This is a new planet for him, a world of magnificent creatures known as girls. He barely knows what’s hit him: Marmee welcomes him as if he were already family, but he stands shyly apart, taking in the blur of activity, the Robert Altman-esque whirl of overlapping chatter and laughter. At the end of the evening, Laurie insists on seeing Jo and Meg home in his carriage-Meg has turned her ankle-and after escorting them to the door, he meets the rest of the Marches. The two make their own dance, sneaking out to the front porch of the grand house where this country ball is being held-they stomp and twirl and mug for each other, sharing their disdain for stuffy tradition even as they revel in the joy of just moving. She’s not interested in parties or dancing or boys, but she takes an immediate liking to Laurie, with his raffishness, his easy laughter.
Laurie-played, superbly, with heavy-lidded impishness by Timothée Chalamet-meets Jo at a dance, or rather, he meets her as she’s trying to hide from the dance.
Laurence (a wonderful, whiskery Chris Cooper). Laurie is a teenage gentleman of means who has lived most of his life in Europe but who, after the death of his mother, moves in with his grandfather, the Marches’ stately next-door neighbor, Mr. Men are natural outsiders in this world of women, but they’re not unwelcome. Yet she struggles with her own jealousy and pettiness: Pugh’s frowny-face, in Amy’s thundercloud moments, is like a 19th-century emoji-she can’t help expressing all the things sturdy New Englanders were always so good at training themselves to hide. Pugh’s performance is marvelous: Amy is the funniest of the girls, always ready with the one-liner everybody else is thinking but nobody dares to blurt out.
She’s also self-centered and a bit bratty-yet of all the sisters, she’s the most practical-minded, a realist in a world that isn’t always kind to women. And Amy (Florence Pugh), the youngest, loves painting and beauty. Beth (Eliza Scanlen) is the timid, retreating one, preferring home and family above all else, though she’s generous beyond those parameters. The Marches are a micro-society of women, doing things their own way and getting things done: Meg (Emma Watson), the oldest, half pragmatic and half romantic, longs to marry and have a family of her own-she yearns for both security and the challenge of bringing children into the world. March loves his girls, he’ll always be an outsider in this world of women-a truth that fathers of all-girl families (and lone brothers, too) know too well. He’ll come back, eventually, played with spirited tenderness by Bob Odenkirk. The girls’ mother, Marmee (Laura Dern, in a performance as warm as a hearth), holds the family together while the patriarch is away, fighting in the Civil War. Saoirse Ronan plays the story’s heroine, aspiring writer and all-around firecracker Jo March, the second-oldest daughter in a family of New England sisters circa the mid-1860s. Greta Gerwig’s new adaptation of Little Women, both respectful and invigorating, is her own inscription to a new generation, a reimagining that reaches out to young people making their way in the world today even as it’s true to the manner in which Alcott herself-a woman writer in a field ruled by men-had to push her way forward. It’s a legacy not just of a great story and vividly drawn characters, but also of information: Alcott told us that it takes work and openness to know who you are, and when you figure it out, hang on for dear life. Used bookstores, the collectible-books market, even just eBay: All bear witness to how widely Little Women-beginning with its publication, in 18-has been passed with love from one generation to the next. Books that are marked are often the ones that mark us.
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