We will thankfully never be free of Pride And Prejudice. Jane Austen’s timeless literature isn’t just an unputdownable enemies-to-lovers romance between Elizabeth Bennet and William Darcy. Through the characters’ different Regency-era upbringings, Austen’s writing discerns class constructs, societal expectations of women, moral developments, and personal quests to live freely. The themes remain relevant, which explains why P&P adaptations keep finding their way onto our screens in ways both mainstream and niche. Joe Wright‘s Pride & Prejudice, one of its most lasting cinematic adaptations,is currently celebrating its 20th anniversary with a limited theatrical re-release in the United States. However, several months before Wright’s film burst into the zeitgeist in 2005, writer-director Gurinder Chadha ushered her distinctive version into the Jane Austen Cinematic Universe. Unlike other onscreen takes, the appeal of Bride And Prejudice was its singular sense of place (the bustling north Indian city of Amritsar, Punjab), people (the tight-knit Bakshi clan), and culture, which worked in harmony with the established premise.
When Bride And Prejudice was released, my teenage brain registered how utterly coolit was that the filmmaker behind Bend It Like Beckham had reimagined a beloved piece of art with a personal touch. The result wasn’t the best Austen adaptation (BBC’s 1995 series holds that title) or the most popular (Matthew Macfadyen’s hand flex still beguiles the internet), but Bride And Prejudice was warm, corny, entertaining, and unabashedly desi (i.e., something originating from South Asia). A vibrant Hindi movie-style musical within the confines of the British author’s 19th-century saga was a winning combination, at least in my recollection.
In rewatching Bride And Prejudice decades later for this Memory Wipe, three things became clear. One, it’s impossible not to groove with Lost‘s Naveen Andrews when a song plays merely six minutes into the film. No, really. Look at his lovelorn face as he dances his heart out to “Balle Balle” during a wedding celebration. Sayid Jarrah, who?
Second, a luminous Aishwarya Rai Bachchan is perfectly cast as the quick-witted, grounded, and endlessly charismatic Lalita Bakshi. She previously starred in another Austen-inspired Indian tale, the 2000 Tamil-language Kandukondain Kandukondain, based on Sense And Sensibility, as well as Bollywood’s snappy West Side Story riff, titled Josh, proving she’s adept at embodying a known character and infusing her with a unique buoyancy. (She carried a similar spirit and sass while promoting the film on David Letterman’s talk show in this must-watch interview.) It’s too bad that Martin Henderson is a little too stoic in Bride And Prejudice—yes, even for Mr. Darcy—and cannot match Rai Bachchan’s prowess.
But the third and most important takeaway is that Chadha and her co-writer/husband Paul Mayeda Berges had an unambiguous vision for the film. Bride And Prejudice is, first and foremost, a love letter to the Bollywood of the late ’90s and early aughts. It feels like Chadha and Berges wanted to take B&P‘s Hindi-language counterparts and recontextualize them for a global audience using Austen’s reliable framework. I was struck by how the generation-defining movies I grew up watching, and keep going back to for comfort, influenced B&P‘s visual aesthetic and soundtrack. The opening shot, in which Lalita rides a tractor on a farm surrounded by yellow flowers in full bloom, harkens back to the scenic shots in my favorite Bollywood movie of all time, the legendary rom-com Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge. In this 1995 flick, too, a young man from London eventually flies to sunny Punjab to woo the woman he loves and convince her strict family that they belong together.
Chadha and Berges wholeheartedly attempt to recreate the magic of other grandiose films, like 2001’s trendsetting Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham. K3G weaves its central love story into the characters’ complicated family dynamics and their rebellion against certain traditions, all with a backdrop of opulent sets, fashion, and contemporary music. B&P boasts memorable songs in a similar vein, from the soulful “Take Me To Love” to Ashanti’s “Goa Groove.” Fun fact: the latter’s dance track is what Bollywood films famously call an “item number,” a.k.a. a song that plays out of nowhere and has little to do with the actual plot.
Through these similarities with its spiritual predecessors, Bride And Prejudice presents a window into a rapidly progressing India. That’s the movie’s true victory. Chadha and Berges are clear on the film’s messaging, which I have gained a deeper appreciation for in hindsight. B&P is a guns-blazing tribute to a loud, colorful, and crowded country, but the writing has a more nuanced and scathing take on how foreigners view the “exotic land” and its customs. In an exceptional confrontation between Lalita and Darcy, for example, she chews him out for why he wants to purchase a hotel in a beachy Goa town. “Who does it really benefit?” she defiantly asks, adding that tourists usually want to experience luxury without having to deal with locals. She ends with, “I thought we got rid of imperialists like you.” Cue the applause in my living room. In another scene, Lalita asks the Americanized Mr. Kohli (Nitin Ganatra), the William Collins stand-in, what the U.S. was like a mere 60 years after independence. “They were killing each other with slavery and blindly searching for gold.” Cue more thunderous applause.
Scenes like these are a reminder of how the script skillfully addressed certain stereotypes, even if the film succumbed to a few clichés along the way. Yes, I’m talking about the cringeworthy, should-have-been-edited-out cobra dance sequence, and the extremely goofy portrayal of Mr. Kohli, both of which pull the movie down. Still, I admire how Bride And Prejudice tried to blend Bollywood and Hollywood sensibilities with its ensemble. DDLJ’s Anupam Kher as Lalita’s quietly doting father, and breakthrough actors of the time like Namrata Shirodkar and Sonali Kulkarni, who play Lalita’s older sister and best friend, respectively, remain excellent casting choices. That’s not to mention the excitement of now-familiar faces popping up like Gilmore Girls‘ Alexis Bledel, The Vampire Diaries‘ Daniel Gillies, and Game Of Thrones‘ Indira Varma alongside Henderson and Andrews.
Bride And Prejudice was also one of the few movies of its era with a cosmopolitan approach that carved its space next to Chadha’s Bend It Like Beckham, Deepa Mehta’s rom-com Bollywood/Hollywood, Mira Nair’s Monsoon Wedding, and, in 2006, The Namesake. I recommend indulging in all of them for a full picture of the efforts that went into bridging the East-meets-West gap years before Slumdog Millionaire and RRR(both regressive and silly) broke through the barrier.
South Asian-centered stories and Indian films are still not prevalent in the U.S. mainstream, though, despite their burgeoning and dynamic creativity. And when it comes to Austen-esque Regency-era adaptations, all we’ve got is Simone Ashley’s pivotal turn as a Bridgerton heroine. So, looking back at Bride And Prejudice is a real treat (except for the end credits, when producer Harvey Weinstein shows up for the reveal that he was seemingly in India during production). The film still satiates Bollywood fans and is a great introduction to those unaware of the Hindi film industry’s charms. Above all, it’s a potent and electric adventure that holds up far better than I anticipated.
