Say what you will about Emma 2020 but here are the things that it did get right:
• Frank and Knightley awkwardly staring/glaring at each other at odd moments (like it is so clear how envious Knightley is of him)
• Emma is both endearing and insufferable, which is a balance that is difficult to obtain
• Harriet is adorable
• Robert Martin has the saddest puppy-dog eyes ever
• Their two male servants were SO FUNNY and once you notice them you see them everywhere, like they were witness to pretty much everything that happened in this movie like they know EVERYTHING
• Mr. Knightley singing and playing the violin!!! !!!!!
• How happy Harriet is when Mr. Knightley asks her to dance, she’s BEAMING
• THE DANCE BETWEEN EMMA AND MR. KNIGHTLEY??? WHAT WAS THAT????
• Emma crying after Mr. Knightley lectures her at Box Hill
• You might say that they make Knightley’s love for Emma too obvious, and that’s a valid critique, but that does mean that we also get to see Knightley going through The Horrors. That man is Distraught and I love to see it
• Specifically I mean when he dramatically flops on the floor at Donwell and his servant very quickly leaves the room like “nope I’m out.” 10/10 he reserves the right to be dramatic in his own home and I’m living for it
• THEY BOTH CRIED AT THE WEDDING
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It had started with a single pink rose on her little desk in the kitchen on Valentine’s Day in 1939. There had been no card, no message, no clue of the giver whatsoever. It had been mysterious and cute and she had felt herself blushing, and admittedly she had basked in the attention.
It had been ages since someone had thought of her as their Valentine. It hadn’t mattered who the mysterious giver was, although she had her suspicions.
Audrey had suspected that the identity of her secret admirer was no other than Tris and the mere thought had made her smile. She had put the rose in a vase and had taken in joy in the fact that someone was thinking of her. She had never questioned him about it and had rather spent the whole day with a wide smile on her face.
On Valentine’s Day in 1940, six weeks after Tristan’s departure she had found another pink rose on her desk and this time she had been certain that Tristan couldn’t have been the one to deliver it. When she had asked Gerald about the rose a day later she had been met with red ears and an awkward silence that was enough of an answer. In fact the conversation following had been so cringeworthy that she decided to forget to inquire any further.
When Helen had made a cheeky remark about Gerald being the gifter Audrey had just smiled and for one second when her eyes had met Siegfried’s over the kitchen table, she had wondered if it had been his present, but she had quickly discarded the idea, because every year on the 14th of February he visited the cemetery to place a small bouquet of her favourite flowers, lilies, on the grave of his beloved wife. She couldn’t picture him sneaking a single flower on her desk as a romantic gesture. The rose stood on her desk until its scent had faded and it had started to wither.
When Audrey entered the kitchen on the morning of Valentine’s day in 1941 she found another pink rose on her desk. This time she found a card right next to it. The card, coloured in a tender rosé and with a robin on its cover, was too delicate for words. With a slight tremble in her hands, she picked it up and opened it.
She knew the hand like her own and recognised the slight evidence of the writer’s own insecurity as he had written down the words.
Lord Byron said, “Friendship is love without wings.” But my wings, my dearest, have been tamed for too long and they long to fly. For you. With you. And for all eternity.
Here I am, wishing for you to be my everything.
My companion, my lover, and my wife.
With all my love,
Siegfried.
Hot tears were swimming in her eyes as she kept reading the lines over and over again, fearing they could vanish. Fearing it was all a dream that could fade away, came morning. Once she dared to look up, her vision blurry, her head dizzy, she met a couple of dark eyes that lay attentively on her. There were no words, no staggering admission that could express the happiness she felt inside. With two long steps she was standing right in front of him and had her arms thrown around his neck. With her head buried in the crook of his neck, she inhaled his scent and basked in his nearness.
She felt his lips on her head, her eyes, on the tip of her pointed nose, and then on her lips.
“My everything,” he whispered softly and then she cried from wholesome, utter happiness.
She had never been anyone’s everything before. She had lost Robert to the war, before they had truly begun. When her son had been born she had to share him first with Robert, before she had lost him to his criminal antics.
Being Siegfried’s everything, to fly with him, was everything she had ever dreamt of.
“Let’s fly together then,” she whispered and sealed her intention with a soft kiss.
From this day on a single pink rose graced her desk every day of the year and a robin was sitting in the trees by the cemetery near the church. It sang for the bypassers and guarded those who had left.
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