I just saw Greta Gerwig’s Little Women, and I don’t really have the words to describe how I felt about it. I am still feeling about it. I will probably still be feeling about it for many days and weeks to come, and every time I re-watch it (which will be frequent), I will feel some more (and differently) about it then.
There are a million reviews that will tell you how superb the acting, directing, cinematography, and costuming was, so I won’t add on to that bandwagon, except to say that Florence Pugh made me love and understand Amy March in a way that nobody has before and Chris Cooper as Mr. Laurence listening to Beth play the piano was perhaps the most poignant scene.
Here’s the thing. I knew I would love this film. I have had an obsession with Little Women since I read this book some 20-odd years ago. I mean, I named my pets after Meg and Jo and Teddy and only switched to other literary influences because there was not another suitable male name for the sweet boy who became my Atticus. I can practically recite the book for you.
And yet, somehow, this movie made me cry at least 10 times. It’s making me cry again just thinking about it.
I had forgotten what this story was about — the power of a well-told story. It doesn’t matter that it is about the “boring” day to day lives of women who have no great impact on society. In fact, as Amy hypothesizes at one point, that it is about those things makes them important. It is a story in which we can all see ourselves. There is no great drama. It is just life.
And so it reminded me how much of myself I see in Little Women. I have always been drawn to Jo. She is a girl who tried to be a writer, faced rejection and depression when the world moved in ways she did not accept or understand, and suffered heartbreak and death which led to her turning away from the thing she once considered her soul’s purpose. She wants to be loved but does not know how to accept love. She knows that she is not meant for anything resembling “normal,” and she relishes that, even when that means she is sometimes incredibly lonely and sad.
But then, she remembers who she is, what she is. She is a writer. And all of those things that happened to her, those normal, wonderful, heartrending things that happen to everyone, they are worth writing about because they are what made her her. It does not make her not lonely or sad sometimes, but it does make those things livable. In fact, knowing that she feels those things and shares them with the world is maybe even important to other people.
So thank you, Greta Gerwig and Saoirse Ronan and especially Louisa May Alcott for creating such a potent reminder of the importance of telling powerful stories. You have rejuvenated my spirit and accidentally encouraged me to make a New Year’s Resolution: Just tell your story already.
“I want to do something splendid…something heroic or wonderful that won’t be forgotten after I’m dead…I think I shall write books.”
