The importance of being Darcy

Shall we dance?
Impressive, too, is this whole business of dancing. I welcome any new adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice,” Firthed or un-Firthed, so long as the dancing is done properly. People in Regency England didn’t dance quite the way we do. There was, for example, precious little grinding.  Smoke machines were rarely used. I doubt lasers made much of an appearance. On the other hand — fortunate generation! — everyone was spared the Electric Slide.

Physical contact between unmarried men and women was pretty much limited to a lot of bowing and fan fluttering. In dancing there was a great deal of twirling, which — and I say this as a square dancer from way back — is a lot harder than it sounds. I’ve thrown off the rotation of the planet with a poorly directed alamand left. But Colin manages this admirably, and with a remarkably small amount of dorkiness. He even skips in a manly manner.

Darcy, however, may not be well suited for the long haul. Once all the smoldering is done — what is there to burn after, really? A really excellent pot roast on Michaelmas, or whatever in the world people yearned for once plights were trothed? I mean, Pemberly is quite the hizzy, but how many chandeliers does one person need? 

And is he really the best judge of character? Look at his friends: He hangs out with Wickham, who is the leading candidate as a spokesman for Rohypnol, and the overly smiley Bingley, who never met a pile of dog poop he didn’t like. “Colin-as-Darcy,” I would say — for I’m sure Colin Firth prefers to be addressed as nothing but — “Colin-as-Darcy, you may stay for as long as you like, but your friends are only allowed inside when I’m off at Pilates class.”

However, given the bilocation and the preference for pond-swimming, I suppose I could settle in for a nice life of horses and twirling. An 80-year-old Colin Firth is still far preferable to a 27-year-old Kevin Federline.

Freelance writer Mary Beth Ellis runs www.BlondeChampagne.com, from whence she leads a merry chase, or plights her troth, or whatever.

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