Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet were the original situationship — that's why we are still obsessed with ‘Pride and Prejudice'

Indian Express

5 days ago

When Netflix shared the first look of their new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, which comes a few days after the re-release of the 2005 film on its 20th anniversary in India, it was less a surprise and more a reminder of how Jane Austen's most enduring novel never really goes out of style. It resurfaces — with a new cast, reimagined and repackaged — every few years. And each time, it feels like the moment is just right for its return.
But why this particular story? Why Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy, again?
The answer lies in the novel's finely-tuned characters, social commentary and a dynamic that feels oddly contemporary. Even when you strip them off their high-waisted empire dresses and countryside estates, you are left with a narrative of chauvinism, vulnerability, bad first impressions, pride, class anxiety, marriage, love and the quiet work of putting in effort to understand the other person and working on oneself to be better.
At the heart of the novel are two characters who misjudge each other — publicly, spectacularly — and with consequences. Elizabeth Bennet is intelligent, independent and perceptive, but also quick to assume, and stubborn in her conclusions and prejudices. Fitzwilliam Darcy aka Mr Darcy is wealthy, reserved, and socially awkward, wrapped in a prideful shell that masks his insecurity and decency. Their romantic arc isn't built on swoon or spark — it's built on error, reflection, and emotional growth.
In contemporary terms, it's not hard to imagine Darcy as the guy who's terrible on first dates but writes long, earnest texts later. Lizzie would likely have unmatched him after one pointed conversation, only to spiral into making an Instagram reel or Reddit thread six months later about how she might have misjudged him. The slow burn of mutual self-correction is what makes their dynamic so recognisable in 2025.
You could argue that Darcy and Lizzie are Austen's version of a situationship. They orbit each other, exchange glances and barbs, and misread every signal. It's only when they begin to reconsider their own reactions — Darcy after Lizzie's brutal rejection, Lizzie after reading his letter — that anything resembling love begins to take shape.
This emotional arc feels more real now than ever. In a world that is more focused on self-awareness, therapy, and 'doing the work', their story models a kind of romantic accountability that feels refreshing and modern. Darcy's arc isn't a grand romantic transformation — it's a case study in shutting up, listening, and fixing your mess without expecting applause.
Beyond romance, Pride and Prejudice is a novel about social pressure, and no force exerts more of it than family. The Bennet household is a mess of chaos, ambition, and financial insecurity. Mrs Bennet is a shrill but not unjustified portrait of a mother whose daughters' futures rest entirely on their ability to marry well. Mr Bennet is passive, clever, and emotionally absent — a father figure that feels surprisingly familiar in the current discourse on emotionally unavailable parenting.
Modern adaptations keep coming back to this structure because the stakes are still familiar: Love shaped by economics, social standing and familial pressure. Even now, the story of a young woman trying to navigate love, career, and societal expectations while dealing with family dysfunction and financial pressure feels strikingly familiar. Replace them with student loans, unemployment and housing insecurity, and the stakes barely shift.
Elizabeth Bennet endures because she feels like someone we know — or are. She is proud, self-protective, brilliant, and not afraid to speak up. She doesn't suffer fools, even when society tells her she must. And unlike so many of her 19th-century contemporaries, she's not punished for her wit or independence — she's rewarded for it. In today's cultural landscape, where confidence is currency but women are still expected to perform likeability, Lizzie's refusal to pander makes her iconic.
Her arc is not about humbling herself into submission but recognising her misjudgements and growing from them. That's a character arc women are still rarely allowed to have onscreen — flawed and opinionated, yet not villainised.
Pride and Prejudice remains in rotation because it adapts. Its characters grow, its structure flexes, its emotions stay grounded. It is not a fairytale; it is a mirror.
We return to it because its questions never stop being relevant. Can you fall in love without losing yourself? Can you admit you were wrong? Can you forgive someone else for doing the same? Each generation answers differently. Yet, somehow, the story remains the same — but refreshing nonetheless.
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