If Elle McPherson is a mansion, then on the homely scale Charlotte Bronte's heroine is a couple of rooms short of a bungalow. But why should that stop a 19th century spinster who had a rough childhood from finding everlasting happiness? And why should that stop some bibliophile from making a boring movie about it?
"Rough childhood?" "Everlasting happiness?" Holy low-budget English film productions, Batman, if that isn't the cattle call for Merchant-Ivory productions to roll into town and dress everybody up in funny clothing. How Franco Zeffirelli wrestled the rights away from Merchant-Ivory is anybody's guess. Poisoned crumpets perhaps? Or maybe one of their executives woke up with Emma Thompson's head in is bed.
While you should be scared at the prospects of another English film about repressed emotions, at least Jane has a good reason. The young Jane (Anna Paquin) is thrown into a horrible school by her horrible aunt and forced to grow up there. The older Jane (Charlotte Gainsbourg) has to deal with her own underdeveloped personal skills. Fortunately she meets a man (William Hurt) who also has underdeveloped personal skills. Ah, British love.
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