Sense and Sensibility Review: Daisy Edgar-Jones and Esmé Creed-Miles Resurrect Jane Austen

A Faithful Plot That Forgets to Feel

Director Georgia Oakley’s Sense and Sensibility arrives in theaters as the latest in a long line of Jane Austen adaptations, following Ang Lee’s 1995 classic and Autumn de Wilde’s stylized Emma (2020). The film, scripted by Diana Reid, diligently checks off every major plot point of Austen’s 1811 novel: the sudden impoverishment of the Dashwood women after their father’s death, the predatory arrival of half-brother John Dashwood (Tom Brooke) and his vicious wife Fanny (Stacy Martin), and the divergent romantic paths of sensible Elinor (Daisy Edgar-Jones) and impetuous Marianne (Esmé Creed-Miles). Elinor’s quiet affection for Fanny’s brother Edward Ferrars (George MacKay) and Marianne’s infatuation with the dashing but duplicitous John Willoughby (Frank Dillane) unfold against a backdrop of Regency drawing rooms, rain-soaked walks, and a pivotal London season. Yet for all its narrative fidelity, the review finds the film strangely hollow, questioning why Oakley chose to revisit this material at all.

Restraint Mistaken for Depth in the Central Performances

The core issue lies in a performance style that mistakes repression for realism. Where Emma Thompson’s Elinor trembled with suppressed emotion and Kate Winslet’s Marianne burst with girlish verve, Edgar-Jones and MacKay deliver what the reviewer calls a “vexingly wooden” mirroring of each other—eyes shining but vacant, struggling to confess feelings that never seem to ignite. Creed-Miles fares slightly better, bringing an engaging, chatty energy to Marianne, but Oakley frames her as a “proto-goth girl” with greasy locks and angsty declarations about lovers with “dark pasts,” a concept that grows monotonous. The chemistry across the romantic pairs is described as inert: no pond-rising Darcy moments, no flexing hands, no sexual tension in the ballroom dances that traditionally crackle with repressed desire. Even Colonel Brandon (Herbert Nordrum), a figure of steady devotion, registers as passionless in the first act.

Supporting Cast Salvages the Drawing-Room Scenes

If the leads flatline, the ensemble provides the film’s only pulse. Fiona Shaw dominates as Mrs. Jennings, a wealthy widow whose “snuffling laughter” announces her presence before she enters a scene. Shaw layers the character’s busybody exterior with a gaudy, hard-won joy—holding a pug puppy, pressing fortified wine on a heartbroken girl, flouting etiquette with the freedom only age and money can buy. The reviewer calls her a “Golden Girl long before her time,” the sole figure who imagines a womanhood beyond the marriage market. Around her, Stacy Martin is “deliciously wicked” as the gold-digging Fanny, Bodhi Rae Breathnach impish as young Margaret, and Turlough Convery and Chloe Pirrie a warmly amusing, cringe-inducing duo as Sir John and Lady Middleton. Eliot Sumner adds bite as the perpetually irked Mr. Palmer. These dinner-table sequences, where Reid’s screenplay lets the supporting players shine, become the only moments the film breathes.

Naturalism That Drains the Poetry

Oakley’s commitment to naturalistic costuming, makeup, and understated acting appears intended to create a timeless, lived-in authenticity. But the review argues this approach backfires, stripping the story of the poetic rhythm essential to Austen’s prose and dialogue. The result is a film that feels “lifeless over lived-in”—sincere, occasionally amusing, but shrinking in comparison to its predecessors. Without the theatrical spark that makes Austen’s social rituals hum with subtext, the central romances fail to persuade, leaving audiences waiting for Mrs. Jennings to return and remind them what vitality looks like in a corseted world.

Why This Matters

Austen adaptations serve as cultural barometers, each generation reinterpreting Regency constraints through its own lens—whether Lee’s romantic sweep, de Wilde’s pastel satire, or Fire Island’s queer modern remix. Oakley’s version, distributed by Focus Features, attempts a grounded naturalism that rejects the genre’s usual hauteur, yet risks stripping the very tension—between sense and sensibility, duty and desire—that makes the novel endure. The film’s UK release on September 25 and US debut on October 16 will test whether audiences crave a quieter, more austere Austen or if the market still rewards the swoon. For Focus Features, the reception may signal how much creative license period dramas can take before fidelity becomes sterility.