Jane Austen's ‘Emma’ at the Lantern

If I were running the U.S school system, I would immediately overhaul the high school English curriculum.

Freshman year would be devoted to the Twilight novels, the teen vampire saga by Stephenie Meyer. Sophomores could progress to A Shore Thing, by Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi of “Jersey Shore” fame: a novel of “hot guidos, cool clubs, fried Oreos and lots of tequila.”

Junior year would involve an exhaustive study of Fifty Shades of Gray, E.L. James’s bestselling erotic Twilight fan fiction trilogy. And seniors could cap off their education with this year’s literary blockbuster, Love Italian Style, by the star of “Real Housewives of New Jersey,” Melissa Gorga.

(According to the reviews, Love Italian Style is a marriage advice book that urges the husband to rip his wife’s clothes off and “dominate” her any time she isn’t in the mood, because that’s what women really want when they say no.)

”˜Not a big fan’

Bear with me here. I love fine literature. Ever since the Lantern announced that a new production of Jane Austen’s Emma would kick off the current season, I’ve looked forward to opening night. I was pleased when a younger acquaintance snapped up my extra ticket to the show. I hardly knew her, but we would revel in all the joys of Austen together.

When we took our seats on opening night, I asked a cursory question: “So are you a fan of Jane Austen novels?”

“I’ve actually never gotten all the way through any of her books,” my date responded. “I’m not a big fan of classic literature.”

The world teetered on its axis, and when I’d recovered, I managed to ask if she was grouping all classic literature together as a single genre, the entirety of which she disliked.

“Yeah,” she said, a little apologetically. She went on to explain that maybe that was because she’d been forced to read it in school. She was assigned Austen at age 15 or so and just couldn’t slog through it.

If Snooki ruled

Now, I’d begun my love affair with Pride and Prejudice long before it popped up in high school English, but to each her own. I confess that I’d rather sail to Hawaii in a shoebox than look at one more copy of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which at least three of my high school English teachers insisted on assigning. The horror! Would I love Heart of Darkness if I returned to it today? We’ll never know.

It’s not my friend’s fault that she came to Emma at the Lantern mostly because a pal from Arcadia University, our alma mater, was playing Mr. Elton. How much literature would all of us be reading now if we hadn’t turned the pages under duress in high school? If Snooki Polizzi ruled the classroom, our youth might make a beeline for Austen, Dumas, Brontë, Golding and Thackeray on their own.

Quieter than FringeArts

So I’m in a bit of a bind. I’d like to tell you that Emma, adapted from Austen’s novel by Michael Bloom and directed by Kathryn MacMillan, is a lovely production that will probably satisfy “Janeites” everywhere. But what about the young, impressionable minds who might flee from such a recommendation?

Dirk Durossette’s painted proscenium frame captures Emma’s machinations as if they’re indeed a play in her own mind, launched from the flawless application of a few Regency furniture pieces. Alisa Sickora Kleckner’s costumes deliver all the impossibly high waistlines you’d expect in a performance of this caliber. And after the auditory forests of the FringeArts Festival (I’m not saying the migraine I had after one show was due to the constant ear-splitting music-box sound cues, but I’m not ruling it out either), Christopher Colucci’s original music and sound design— bucolic birdcalls and all— was a welcoming embrace.

Hidden plot points

Peter DeLaurier gives a hilarious turn as the delicate Mr. Woodhouse, Lauren Sowa makes a feisty yet mellifluous Emma, and a fine ensemble cast full of surprising double turns does ample justice to Austen’s characters. MacMillan’s direction teases out the hidden plot points in the faces of everyone on the sidelines. Harry Smith proves especially poignant as Mr. Knightly.

In this adaptation, a constantly soliloquizing Emma is paired with reams of dialogue drawn straight from the novel. But the second act fails to maintain the same humorous spark of the first, and the overlong performance dwells too much on the details of the denouement.

Plus, Austen purists, let’s face it: Mr. Woodhouse would have walked to Donwell Abbey himself before he let Miss Bates leave the house amid giant rumbles of thunder, as he does in this production.

But overall, Janeites, let this be your warning: Teachers, keep your classes away. Parents, don’t bring your teens to the show. It’d be a tragedy if Austen’s lovely, spirited and forward-thinking story plagued any more youngsters who think we’re trying to force it upon them.