LITTLE WOMEN: 30th Anniversary 4K UHD (Columbia/DiNovi, 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 cornerstone in ‘coming of age’ literature, and, a treasured masterpiece 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 time, is written in a matter-of-fact style without the usual prosaic embellishments, and, at its crux, is poignantly devoted to close-knit family drama, validating the tender virtues of kith and kinship in times of joy as well as personal hardship. Alcott knew something of the latter much too well – her mildly tyrannical father, an ever-present and dictatorial figurehead in her life – hardly, a positive influence. Fundamentally, Little Women satisfied 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-imposed 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 period 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 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, 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 as 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 as a writer. 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 a 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 would later serve as the 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 one another. 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 teetering into poverty, Mrs. March (whom the girls have affectionately nicknamed ‘Marmee’) encourages her daughters should find their happiness in the passions, rather than the expectations of life. 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 both challenge and strengthen these sisterly bonds between the March girls. Each is excitedly anxious to find their place in the world, 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. Although she momentarily recovers, the illness has gravely weakened her heart. Bedridden, Beth is slavishly attended 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. Hence, 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 blossomed into obedient adulthood, to Paris instead of Jo. Jo is, of course, disappointed, though happy in her sister’s good fortune. 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. There, she 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,” Jo astutely replies.

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 quietly 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 misdirected 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 tale, so true to life and the great honor of being born to live it. Remarkably, no other movie adaptation has so completely captured its essence. Perhaps part of the reason the ’94 version excels is due to its very fine ensemble. Although virtually every version to have preceded this one has been star-packed, the ‘94’s casting is sublimely on point and on track with Alcott’s subtle storytelling. Individually, everyone here is giving this material their all. Cumulatively, they become an indelibly etched family unit, as interwoven in their joys and sorrows as a cable-knit sweater, and just as warmth-inducing in their hard-won comforts.  Gillian Armstrong’s seamless direction is wed to cinematographer, Geoffrey Simpson’s gorgeous camerawork. This shows off the immensity and sumptuousness of the period recreations to their very best advantage.

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 somehow manages to sidestep the rigidity of ancient Victoriana while never veering into the temptation to contemporize these social mores to keep up with the currency of humanity’s societal evolution. These people are just people, gleaned from a decidedly different period in history, yet still very much flesh and blood, imbued with - and challenged by – our similarly occupied anxieties, desires and daydreams. These are perennial, whatever the age. We can believe in Jo and her sisters, hope alongside their fervent resolve to carve substantial niches for themselves, admiring their seemingly effortless grace and occasional struggles to rise above it all. 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 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 into a Currier and Ives’ inspired living portrait of the times. Here is a world that is truly alive, not a wax works straining for believability in all its clever production design.

The great tragedy here is that Armstrong’s version of Little Women was not considered worthy for inclusion into Sony Home Entertainment’s Columbia Classics series, while Greta Gerwig’s embittered remake was. In fact, Armstrong’s version has endured several indignations along the way on home video – the first, to be released only as a ‘Collector’s Choice’ BD-R when the mainstream concept was for properly authored Blu-ray discs. Eventually, Sony rectified this oversight with a legitimately authored Blu. Even so, it just seemed something of a slapped together affair, with little fanfare. Then, in an about face, Sony ‘farmed out’ Little Women to ‘discount’ boutique label, Mill Creek for a double-bill with 2006’s gutless remake of Marie Antoinette. And finally, Sony allowed for Gerwig’s 2019 ‘me too’ inspired reimagination, the least faithful to Alcott’s story and inspirations, to find its way into the studio’s legitimized ‘classic’ franchise. Too early for Gerwig’s pic to deserve that honor, folks. And it’s the contempo gender politics in Gerwig’s flick I so diligently abhor. Alcott’s novel was never intended to become a ‘woke’ proto-feminist soap box. Badly done.

There was, in fact, considerable backlash from fans at Sony’s lack of respect to include Armstrong’s Little Women in Vol. 5 of its ongoing ‘Columbia Classics’ franchise. And thus, or perhaps, because of this, we now have the ’94 version in UHD with Dolby Vision. Bravo, Sony. It’s only taken you 25 years to acknowledge the greatness in Armstrong’s movie! But I digress. The clarity and color saturation of this newly produced 4K UHD is beautifully realized. If nothing else, Sony has proven itself at the forefront of proper video mastering for decades. So, expect a pluperfect exemplar with expertly handled contrast with zero crush, wonderfully nature-appearing flesh tones, oodles of fine detail, and, a properly placed grain structure to deliver a truly stunning, film-like home theater presentation.

A bit of a disappointment – no 7.1 Atmos mix. We get the same 5.1 DTS that accompanied the Blu. Bigger disappointment: no new extras. We get Armstrong’s original commentary, the barely 7 min. ‘making of’ junket produced at the time the movie was being shot, 2 deleted scenes lasting less than 2 mins., and, a theatrical trailer. Really? This is all the effort afforded this landmark version of Alcott’s timeless tale? Really?!? While many will be grateful to just have the ’94 version in UHD, I remain nonplused about Sony’s shameful lack of consideration for one of the true ‘classics’ in their film catalog. Recommended for content. But Sony gets a decided ‘F’ for effort employed elsewhere. And just so we are very clear – that ‘F’ does not stand for ‘fantastic!’

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

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

5+

EXTRAS

2