The second entry in the column Off Script, written by Lola Carver-Broome.
Little Women is one of those stories that has amassed a seemingly everlasting cult following since its publication in 1868. Greta Gerwig’s 2019 adaptation joins a catalogue of 7 other film interpretations, testament to the continuing relevance and appetite for Louisa May Alcott’s semi-autobiographical story. It follows the domestic life of four sisters, Meg (Emma Watson), Jo (Saoirse Ronan), Beth (Eliza Scanlen), and Amy (Florence Pugh), as they grow up in genteel poverty in Concord Massachusetts. It is a female dominated world of games, play, and sisterhood, but also of struggle and of overcoming.
In my own life, I have had countless conversations with fellow fans over which sister we are. Everyone wants to be Jo: the ambitious and non conforming tomboyish second born. Some resign to the fact they are Amy, the youngest: spoilt but beloved and the eventual wife of Laurie (Timothée Chalamet). I hesitate to label anyone I know as Beth as despite her sweet selflessness, she seems predestined to die. Time and time again, and much to my dismay, I found myself being labelled as Meg, the maternal, conventional, and somewhat vain eldest.
Today, however, I would like to dedicate this column to defending Meg March, in particular Gerwig’s interpretation of the character which does a great job of redefining her choices as a form of strength (Although I will note that Emma Watson’s performance isn’t totally convincing). I will suggest that the general discourse that surrounds Meg in condemning her for taking a more traditional path in comparison to her sisters is actually more anti-feminist than any action of the character they criticise.
‘You will be bored of him in two years and we will be interesting forever’ Jo begs her sister on her wedding day. To this, Emma Watson delivers one of the standout lines of the film, ‘Just because my dreams are different than yours doesn’t mean they’re unimportant’. To me, this line provides the perfect counter argument to the popular rejection of the character. Feminism finds its power in the right to choose and celebrates all decisions and the freedom we have to make them. Whilst Jo is able to find power in her freedom to pursue a career as a writer, she fails, at least initially, to recognise her sister’s dream to marry. In a film that celebrates female relationships and strength, it feels counterintuitive to condemn one of these women for having the freedom to make a choice.
Much of the criticism that arises in relation to Meg’s character is the fact that she is often positioned as an anti-Jo figure. In all the way that Jo is adored for being transgressive in terms of her gender and her ambitions, Meg retains a more conventional approach. Given the fact that Jo emerges as somewhat of a lead, her frustrations in understanding Meg’s dreams of domesticity are adopted by viewers who see her as disappointingly unfulfilled. What Jo, and some viewers, fail to recognise is that marriage for Meg is not a negation of her potential but is instead a realisation of her personal desires. As we celebrate Jo for becoming an author, Amy for painting, and Beth for her musical talents, we must not ignore Meg’s right to choose the path she hopes for herself.
One aspect of Gerwig’s that adaptation allows Meg to shine is the focus on the difficulty that comes with her choice to lead a more traditional path. Meg explains to her sister, ‘I want a home, and a family, and I’m willing to work and struggle, but I want to do it with John’. We see this struggle very clearly in the shifts to the present timeline where the girls are living their separate lives. Money remains an issue for the family and Meg cannot afford the simple luxuries of new dresses and fabrics that she has long yearned for. I think that Gerwig does this to show that Meg has not taken an easier route by prioritising love and that she faces as many personal challenges, just as her sisters do, as they enter adulthood.
The younger Meg that we meet in the flashes of childhood is juvenilely preoccupied with beautiful things. We see her attend a debutante ball in a borrowed dress, adopting the pet-name Daisy in her attempt to assimilate. Some may argue that the fact that she carries these same materialistic concerns with her into womanhood is illustrative of her lack of growth, however I would say the very opposite. In marrying for love rather than for wealth Meg chooses to prioritise her dreams of motherhood over financial stability. Gerwig makes efforts to emphasise that fact that Meg’s decision was not a resignation but an active choice to forge a life which may be difficult but will ultimately make her happy.
After all, she is shown to be a deeply caring and warm figure who is well-suited to her dreams of motherhood. She frequently takes on a maternal role with her sisters, assisting them as they enter society. At the same time, she has skills beyond this, taking on the lead role in the childhood plays. Labelling Meg as a betrayer of women in her decision to follow a more conventional path seems like the opposite of what the March sisters would
want.
Towards the end of the film at (spoiler!) Beth’s funeral, Jo tells Amy, ‘Life’s too short to be angry at one’s sisters’. In my opinion, viewers must therefore also not stay angry at our fictional sister Meg for choosing a more traditional path. Gerwig’s adaptation does an excellent job of adding nuance to the character of Meg and validating her dreams alongside those of her sisters. The presentation of Meg in this adaptation serves as a reminder that a woman’s right to choose, whatever choice that may be, is something to be celebrated rather than shamed.
If you like Greta Gerwig’s Little Women, you might like:
Little House on the Prairie (1974) – slightly dated now but is very similar in the sense that it is a book adaptation and presents an idyllic vision of sisterhood
Lady Bird (2017) – also by Greta Gerwig and also stars Saoirse Ronan
Sense and Sensibility (1995) – for the period drama lovers (also about sisters!)
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