Take Me Off MR. MALCOLM'S LIST

[Ed. note — this dumb editor was on a 9-day whirlwind road trip so read the following as though you have time traveled back to 7/14 tysm]

Mr. Malcolm’s List is only playing at one Alamo Drafthouse location in Austin. When I asked a friend this week to catch the film with me, it didn’t occur to either of us that its limited number of screenings (particularly for a venue like the Drafthouse) was a red flag. Generally speaking, I’m a sucker for an old fashioned Regency swoon. I am also, rather regrettably, the target audience. If a period drama comes to theaters, I am there.

Jane Austen, dead in 1817, retains one of the most long lasting posthumous impacts on the English speaking culture. In her novels Austen created a perfect structure of false assumptions, (usually fueled by gossip), rectified by vulnerable acts of repentance by one or both parties. The tropes that have become ubiquitous in the romantic story find their roots in Austen: deceitful suitors, quirky confidantes, secret engagements and hushed affections. For decades the formula has proved to be a timeless blockbuster — when carefully executed.

Throw it all together, insert some HBO sex scenes and you’ve got Bridgerton.

Netflix made a money maker of Julia Quinn’s Bridgerton series (2000-2006), having raked in a successful Season 2 in March of this year. The series’ fans praise the Netflix adaptation for all its Austen-esque qualities. Despite obvious tonal differences, Bridgerton’s focus has been modernized, per se, to keep the interest of a contemporary audience, namely by incorporating all the steamy scenes that a simple Austen adaptation would not. It also exercises the tropes of the regency romance that audiences expect while simultaneously expanding them through a modern lense.

Reader, Mr. Malcolm’s List, in this regard, fails.

The film is an adaptation of a 2009 book by the same name, authored by Suzanne Allain, a relatively seasoned multi-genre author. The book received warm, albeit generally middling reviews on rating platforms. I’m unfamiliar with Allain’s book, and have no desire to be, but as a veteran Austen fan it was easy to identify her influences for the story. Mr. Malcolm’s List is Allain’s attempt to fuse elements of Austen’s Emma with Pride and Prejudice. Our two female leads mirror the heroine of each story, the entitled Ms. Thistlewaite (Zawe Ashton) as Emma Woodhouse and Selina Dalton (Freida Pinto) as Elizabeth Bennet. Rather than a matchmaking scheme, as in Emma, Ms. Thistlewaite concocts a plot for revenge against Mr. Malcolm (Sope Dirisu), recruiting her school friend, Selina into the plan. Both stories of Prejudice and Emma unfold between the two perspectives, more or less.

But I was immediately turned off by it. Why?

I asked myself this as the film dutifully wrapped its status quo in the first ten minutes. It was a Wednesday afternoon. My friend had canceled and I was alone in the theater until two elderly couples decided to sit directly next to me in the middle row. I invited my Mom instead, but she was running late. I huffed audibly and moved two seats down.

Mr. Malcolm’s List caught my interest not only as a fan of Historical Drama, but for its diverse cast: another of Bridgerton’s notable merits, as well. After Bridgerton’s commercial success it would make sense for large studios to invest in similar projects, and I was glad to spend my money on a film that invested in diversity. The film’s crew boasted a team who had worked on both projects. My expectations were high and I felt there was no threat to my satisfaction. “More of this, please!” is what my ticket sale communicates to the Hollywood box office. But as the film plowed on, I asked myself if I could truly stand by that request.

What was it? Certainly there’s some level of predictability going into any kind of Austen-adjacent drama. But I was annoyed by it.

One arrogant, highly desirable bachelor. Check. A remarkably witty, yet humble lower class woman. Check. A privileged, self-absorbed best friend. A scheme. A double agent to go between parties. The obnoxious “unsuitable” relative. It was all there.

Although this concoction should have intrigued me, I found myself very bored, very quickly. I instantly recognized the protagonist’s house as the same location where a large part of Becoming Jane (2007) was also filmed. The many establishing shots, which should have been indulgent sequences emphasizing the contrast between the two class settings, were consistently brief and rather colorless. I am biased, however, as I prefer the pastel excess of Emma. (2020) Throughout this film I couldn’t help but wonder if this director truly knew what they were doing. There were several times when excess sunlight created an ugly white glare in the shot. I scoffed not once but several times aloud. It was almost like these details were either overlooked or completely disregarded for the sake of time or sheer negligence.

At the forefront of the film’s plot, of course, was the severe underdevelopment of two different romances, neither of which felt minimally substantial as a viewer. The story was simple enough: one woman scorned, seeking revenge, convinces her friend to pose as an arrogant bachelor’s ideal wife, only for the pair to truly fall in love. Huzzah.

Mr. Malcolm’s List fails its audience with its characters, and what ought to be the most foundational part of this film seems to have gone overlooked. In a Romance, tension rises as attraction is apparent, but a relationship, for one reason or another, is impossible. Their desire for one another is crucial to meeting our story’s climax. As the story unfolds, they learn more about one another. Both mistakes and sacrifices are made. Character arcs often come into play, and vulnerable moments bring them together. We want our couple to have their moment as badly as they do. But I felt no connection, let alone empathy, for any of these characters at all.

Although Malcolm’s List seems to be aware of the effect it desires, it is kind to say that it misses its mark. Though the cast is strong, these characters fall flat because the depth of our protagonists’ personalities are never explored. The complexities of their feelings in contrast with their environment never comes across as a factor that we ought to be concerned with. From the moment we meet them, our female leads are truly as simple as they are presented. One sweet, one sour, and no more.

The entitled Ms. Thistlewaite finds love with a handsome colonel who proclaims his love for her, despite her scheming behavior. Her regret is short lived and ineffective, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she deserved her happy ending. In short, Ms. Thistlewaite lacks the charming qualities that Emma Woodhouse possesses. Whereas Emma’s love story is won by means of a lesson learned, I realized, Ms. Thistlewaite wins hers simply by way of apology.

Meanwhile, Selena Dalton wins Mr. Malcolm’s gilded heart, but he is conflicted about his feelings when Thistlewaite’s scheme is revealed. All in all, he runs down Selina’s carriage, gets down on his knees and delivers what should be a heartfelt declaration of love. I massaged my temples as my mother leaned over the seat and whispered “this is so dumb” into my ear. It was over minutes later.

Our star couple, despite the swelling orchestra over the moment, seem forced together. Despite all the words and longing looks they exchanged, I could not be convinced of their attraction. Thematically it made sense, that over the course of the film they appear to coincidentally check each of the other’s boxes. A cute setup, sure, if not juvenile. But I couldn’t be bothered. Upon leaving the theater I reminded myself that I should be mindful of my criticisms. This is not a direct Austen adaptation, after all. Though the film may try to replicate the rosier effects of Austen's romances, perhaps it shouldn't be subjected to the same standards. But, of course, I did anyway.

Screenings continue to dwindle with limited show times. For those of us who enjoy a more simple (dare I say shallow?), romance in a regency setting, here you go. Take it. It’s yours! Because I don’t want it.