Jane Eyre is not a Romantic Comedy

This may come as a surprise to the cooing old lady contingent of the audience at the Gate Theatre this evening, but Jane Eyre is not a comedy.  Mr. Rochester is not so emotionally effusive and neither is Jane, nor is she so consistently overjoyed.  Moreover, as I imagined her, her voice was not quite so whiny.  The narrator - Old Jane - was quite good on the other hand.

Overall, it was an experience.  Made thoroughly unique by the absurdity of the old ladies taking a field trip to the performance.  At one part, they laughed after every line.  For the entire conversation.  I guess it was a bit impressive the director twisted the words of Charlotte Bronte to elicit so much laughter from an audience that was supposed to be viewing an adaptation of a Victorian Gothic novel.  They cooed, awed, and chattered for the entire show.

The young Jane shouted and Rochester relied on his accent to carry his character.  Helen was decent and so was the aunt. But get this folks, Jane Eyre is depressing.  It's ok.  Sometimes it's alright not to be bounding with joy.  And I wish they'd had more of crazy Bertha from the attic.  And that the silly women surrounding us, dear readers there were at least twenty of these elderly women all acquainted with one another who seemed to misremember the novel as an adorable romance, would not let an opportunity slip by them without ooing or sighing (very audibly) or chortling or gasping. No friends, that's just not how it goes.

I'd probably have enjoyed it better had the genre not been changed and had the audience withheld their gooey delight.  But I guess that's the way the cookie crumbles.