I have a new addiction for Sunday nights.
Suprise suprise, it doesn't involve me venturing out into the ever-darkening wilderness of Clapham. Instead, I am strapping myself into my sofa, brewing up a mug-o-tea*, and sharing time with these two:
Yes. It's only bloody Jane Eyre.
I was v dubious, as the trailers made this look, fwankly**, a bit rubbish. Seriously, like it was set in a residential care home. But I sweep these away with a wave of my pale, sun-deprived arm.
It. Is. Brilliant.
I remember reading the novel when I must have been about 15 or 16. Actually I have no idea how old I was, but I was reading it in the back of my parents car going somewhere, so chances are I was about that bracket. Totally engrossing. No exteriour shot left un-brooded, no costume left un-flapped.
I also love the character of Jane Eyre in Jasper Fforde's fabulous book The Eyre Affair. She gets kidnapped from the pages of the novel itself, and all merry hell ensues. Great fun.
My feelings on Toby Stephens (back to the Sunday night version - keep up would you please) were dubiosity itself, as he was almost laughably as the smirking, snarling Bond vilian in Die Another Day, but he is triffic. Just the right amount of uncontrolled beastliness, doom-laden Master of the Manor affectation, and despairing.... despair.
It is beautifully shot and directed, and as usual with Aunty, sumptious on the old peelers
Not bad for something that is essentially To The Manor Born (but only if you lose the Manor). But without Penelope Keith.
Ohhhh, Penelope Keith. The campaign to have more Penny Keith on the telly box starts HERE. We love Penelope Keith.
The last Jane rounded off a spectacularly, wonderfully lazy weekend. I have been to the cinema not once but TWICE. To see The Queen Wears Prada and The Devil. Or something. Oh you work it out. Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep going head to head anyway and MY MONEY IS ON THE MIRREN. Factoid.
Oh look. I'm rambling. Marvellous. And just to prove I'm hip with the Literary crowd, darlings, don't get me started on Gilbert and Gubar and mad women in the attic in general.
A gold star to the first person to get the inspiration for this post's title.
* A friend told me yesterday she has gone right off tea. I nearly cried.
** Sorry. Barbara Windsor moment there.