If you were to describe the synopsis of Little Women to someone unfamiliar with Louisa May Alcott's 1868 novel, it might start to sound like a Harlequin romance or a soap opera. In a way, I suppose it is. The film, however, becomes much more than that, because it also touches on the bonds of family and duty. It's also got several memorable vignettes and is unexpectedly funny in some spots.
Winona Ryder plays Jo March, a wide-eyed young lady with a vivid imagination and aspirations of professional writing. Her father may have gone to fight in the American Civil War, but she still has her mother (Susan Sarandon) and sisters for companionship (Trini Alvarado as the elder Meg, Claire Danes as Beth, and Kirsten Dunst/Samantha Mathis as the younger and older Amy respectively). Jo and her sisters enjoy putting on little productions in their attic. Their way of playing make-believe reminded me of what my friends and I used to do when I was in elementary school. We'd pretend to be different characters and play for hours on end, making up silly stories and scenarios. In this way, the film became accessible to me and lively.
Of course, as the little women start to grow up, the suitors come along to make their intentions known. There's the perpetually immature Laurie (Christian Bale), the stolid and poor tutor John Brooke (Eric Stoltz), and the German teacher Friedrich Bhaer (Gabriel Byrne), who looks about eighty years older than his eventual main squeeze, Jo. The March sisters follow their hearts with these men, but try to stay true to each other first and foremost. Kind of an admirable trait, especially after one scene where the melodramatic Amy maliciously burns one of Jo's handwritten novels, yet they are still able to forgive each other quite quickly.
Little Women is directed by Gillian Armstrong, and she seems to have a subtle flair for catching one's emotions offguard, as in a scene when the shy Beth (a powerful turn by Claire Danes) suffers the perils of scarlet fever. The moment is telegraphed in an interesting manner and we suddenly realize we have invested a lot more into the welfare of these characters than we initially suspected. One moment late in the picture is particularly wrenching, but it never plays as trite or overwrought. By this point, the framework has allowed the characters to live and breathe; and, much to our chagrin, to die as well.
If there's a flaw in the film, I guess it would be that each of the members of the ensemble has a visible moment where they slip or falter. This is to be expected I suppose, given the material itself and its setting has now become so inevitably ancient. According to the Internet Movie Database, there have been 13 film versions of the novel so far. I haven't seen any of the other 12, but based on this 1994 adaptation I'd have to say they've done a pretty good job here.
