Beware: shameless swooning over muttonchops and knee breeches to follow.
This weekend I treated myself to a movie rental since Mr. D was out of town--I grabbed Becoming Jane, 2 years after its release in keeping with my cutting edge trendiness.
Anne Hathaway is charming, the sort of gal you could imagine being pals with, so I was willing to watch her as Jane Austen. For those of you who missed this film, it's about Jane Austen's romance with a young Irishman while she's getting her writing career started. It parallels her novel Pride and Prejudice and is based on historical facts, accurately portraying her family life and her brief romance with Thomas Lefroy, supposedly the inspiration for all her books' happy endings.
The film opened with prerequisite shots of lush English countryside and I noted the movie's stars. James McAvoy, James Cromwell, Maggie Smith--all good. Wait a minute! Wasn't James McAvoy the half-horse dude from Narnia? Well, perhaps he played one of Jane's brothers.
I got swept away in the prettiness that accompanies the Regency Period and then James McAvoy entered the scene...as Tom Lefroy. Yep, the Narnian faun cast as the romantic lead.
Did he pull it off? Was he sufficiently swoon-worthy? I watched him mock her, challenge her, gaze at her with desperate longing in the midst of a ballroom scene. Ah, those ballroom scenes--what is it about those scenes? Full of propriety and anticipation, a single glance or touch. The sheer romance and passion had me sitting upright, ignoring my aching muscles, craving the moment when they'd declare their love for one another and finally kiss.
I was hooked. I watched through the bittersweet ending with tears on my cheeks and believed in James McCavoy as a leading man. I felt all the desire of his eyes, yearned to run my fingers through his thick hair and sweep my fingertips across his mutton chops. But don't take my word on it. You be the judge: