superbowl for victorianists

tonight, my local pbs station is screening the new bbc/masterpiece theatre adaptation of jane eyre -- all 4 hours back to back. we're approaching half time and so far, as filmic interpretations go, there's only been one nasty play.

in the novel, there's a fantastic scene where rochester disguises himself as a fortune teller in order to not only expose the shallow character of miss blanche ingram, but also to probe the depths of his beloved jane. there's so much at play in this moment -- lots of wonderful ambiguity flying about concerning rochester's manliness and his presumed whiteness/britishness. in this film adaptation, rochester hires a gypsy woman and hides behind a curtain so as to better overhear jane's unguarded conversation with the woman. i suppose there's a "gossip/eavesdropping" angle that could be worked if one wanted to discuss the effect this scene has on eddie f's virility, but it just isn't the same.

post-half time, the game will be riding on how the film handles two things: 1) the explanation and exposure of bertha and 2) the portrayal of saint john (yes, yes, "sinjun") rivers.