Little Women (2019): A Feminist Movement in Five Parts

A short review of the 2019 movie Little Women, as directed by Greta Gerwig

The movie gently pushes us into an explosion of family intimacy as we are introduced to Jo, Beth, Amy and Meg March along with their mother, “Marmee.” We are at once warmly welcomed into the life of this 1860s family. Each woman is feisty, intelligent and strong-spirited and we are at once enamoured of all of them, for differing reasons. The casting for this movie is as good as perfect as each actor sinks fully into character to deliver this enchanting story of interwoven lives, human nature, self discovery, sacrifices, choices and the importance of throwing oneself wholeheartedly into love.

We are also introduced to their Aunt March who seizes every opportunity to urge Amy to marry well, their loyal housekeeper Hannah, their neighbour Mr Laurence, his grandson Laurie and Laurie’s friend, John Brooke. Marmee March plays the role of sole parent for most of the film while the girls’ father is fighting in the American Civil War. Marmee’s character is probably the glue that holds the entire story together. She is the epitome of strength, love, selflessness and empathy, even though she later confesses to Jo that being kind and patient is something she struggles with daily. She raises her daughters to be independent, empathetic and to remain faithful to their true selves.

There is a strong air of feminism she exudes that is subtly yet firmly expressed in the way she relates with her children. Her approach to parenting is notable because it is at variance to the teachings and practices of the time. When Meg is about to go away to attend a debutante ball, Marmee assures John Brooke that;

“Girls have to go out into the world and make up their own minds about things.”

She believes in women owning possessions and enjoying their lives outside of marriage. She says as she gifts Meg a necklace to wear to the ball;

“I’ve never understood saving jewelry until marriage. You should have something that’s just yours. Pretty things should be enjoyed.”

Throughout the movie, it is refreshing to witness the love and respect between Marmee and her husband. The girls themselves have been raised to think logically, to be empathetic and to be communicative of their emotions.

Jo and Amy, who have always had a somewhat terse relationship, have a beautiful bonding moment when Jo cuts off her hair and sells it to make enough money for their ailing father. While she does not regret the sacrifice, she has a breakdown and mourns the loss of her hair. Amy finds her crying and when she asks what the problem is, Jo says simply, “It’s my hair.”

“I would feel the same way,” Amy says as she comforts her.

The film is dotted with scenes of stark, brutally honest emotion that meld us intimately with the lives of the characters and leave the viewer somehow rooting for all of them at the same time. It wraps scenarios around the thin line between revenge and hatred or that between independence and loneliness. We also follow the web of friendship tying the characters to one another.

This Greta Gerwig adaptation of the Louisa May Alcott novel weaves us back and forth through time, skillfully blending the past and present in a style as successful as that used in This is Us, giving us a deeper understanding of each of the characters. It is as much a story of art as it is of feminism, love or human attachments.

The story tapers to focus on Jo, a tortured writer who in the beginning knows only that she needs to be financially independent, although she is not entirely sure of herself as a writer. Her character arc embodies the story of many other writers struggling with a restlessness of spirit and eventually settling into their own unique voice. It speaks of the beauty of giving in to art, persistently “doing it for others” until the big break that will showcase an artist’s talent and finally bring with it some measure of validation.

When the family loses Beth to scarlet fever and Jo turns down the advances of Laurie, she overcomes her writer’s block and begins writing a novel which is a thinly veiled recount of her own life. It will go on to be published even after a scalding rejection from the same publisher. We are shown the importance of support for young artists when Mr Laurence encourages Beth to play the piano, when Beth tells Jo that she must never give up writing and when Aunt March in her own abrasive way is instrumental in Amy’s journey as a painter.

Ultimately, each of the sisters has to make choices that are fundamentally different from the others, but are ultimately propelled by their love for each other above everything else. Amy frets over marrying for love or money, Meg struggles with subjecting her vanity to the strong love she feels for her struggling husband, and Jo clings fiercely to truth and her independence. Before Meg gets married, Jo begs Meg to pursue her love for acting instead of settling down for a life of mere marital drama. Meg tells her fondly but firmly: “Just because my dreams are different than yours doesn’t mean they are unimportant.” This is a gentle reminder that feminism is an umbrella wide enough to cover all women, no matter their varying wants from life.

The exquisite acting takes us through a range of emotions at a very believable pace, blessing us every now and again with the sublime beauty of Louisa May Alcott’s writing. Unlike in the book where Jo definitively refuses to marry and have children, the movie adaptation shows Jo playing out a romantic fantasy where she rushes after Friedrich Baehr, a literature critic and teacher who has always wanted her to write in her true voice, rather than simply produce what could be profitable. In this reverie, they have the following conversation:

Friedrich: I have nothing to give you, Jo.

Jo: It doesn’t matter.

Friedrich: My hands are empty!

Jo: They’re not empty.

After which they share a passionate kiss.

However, the movie ends without giving a clear sense of whether or not Jo marries Friedrich. Instead, we see her watching with a smile of fulfillment as copies of her book, Little Women, are being printed.

Little Women succeeds in showing us lovable characters who stand firm for what is right and solve real problems around them. It also leaves the impression that there is love at the heart of any feminist movement; a love for self, and a longing for a more balanced society. There is a stark difference between the unsure Jo in the beginning and the confident writer who negotiates a better contract for herself and refuses to sell off rights to her work at the end.

It is a classic tale of the human journey and the need for kindness, community and equity. Above all, it is a reminder to be more present in life and to take happiness wherever it presents itself — in the little things of the everyday, as well as in the bigger victories of life.

P.S.

I wrote this review around January 2020 and pitched it to a few places before defeatedly laying it to rest amongst my many discarded drafts and projects. My anticipation for Barbie and the magic I believe Greta Gerwig has pulled again is really what pushed me to dust this off and give it a home here.