in other cases, Andrews plays with the idea that some of these characters harbor secrets of which Austen herself remained unaware. No logical explanation for the connection between the two worlds exists; this is pure, unexplainable fantasy. It’s also unclear whether, at the end of the movie, the portal will become defunct or whether it will be possible for characters to navigate freely between 21st-century reality and 19th-century fiction.

Amanda is a fairly likable character, though I found myself a bit frustrated with her, first because, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, she desperately yearns to escape to this other world but the instant she gets there, all she wants is to immediately return home. I mean, wouldn’t she want explore a little first? What’s more, despite her deep familiarity with the novel and her determination to let everything unfold according to Austen’s dictates, she doesn’t really seem to make too great of an effort to make herself inconspicuous. Some of her interactions with the characters she encounters are flat-out crass; if she’s so taken with the courtly manners of the time, she might try harder to adopt them herself.

On the other hand, we get her interior monologue, and usually her thoughts betray a deep love for these characters and regret that her own actions may be causing them grief. Additionally, she’s in a difficult spot because as far as she knows, the only way back to her flat is through the Bennets’ attic, so she has to stick around the one place where she is most apt to get into trouble. Her best qualities come to light in association with Jane (Morven Christie), the eldest Bennet daughter who is radiantly kind and gentle as always. When Amanda foolishly does something that sends Jane’s destiny spiraling into a ghastly direction, a desperate desire to restore her new friend’s happiness compels her to get more deeply involved.

The Bennet family comes across much the same as in the book. Hugh Bonneville is wonderful as the sardonic but twinkly-eyed Mr. Bennet, while Alex Kingston makes an acceptably over-the-top Mrs. Bennet. Lydia (Perdita Weeks), the youngest Bennet, is appropriately silly, while Florence Hoath’s Kitty is suitably nondescript. Mary (Ruby Bentall), the bespectacled middle daughter, is the only Bennet to veer significantly from the book, morphing from a self-righteous bore to a young woman who is plain and rather timid but perfectly amiable. Bonneville and Christie have the strongest presence of the bunch, and their characters serve as Amanda’s key anchors in this strange land by becoming her first allies.

What essentially happens here is that Amanda replaces Elizabeth, replacing her in the primary Pride and Prejudice storyline, albeit taking unusual turns here and there. Elizabeth herself spends the majority of the miniseries out of sight and mostly out of mind. While her spunk makes her desire to immerse herself in modern London understandable, the look of wide-eyed astonishment that is most often upon her face makes her seem almost too childlike. Meanwhile, her complete detachment from Jane after abandoning her, possibly with no intention to return, seems out of character for such a devoted sister. Really, though, we see too little of Elizabeth to get to know her very well.

It’s with the side characters that the most interesting departures come in. For instance, the disreputable George Wickham (Tom Riley) gains a more complex backstory, and the life of Charlotte Lucas (Michelle Duncan), Elizabeth’s level-headed best friend, takes a surprising detour. Guy Henry makes a positively slimy Mr. Collins, and the direction in which Andrews takes his character made me squirm the most, though a reasonably believable loophole is written into this part of the storyline to prevent it from becoming completely icky.

Probably to no one’s surprise, Amanda falls for the dashing Darcy (Elliot Cowan) despite concluding at the outset that he’s much better on the page than in real life and that Elizabeth is too good for him. Cowan broods his way through the role, mostly just coming across as a grump, and I didn’t find his more vulnerable moments sufficiently tender to make up for that. He’s certainly no Colin Firth. Tom Mison is better as Bingley, who I prefer anyway, but I like this version of Bingley less than any other version I’ve seen. In the beginning, he comes across as fairly shallow and fickle, while later, when he believes Jane to be forever beyond his reach, he becomes a belligerent drunkard. Despondent I can see, but belligerent? That doesn’t seem to fit.

Then again, Andrews takes liberties, perhaps trying to flesh these characters out and make them feel more realistic, less idealized. I don’t always like the directions he chooses, but it’s certainly an interesting exercise, and for the most part, I think it’s well done. I suspect that someone unfamiliar with Pride and Prejudice really would get lost in Austen here, and certainly those who know the story as well as Amanda does will get more out of it than the uninitiated.

As someone who was always a smidge more taken with Pride and Prejudice’s secondary couple, I love that Jane and Bingley’s romance moves to the forefront to become the most pressing of all possible pairings, particularly since, while Bingley leaves a little to be desired, Jane lives up to the book perfectly. While I could have done without the crudeness Amanda sometimes injects into this well-mannered world, I think most Austen fans will look upon this as an affectionate tribute and be inspired to ponder the potential repercussions of tumbling headlong into the pages of a beloved book.