BARS Blog

In this, our first The BARS Examiner piece, Amber Williams reviews and questions the film Mr Malcolm’s List. If you would like to review a theatre production, film, podcast, or exhibition for the new blog series, The BARS Examiner, drop us an email!

This family-friendly Bridgerton, director Emma Holly Jones’s debut feature film, is a triumph that fits perfectly within the landscape of the Regency-inspired movies and shows that are currently popularised in entertainment.  According to Bustle, ‘Inspired by watching Hamilton on Broadway, filmmaker Jones was reportedly keen for a racially diverse cast, especially for its key roles’. Although it may appear that Jones was also inspired by Bridgerton, the Netflix/Shondaland creation was actually released a year after Jones directed a 10-minute short of Mr Malcolm’s List, a short film released by Refinery 29 that became its most watched instalment of the Shatterbox anthology series. Even the setting of the short film reflects the diversity that Jones aimed for and achieved in the feature film, with all outside scenes filmed on location at Kenwood House, home to Dido Elizabeth Belle in the late 1700s. Notoriously hard as it is to get period pieces produced in Hollywood, the full-length ‘homage’ to (and pastiche of) Jane Austen is brilliantly modern, with its tongue-in-cheek parody of class tensions and its wonderful, diverse cast.

There is not a weak link among the cast, and even Ashley Park’s ostentatious, larger-than-life Gertie Covington is hilarious. Reportedly, in an interview with Vanity Fair, Jones dubbed Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù’s Mr Malcolm the ‘new Mr Darcy’. You can certainly see the Austenian influences in the proud and hard-to-please Jeremiah Malcolm, the witty and headstrong Selina Dalton (Freida Pinto), and the haughty and condescending Mr Woodbury (Gerry O’Brien) whose comical marriage proposal echoes that of the awkward Mr Collins. Dìrísù and Pinto provide the stereotypical romance dynamic that we all expect to see, but the real chemistry is that between the non-romantic pairings; Divian Ladwa as John (the footman) and Sianad Gregory as Molly (the maid) provide wonderful performances that deviate our focus from the frivolous problems of the rich and privileged. Ladwa steals the show with his humorous quips and satirical facial expressions. With a nod to Downton Abbey in its occasional spotlighting of the serving class (something that Jones chose to focus on in a deviation from the original novel) the audience is given something that rarely occurs in Austen adaptations: an Upstairs Downstairs moment.

Gemma Chan featured as Miss Thistlewaite in the original 10 minute short, but according to Sarah El-Mahmoud’s interview with Jones, she was never intended to be cast in the feature film. However, it was a veritable stroke of luck that Zawe Ashton was cast last minute, in replacement of Constance Wu, as her comic timing and on-screen rapport with Oliver Jackson-Cohen are impeccable. Jackson-Cohen’s Lord Cassidy, or Cassie, plays the stereotypical dandy or fop, a controversial figure of the period when masculinity and what it meant to be a gentleman were being hotly debated. He injects humour into the role, whilst creating a rounded and likeable character who complements Ashton’s Julia perfectly. Another stereotype is played out through Julia and her four seasons without securing a husband, epitomising another prevalent concern for Regency women whose sense of agency and empowerment were starting to evolve during this period, and for the men who were beginning to view this increased liberation as a danger.

The screenwriter Suzanne Allain freely admits in an interview on The Pemberley Podcast that Pride and Prejudice was a significant influence on her when writing the original novel on which the film was based, yet, interestingly, the plot first began as a short story written and set in 2001. Yet, choosing to present Malcolm as a Darcy-like figure makes sense, and the infamous list echoes Darcy’s requirements of an accomplished lady (a list so exacting and exhaustive that it leaves Elizabeth Bennet openly wondering that Darcy might even know one accomplished woman). What is shown, unequivocally, is that the cutthroat world of dating and courtship is a universal experience. Allain notes that she believes the list to be a realistic one, acknowledging that in the early nineteenth century marriage in the upper classes was a matter of negotiation and trade. Certainly, I found myself relating to the list of requirements for a perfect partner, reminiscent of many unhappy hours spent scrolling, spurning, and being spurned in the world of online dating. Malcolm’s list, much like my own unconscious criteria, outlines unreachable standards that completely neglect the enigma of love and connection despite material and social economics. In Austen’s words, marriage is a ‘maneuvering [sic] business’ (Mansfield Park, 1816), yet happiness in that estate is ‘entirely a matter of chance’ (Pride and Prejudice, 1813). What this film reiterates is that we can hold our potential partners up against impossible criteria, but that falling in love cannot be so carefully calculated. The list itself serves as a metaphor for the way one might shield themselves from love for fear of relinquishing control to another and opening themselves up to potential heartbreak. But, as Malcolm himself accedes, it stems from insecurity and an aversion to vulnerability, something we can all probably relate to.

In one of the most poignant moments of the film, Cassie explains to Selina, who sees herself as significantly lower class than her friends, that she is at leastfourth class, maybe even lower third. I am pretty sure I am the only person in the cinema who picked up on this, as my solitary chuckles echoed in the silence, yet this seemed to epitomise the whole story for me: a story of class boundaries that were starting to blur, just as they were with the rise of capitalism and the mercantile classes. This, and the ever-present, nameless gossips whose omniscient social commentary punctuated the plot, made this film a brilliant (if perhaps slightly exaggerated) illustration of the social concerns of the early 1800s.

Allain certainly wrote a love story, and Jones certainly delivered it on screen. But the one relationship that shines through this movie, from start to finish, is that of Selina and Julia. Even when it seems that Julia is manipulative and selfish, her final redemption and the mending of their attachment is a wonderful moment of sisterhood. In my humble opinion, the real love story of Mr Malcolm’s List is that of enduring female friendship which begins to transcend class boundaries and survives both jealousy and ego.

Amber Williams is a second year, Midlands4Cities (AHRC) PhD student at the University of Nottingham. Her thesis, ‘The Duel in Britain, 1780-1845’, seeks to explore the phenomena of duelling in the British Romantic Era. Her work and interests focus on the way duelling in literature and art interacts with presentations of masculinity, violence, and reputation; female agency and disempowerment; and British colonial influences through the military, and national and international politics. You can follow her on Twitter here.