The dark, malignant side of Charlotte Brontë, which flashes fiercely through the pages of her “Jane Eyre,” sets the tone for the moody film version of this great novel, which came to the Music Hall yesterday. No depths of consuming passion are plumbed very diligently in this film. No haunting pathos pervades it. The producers had little time for that. With Orson Welles playing Rochester, the anguished hero of the book, they mainly gave way to the aspects of morbid horror to be revealed. They tossed Mr. Welles most of the story and let him play it in his hot, fuliginous style. As a consequence, the heroine of the classic, little Jane, played by Joan Fontaine, is strangely obscured behind the dark cloud of Rochester’s personality.
Ah, I’ve missed your posts. And I seem to be back at just the right time. When I was a kid, surrounded by newly empty fields and braced against chilly fall winds, these novels were always foremost in my mind. (I was always a sucker for a bleak romance.)
A bleak romance…set in England of another era…did you ever read The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield? Love that you’re back, g. xox, v.
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