I don't remember why I finally decided to watch "Pride & Prejudice" on TV.
It certainly wasn't because I liked the Jane Austen novel. I confess, I've never read it.
In eighth-grade literature we had a choice between that and "Moby Dick." I chose the latter because the illustration of Captain Ahab on the "Moby Dick" book jacket reminded me of the Gorton's fisherman, and I really liked fish sticks.
Hey, I was 14. That is excellent logic when you are 14.
Little did I know that I would marry a woman who enjoyed Jane Austen stories, and who would, through some extraordinary mystery of genetics, pass that affection on to our three daughters.
So each new dramatization of "Pride & Prejudice" was greeted by the females at our house with the same enthusiasm my two sons and I generally reserved for important and consequential things like Super Bowls and March Madness — not necessarily in that order.
Of course, I was always invited to attend the frequent screenings of the 2005 film adaptation or the six-hour (six hours!) BBC miniseries conducted by my wife and daughters in our TV room, and I always politely declined.
"I'm sorry," I would say. "Not my cup of tea."
I thought that was terribly witty, given the very, very British nature of the show.
My wife, Anita, however, wasn't impressed.
"How do you know it's not your cup of tea?" she asked one time. "You've never seen it."
"I don't need to see it," I said, smiling condescendingly. "I just … you know … know."
I should have known better.
Anita responds to smug superiority like Usain Bolt responds to the starter's gun. One shot, and she's off.
"Oh really," she said, coolly. "So tell me: What do you know about 'Pride & Prejudice'?"
This was going to take some quick thinking, because the truth is, I knew almost nothing.
"I know … I know … I know … that they are both sins!"
My daughters liked that one. Anita, not so much.
"Very funny," she said with a tone that suggested only mild amusement.
"I'm serious. You say you don't like it. So what is it that you don't like about it? I really want to know."
I racked my brain for "Pride & Prejudice" facts and information. Fortunately, for me brain-racking requires very little time — especially when it comes to Jane Austen novels.
There just isn't much to rack. I came up with the following: Mr. Darcy. That's it. That's all I knew — except I seemed to remember a Trivial Pursuit question that suggested that of the book's primary lovers, one was guilty of pride and one was guilty of prejudice. So I went with that.
Anita was semi-impressed.
"That's more than I thought you knew," she said after I stammered through a greatly embellished and exaggerated recitation of my impoverished collection of "P&P" particulars (if there's one thing I've learned to do after 22 years of writing this column, it's "embellish" and "exaggerate").
"So OK, if you don't want to watch, you don't have to."
And I didn't. At least, not that time. But for some reason, about a year ago, I somehow got lost in a late-night showing of the 2005 film.
And I really liked it.
I liked the language. I liked the elegant manners and propriety. And I liked the story's ongoing struggle between pride and prejudice.
I just liked it. Quite a lot.
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