LITTLE WOMEN: Blu-ray reissue (Columbia, 1994) Sony Home Entertainment

"Niles, partner of Roberts, asked me to write a girl’s book. I said I’d try." - Louisa May Alcott

In the intervening century since Alcott first committed Little Women to paper (in haste and for money; published in two volumes – the first in 1868, the second, one year later) the novel has become a perennial favorite the world over, interpreted as everything from a new format in children’s literature, extolling the virtues of the all-American girl, to an inspiring pre-feminist manifesto. Pressed by her publisher, Thomas Niles to create a story that would appeal to very young girls, Alcott hurried along the manuscript, by her own admission, considering it ‘fairly dull’. How wrong can an author be about their own work? The galleys were read by Niles’ niece, Lillie Almy, who immediately fell under the author’s spell. Referring to adolescence, Alcott would later write, “They are the best critics, so I should definitely be satisfied.” And indeed, Little Women would go on to become a publishing phenomenon, inspiring Alcott to pen two sequels – Little Men (1871) and Jo’s Boys (1886), continuing the adventures of the March sisters; Jo, Beth, Amy and Meg – each directly modeled on Alcott’s own beloved familial sisterhood. Today, Little Women remains a uniquely refreshing novel, perhaps because it does not adhere to the literary precepts of its own time, is written in a matter-of-fact style without the usual prosaic embellishments, and, at its crux, is poignantly devoted to its close-knit family drama, validating the virtues of that blood bond and friendship in times of joy as well as personal hardship. Alcott knew something of the latter, and much too well – her mildly tyrannical father, an ever-present and dictatorial figurehead in her life, rarely a positive influence. Fundamentally, Little Women served to satisfy a need in Alcott, to validate her worth as a woman first, writer second; a sentiment, echoed by its thorough embrace of women, for women, by women – young and ‘not so’ – in Alcott’s time, able to slip into such sweet escapism from their societal gender constraints.

Since the advent of the movies, Little Women had enjoyed many lavishly appointed big screen adaptations, beginning in 1933, and, later revived for television in 1978. But by the time director, Gillian Armstrong undertook to retell the tale once more in 1994, Little Women was very much a war horse on its way to the proverbial glue factory, and, ostensibly, considered something of a chestnut still looking for its tree. Yet, Anderson’s timing could not have been more apropos. Beginning with Merchant/Ivory’s surprise hit, Howards End (1992), period costume dramas made an unexpected and spectacular comeback as popular entertainment. Perhaps it was the nostalgia for ‘literary adaptations’ – largely off the screen for well over a decade – but also, the impeccable craftsmanship, harking all the way back to those studio system creations from the 1930’s, 40’s and even the 50’s, that so endeared the public’s response to them in the 1990’s.  To Armstrong’s credit, her version of Little Women managed to capture Alcott’s elusive sentiment, never cloying, to run like an artery through both the novel and her movie. In retrospect, the 1933 RKO version of Little Women is a transparent ‘star vehicle’ for Katharine Hepburn, dominated by Hepburn’s indomitable New England pert and plucky bluenose. The 1949 reincarnation, saturated in the richest of 3-strip Technicolor hues and made at MGM, re-cast ‘America’s musical sweetheart’, June Allyson in the non-singing lead as Jo March. Alas, here too, the picture dilutes Jo’s importance, if, with an impressive ensemble to include Elizabeth Taylor, Janet Leigh, Margaret O’Brien and Peter Lawford. That movie was glossy, as only MGM in its prime could manufacture such a loving portrait, but decidedly too storybook-ish – and occasionally mawkish – to be thoroughly enjoyed. The characters are marionettes rather than people, their strings plucked by the studio’s strict devotion to the author’s text. With exception taken to Greta Gerwig’s abysmal 2019 remake, the 1978 TV version, was perhaps the most misguided of the lot, lacking the appropriate production values and starring Susan Dey, William Shatner and Greer Garson, the latter underused to forgettable effect.

Thus, in hindsight, Armstrong’s movie still remains the one to beat, and, thrice blessed: first, in its exquisite cast; second, afforded the necessary budget to devote itself completely to period, and finally, in Robin Swicord’s deft screenplay, a miracle of concision without sacrificing either character development or substance. Winona Ryder is an emphatic Jo, one imbued with the vestiges of a genuine female heart, angst-ridden and yearning to break from the rigid constraints of Victoriana. A lesser actress would have played to type, sidestepping the soul of this amiable girl. Instead, Ryder gives us an enterprising old salt, revitalizing the centerpiece of the film’s storytelling. It is still Jo March we follow most intently throughout this remake; Ryder, revealing unanticipated wellsprings of passionate intellect behind Jo’s mask of rambunctious humor. Trini Alvarado is a demure Meg, lovely and thoughtful; Claire Danes, an affectingly fragile, Beth, and, Kirsten Dunst (as young Amy) and Samantha Mathis (as her adult incarnation) provide seamless transition from naïve childhood whimsy to burgeoning womanly inquisitiveness. The one constant in the cast is Mrs. March, played with unassuming maternal warmth by the extraordinary Susan Sarandon. Previous versions have made this a thankless part. But clever writing gives Sarandon the opportunity to be ever-present, even when almost cast in cameo, striking with indelible imprint that lends her ‘Marmee’ a sense of place and stature that is ultimately very rewarding.

