Review: "Little Women" Defies Expectations with Brilliant Warmth

Scene from Little Women (2019)

The opening of director Greta Gerwig's adaptation of Little Women may sound familiar to those who know a thing or two about Louisa May Alcott. The writer famously had certain conflicts to resolve when publishing the second half of her best-selling novel about The March Sisters. There had to be certain fulfillments that all contemporary publishings had at the time. The most noteworthy was the choice that all female protagonists needed to be either married or dead, and Alcott wasn't having any of that. Still, it was 1868 and the only way to get her work published was to submit to these wills. As a result, later audiences may be confused by what the final chapters hold for spinster archetype Jo March. While the novel was a masterpiece, it was one representative of its time in these respects, showing that while it was about women finding their own agency, they still had to overcome the male-dominated world, where they decided what passed as socially acceptable.

It's why the choice to open the 2019 film as Jo is submitting to the Weekly Volcano (over halfway through the novel) feels like the right way to go. As Alcott's surrogate, it feels like a moment for Gerwig to finally address something that Alcott couldn't. Within her quietness as Mr. Dashwood (Tracy Letts) edits her story to fit his wants, there's a sense that this was how the real-life author dealt with criticism. No matter what she found interesting, there was a man to tear her down. That is the journey of The March Sisters, and every woman in the 19th century in a time where they couldn't own anything and thus needed to find a reason to live. It is why Little Women resonates as more than adaptation. It's one that openly engages with what the text is saying, and even questions it as it relates to Alcott's personal journey to publishing the book. It's metatextual without being cloying, it's empowering without feeling false, and it's incredible in its small achievements. While there may be more direct adaptations, none have addressed why the book continues to be important over 150 years later quite like Gerwig, who to make this film almost feels like the final act of revolt against Mr. Dashwood's critical eye. Everyone watching is laughing at him, even if the conflict still feels prescient in modern culture. 

There is a lot to love in the New England community that The March Sisters inhabit. Gerwig shoots the exterior shots with such beauty, often with the snow falling as they run from place to place, laughing in their childish innocence. They don't have to worry about what anyone else thinks. In those moments, they're sisters capable of surviving by themselves. With their Father (Bob Odenkirk) off at war, there's a lingering dread that is just out of view and only ever appears when Christmas Day is altered by giving their meal to a nearby poor family and having a lack of presents as a support for the war. Even then, The March Sisters have everything already there, wanting to perform Jo's witty plays, listen to Beth (Eliza Scanlen) play piano, or listen to Amy's (Florence Pugh) umpteenth complaint as Meg (Emma Watson) is praised as the best actress in the family. There is so much joy to be found in their childlike creativity, and to see them collaborate is to see the endearing power of family and youth. They're the only people who have the power to annoy to the point of a catfight as much as love. In that way, Alcott's novel was revolutionary. Nothing "special" was going on in the way that, say, Charles Dickens was special, but it captured something real and human that millions of women had faced at some point in their life. That little ounce of excitement in finding a story validating and appreciating the small things in life may not seem like much, but to those without a chance to live exciting lives, The March Sisters laughing in the snow is everything.

Gerwig's biggest change from the novel was how it recontextualizes the chronology in order to reflect an emphasis on themes from the different characters. What starts as a journey back to their home in Massachusettes slowly unveils connects between the serious adults that the March girls had become and their more innocent moments that kickstarted some inspiration in their life. By placing such moments as Amy burning Jo's manuscript alongside a crucial moment in Beth's life, there is an ability to explore the divide that these two characters share. Even then, Gerwig knows to place these conflicts around parables, often shared by their mother Marmee (Laura Dern), that seem innocent in nature but begin the look into Alcott's radical view of women. Marmee teaches Jo that it's all right to be angry so long as it can be controlled. Aunt March (Meryl Streep) also preaches the idea that women need to marry to have any value since they cannot work outside of cathouse and acting (though aren't they the same, she asks). Not to ignore the irony, Aunt March is a spinster and thus a huge inspiration to Jo's desire to be single and pursue her literary career before becoming a matriarch for her family. 

Within these moments, Gerwig brings to light the subtle message that Alcott was sharing. Yes, there would be elements of her novel that were clearly edited to please an editor. However, for as much as The March Sisters fell into conventional patterns like marriage, the world was populated with female characters who were all singular and engaged in their own lives. Underneath the need to please was a reality that Jo was able to be a motherly figure without being married or having children. Amy was capable of being sympathetic even if she was inherently written as annoying. It's to Pugh's credit that every line of delicious Gerwig-laced dialogue comes across with this vicious snark that falls somewhere between antipathy and love. There is jealousy that exists, though it fails to be resolved in a predictable manner. There is eventual acceptance in each one's own desires that make the journey singular. Even if Laurie (Timothee Chalamet) comes across sometimes as a mouthpiece for more radical ideas, such as why women should be considered geniuses, it all builds to Jo's thesis. Why are women taken for granted, repressed to middling lives without any dreams? That is why Jo's writing, Beth playing piano, or Amy painting feels so powerful. It's their form of expression that proved they had worth. 

By the end, Little Women's stroke of genius comes back to Jo and her time with Mr. Dashwood. Without getting too much into specifics, there is a sense of reality peeking into fiction as Jo confronts him with the book that will become "Little Women." The publication doesn't come without risks, but it all comes back to female expression. As Amy said earlier in the film, marriage is a transaction where the husband owns everything including the wife. Life ceases to matter, and yet marriage comes with a certain happiness and desire for the characters. Still, for Jo, there was something to publishing "Little Women" that would flip the table. She would own the copyright and have it be representative of her work. It comes with a negotiation that reveals certain painful reactions of the publishing world in the 19th century, but it mostly reveals that Jo finally had self-worth, something she personally owned and could share to empower the little women around the world while serving as a loving tribute to her family. Everything that happens in the film comes across as stories she personally thought hard about before writing, and they are all touching, humane, funny, sad, and entirely true. Without making a story that seeks to delve into fantasy, she fulfills Alcott's vision of reflecting a reality that needed to be shared. It's telling that Gerwig chooses to shoot the "edited" portions with more of a trope-like cinematic approach, and hopefully, the audience knows to wink and laugh, especially as a commentary on how hollow compromised visions can be. 

Little Women is a powerful movie that finds the heart of a family in a way that's not immediately obvious. While many books have sought to find something salacious to talk about, Gerwig's fascination with the mundane allows every character to express themselves emotionally and artistically in a way that is satisfying. Every line is clever, subverting social expectations by revealing that women were more than what men expected of them. They were capable of carrying their own agency, and in the process live complicated lives that are far from the conventional sort they seem on the surface. Gerwig's understanding of the text allows everything to be challenged and explored in a way that shows why "Little Women" remains relevant. It's as much a commentary on the novel as it is about how expectations of women have and haven't changed. There are reasons that Jo can say that nobody would forget her, and it would be totally true. Her novel has survived for 150 years with so much acclaim and readers clamoring for more. She made the ultimate act of expression, which as a result feels incredible with nothing more than a group of women laughing together, enjoying what it feels like to be alive.