The menfolk are better served this time around too: particularly, Christian Bale’s fine-looking neighbor, Laurie; who favors one sister – Jo – but then passionately falls under the spell of another - the grown-up Amy. Bale has, of course, proven his acting chops in many movies before and since. But herein, he is particularly engaging, a dashingly romantic figure with guts and a heart that can be easily wounded – and just as easily mended; at times, uncommonly boastful, but always sincere. Gabriel Byrne is formidable as Friedrich Bhaer, the German professor who opens Jo’s eyes and unlocks her heart to pursue her chosen calling. Finally, there is Eric Stoltz, as Laurie’s tutor, and Meg’s eventual husband, Mr. Brooke. Again, previous movie adaptations have either made short shrift of this character or entirely written him out for lack of time. Armstrong’s film does not give Stoltz a lot of screen time. Even so, Stoltz still finds ways to be an ingratiating presence, principally in his joyously spontaneous reaction of relief and disbelief at discovering Meg has born him a son and a daughter in tandem.

Little Women opens on a melodic main title, one of the most ravishing pieces of music yet composed for the cinema – ‘Orchard House’ by Thomas Newman.  Curiously, this piece of music would later serve as a tag for the trailer to 1995’s Sense and Sensibility; the actual movie scored by composer, Patrick Doyle.  The orchestral richness in Newman’s tapestry of notes completely sets the tone for Little Women, plainly etched and quietly building to a crescendo of intertwining melodies that ultimately tug at our collective hearts.  At the outset, we are focused on the March sisters, a foursome of comely maidens in Concord, Massachusetts, devout in their loyalties to each other. The star of the family is Jo, who gathers everyone together to enact plays she has written about daring dukes and moustache-twirling villains, preening suitors and fainting damsels in distress. The demurer Beth is hopeful her younger sister’s authorship will one day find a more permanent and prominent place among the great writers of the world.  Amy is the baby of the family, easily bored and generally spoiled. She uses a clothespin to pinch her nose, presumably to bend it to exactly the right shape and size. She is also willful and fussy. Even so, she proves lovable. Meg…well, it is her sincere hope to win a handsome husband someday. Asked if she should be expected to marry for money – as the March family is constantly in danger of slipping from their lower middle-class standing, Mrs. March (whom the girls have affectionately nicknamed ‘Marmee’) encourages her daughters should rather find their happiness in true love. To Jo, frequently struggling with her own stubborn resolve to be more than merely wife and mother, quite unable to rectify her temperament with the edicts of her sex, societal constraints or the demands made by an elder and decidedly conservative-minded aunt (Mary Wickes), who will not abide her tomboyish audacity, Mrs. March explains, “Oh, Jo.  You have so many extraordinary gifts. How can you expect to lead an ordinary life?”

Jo reluctantly attends Aunt March at her fashionably appointed home while she convalesces from the flu. The understanding has always been Jo will become Aunt March’s live-in companion, and she, in turn, will take Jo with her to Paris when next she travels to Europe. Alas, these prospects are not to be. The first act of Little Women is devoted to life's simple joys that strengthen these sisterly bonds of the March girls. Each is excitedly anxious to find their place in society, invited to various cotillions to show themselves off, but frowned upon by girls from the upper social strata, overheard cruelly suggesting Meg is obviously being groomed to marry well. The inference Meg is ‘husband hunting’ wounds Amy’s pride more than it does Meg’s – although she later becomes mildly intoxicated on some spiked party punch. Meg is spared the indignation of making a complete fool of herself by Mr. Brookes, Laurie’s tutor, also in attendance at the party. Mr. March (Matthew Walker) is a military man, off fighting in the war. When he is wounded and left in hospital in Washington D.C., the elder Mr. Lawrence (John Neville) graciously offers Mr. Brookes as Marmee’s escort on the journey; also, the necessary wages and a carriage to bring her safely to her husband’s bedside. Invested with the responsibilities of managing the household, the girls do their mother proud by remembering Marmee’s charitable duties to the Hummel family, an impoverished mother and two children living in a hovel not far from the March’s home. Alas, charity leads to tragedy. The Hummel baby is stricken with a particularly virulent strain of influenza and dies in Beth’s arms. Soon thereafter, Beth falls ill too. Although she momentarily recovers, the illness weakens her heart. Bedridden, Beth is slavishly attended to by Jo who quietly confides she cannot bear the thought of losing Beth to which Beth sweetly replies, “Now I’m the one who’s going away. But I know I shall be homesick for you…even in heaven.”

In previous adaptations, Beth’s death has been dealt a fair bit of drama. Again, it is Gillian Armstrong’s version that is far more affecting, perhaps because she holds her camera on a two shot of Winona Ryder and Claire Danes, allowing these immensely talented actresses, with uncomplicated resolve, to emote to one another on a humanist level. Danes in particular does this moment proud; her voice frail and fading, her anemic smile capturing that peaceful repose without amateur theatrics or guile. And Ryder knows precisely when to let the tears fall, to make us completely buy into the immensity of her pain. Shortly thereafter, Beth dies in her sleep, leaving Jo – and the audience – inconsolable. Thus, when Laurie declares his romantic intensions toward her, Jo can think of no good reason to accept him, however sincere his heart. Laurie is wounded by Jo’s rather cruel rejection. He suffers a momentary lapse of good judgment, having inherited his grandfather’s estate, and, departs for Europe where he embarks upon a hedonistic lifestyle. In the meantime, Aunt March elects to take Amy, who has since grown into adulthood, to Paris instead of Jo. Jo is, of course, disappointed, but happy for her sister. With nothing more to keep her safely ensconced at Orchard House, Jo departs to seek gainful employment in New York City as a governess, taking up residency in a tenement house and using her spare time to write lurid tragic romances she sincerely hopes to publish. Jo grows to admire a fellow tenant, Professor Baehr, who presents himself as a well-traveled man of culture. He introduces her to a colleague, Jacob Mayer (Donal Logue), and is pleasantly surprised when Jo illustrates both passion and critical thinking on the topic of woman’s suffrage. “I find it poor logic to say that because women are good, women should vote. Men do not vote because they are good. They vote because they are male, and women should vote, not because we are angels and men are animals, but because we are human beings and citizens of this country.” Impressed with her deduction, Mayer suggests Jo ought to have been a lawyer. “I should have been a great many things,” is her astute reply.

Baehr is taken with Jo. Alas, he is also much older. To promote Jo’s social betterment, and to remain near her side, Baehr introduces her to new experiences, including the opera. He also promises to offer his unvarnished opinion about her writing that has occupied a good portion of Jo’s free time. Alas, Baehr’s opinion is hardly conciliatory. Jo’s stories lack the sincerity she so obviously possesses as a woman. Worse, they neither speak intelligently to the audience nor reveal any part of Jo’s truer nature. Jo is understandably shaken and frustrated by Baehr’s critical assessment. He, in turn, becomes quite ashamed at having so completely dismantled her illusions in one fell swoop. Yet, as fate would have it, Baehr’s admonishments motivate Jo to do better. She returns to Orchard House, elated to learn that while in Europe, Amy and Laurie’s paths have crossed. More than that, the old friends have since wed. In the wake of their happiness, Jo begins to write the story of her devotion to Beth, eventually mailing the completed manuscript to Professor Baehr who is awe-struck by its tender simplicity. Jo March has, indeed, become a writer. And Baehr, true to his word, shares this manuscript with his publisher who vows to turn it into a book. Hurrying to Orchard House to inform Jo of this fortuitous development, Baehr is confused when he learns ‘Miss March’ has married.  Assuming Jo, rather than Amy, as the newlywed, Baehr hastily departs without seeing Jo. Mercifully, Jo discovers her misinformed suitor on the open road not far from Orchard House. He praises her work and offers wounded congratulations on her marriage. When she explains the truth of the situation to him, he sheepishly admits, “But I have nothing to give you. My hands are empty.” Gently placing her palms in his, Jo admirably suggests, “Not empty now.” They embrace as a light patter of spring rain filters through the dense foliage all around them.

Little Women was always a poignant story and as impossible to forget. Remarkably, no other movie adaptation has so completely captured the essence of the novel. Perhaps part of the reason here is the fine ensemble casting. Individually, everyone is giving this material their all. Cumulatively, they become an indelibly etched family unit, as close-knit as a cable sweater, and just as enveloping and warm.  Armstrong’s direction is relatively unobtrusive. Cinematographer, Geoffrey Simpson’s camerawork shows off the immensity and sumptuousness of these period sets and costumes. But it does not cheat the audience of the family’s richly satisfying screen intimacy. As such, Little Women reveals itself to be a rare and irrefutable American celluloid treasure. Gillian Armstrong has an uncanny sense of timing. Period costume drama, particularly of such visualized grace and magnitude, readily falls flat in its slavish devotion to evoke courtly manners and societal mores. Herein, it is prudent to comparatively reference Martin Scorsese’s The Age of Innocence, released the year before. Both films are immaculately groomed in big screen opulence; perhaps, Scorsese’s even more so. But the creatures who inhabit Scorsese’s mahogany-paneled tearooms and immaculately-trimmed solariums almost immediately devolve into a rigid configuration of posed and poised mannequins, the costumes wearing the people instead of the other way around.

Little Women’s great salvation is it rarely succumbs to the conventions of its time. These people are just people, caught in a decidedly different period in history than our own, yet still very much flesh and blood, imbued with - and challenged by - the same anxieties, desires and daydreams that afflict humanity, whatever the age in our evolutionary chain. We can believe in Jo and her sisters, can hope and dream alongside their fervent resolve to carve substantial niches for themselves, admiring their seemingly effortless grace and occasional struggles to rise above it. Finally, we can cheer loudly when their patience is rewarded, their satisfaction met in a flourish of dreamily-lit romance. Geoffrey Simpson’s cinematography deserves genuine praise here; a veritable stylized feast for the eyes from start to finish.  The nooks and crannies of Orchard House and its surrounding neighborhoods (shot in British Columbia) are soothing to the senses.  To visit the March family is to be magically teleported to an oasis of Victoriana, to bask in the afterglow of sunlit morning rooms, candlelit ballrooms and hearth-burning front parlors.

And director, Gillian Armstrong has given us more than a sense of place; rather, an exquisite evocation that just seems to have always belonged, or perhaps, lingered in the hearts and minds of anyone who has ever read Louisa May Alcott’s book, fallen under its spell, and thus imagined it in visual terms. Here is a world that is truly alive, not a waxworks, straining for believability in all its clever production design. Colleen Atwood’s costuming is decorous, as expected; its bodices and hoop skirts faintly reminiscent of similar attire seen in countless other movies depicting this epoch from American history. Surprisingly, they function just as well as mere clothing instead of artful recreations that draw our attention and/or are best served on an anthropological museum mannequin.  Little Women – the novel – is as timeless and relevant as ever and this movie manages to retain something of that persistent and changeless appeal. What a joy and treasure it has remained in the intervening decades. Ditto for Armstrong’s film – an enduring masterwork surely to endure for decades yet to follow.

Well, it certainly took Sony Home Entertainment long enough to afford Little Women some love on hi-def home video. The studio’s first attempt was to go the quick n’ dirty route - a BD-R release rather than a formal pressing - bare bones, with only a vintage featurette tacked on and not even provided with chapter stops. I never minded Sony mimicking the Warner Archive Collection with their own ‘Collector’s Choice’ series. But WAC Blu-rays are properly pressed and generally afforded all the extra content that accompanied Warner Home Video’s DVD releases. Then, last year, Sony again ‘farmed out’ Little Women to Blu-ray – this time to Mill Creek for a double-bill properly pressed Blu that incongruously included the gutless remake of Marie Antoinette (2006). Finally, and I suspect all the needless hype Greta Gerwig’s 2019 adaptation received had something to do with this, Sony has elected to reissue Armstrong’s Little Women on a properly authored Blu-ray. So, how does it look? Rather impressive; Geoffrey Simpson’s lush visuals, advancing in color refinement and clarity. It is quite obvious Sony has afforded Little Women a new hi-def 1080p scan. So, what is here is a superior remastering effort to all of the aforementioned hi-def misfires and should be considered the ‘go-to’ disc to own.

Again, we have Grover Crisp to thank profusely for the commitment to Sony’s catalog titles. Little Women looks rather marvelous, bright and clean and generally as good as can be expected. Colors are richly saturated and flesh tones have a pleasing naturalness, reflected either as cool pinks during naturally lit day scenes or softly illuminated oranges under the influence of candlelight. Contrast is excellent, and, the few hints of digitized artifacts in background detail that were present on the DVD have been eradicated herein, resulting in a uniformly pleasing image that delivers consistently high quality throughout. Reinstated are the 2 ‘stereo’ audio options that were available on the retired DVD but removed from the aforementioned Blu-ray releases. Herein, we get a 5.1 and 2.0 Dolby DTS. Extras include all of the goodies that were a part of the long-since retired DVD. Aside, the ‘making of’, deleted scenes with optional audio commentary and a ‘historical timeline’ were also advertised on the MOD-Blu from Sony, but failed to materialize. Gillian Armstrong’s fairly comprehensive audio commentary is the real winner here. Bottom line:  Little Women (1994) is required viewing and the best version of Alcott’s novel to date. It warms the heart and nourishes the soul as all too few movies do. Armstrong's integrity to Alcott’s source material ensures an extraordinarily satisfying movie-going experience. This is what great film-making is all about. Very highly recommended.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

4

EXTRAS

3.5