A jolly romp with plenty of good gags

Everything Theatre reviews the play Jane Eyre Convention giving it 3 stars out of 5.

As a reviewer, it doesn’t pay to make overly quick judgments. However, within minutes of Jane Eyre Convention opening, I had come to the firm conclusion that the team behind the show had picked a difficult book for a comedy parody. Jane Austen lends herself to the amusing because she is often a quick-witted, funny writer herself. In comparison, getting laughs from Charlotte Brontë’s doom-laden gothic romance feels peculiarly like hard labour. 

However, the valiant cast of four (Eleanor Zeal, Ben Everett Riley, Georgia Jackson and Rachel Overd) throw themselves into the task with unfazed, drama-school-level enthusiasm. This isn’t a criticism. I love drama school energy. It certainly carried the room in this case, on an otherwise quiet Tuesday night in Clapham. Playing guileless attendees at a Jane Eyre reenactment society meeting, the foursome tackle everything fearlessly, including occasional clumsy hints at a Gen Z world beyond a safe literary space. Controlling, violent boyfriends, ADHD, absent dad trauma, race, and post-colonial reflection all pop up briefly. Some references seem flippant. Others unnecessary. This only becomes a real problem with gender politics. Riley, as the only guy in the cast, is sometimes asked to embody misogyny and decry it at the same time. It’s just a bit of a mess that fails to land, either as humour or serious commentary. Not everything needs a contemporary eyebrow raise, and, perhaps, Rochester is allowed to just be a sexy older man. 

Clunky missteps aside, it is all a jolly romp with plenty of good gags. I enjoyed, at various times, the embodiment of the moon, Rochester’s slightly camp horse, running (or walking fast) across the moors, and death by tuberculosis. I warned you, all very doom-laden and gothic. The team gets through the novel that many of us recognise from school curricula at a pace. It’s a book that Zeal, who writes as well as stars, obviously loves in detail. The most effective moments are undoubtedly when Brontë’s words are quoted directly, unadorned. Passages are surprisingly theatrical. It left me a bigger fan of the Haworth writer’s work than I was before. Job done, then I guess. 

For me, Jane Eyre is best represented by the 1943 film starring Orson Welles. Others will love the 2011 film with Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender. Many might turn to director Sally Cookson’s mighty version that landed at the National Theatre in 2015. Realistically, Jane Eyre Convention is not going to trouble anyone’s list of definitive versions. But if you enjoy the book, there is probably sufficient fun to be had among fellow fans here. Knowing that classic works of literature catch the eye in a festival programme, I reckon this is a show with an exciting future at Edinburgh, where, fortunately, it appears it is heading after this Clapham run. (Mike Carter)

Harper's Bazaar wonders 'Why Is Romance So Universally Appealing Right Now?'

Coming off Fall 2026 fashion month this past March, we were left with a lingering, wistful feeling of romance. The Wuthering Heights press tour was in full swing, and there seemed to be a startling overlap between the subverted feminine tropes playing out onscreen and those walking down the runways. [...]

And, of course, Wuthering Heights ties a bow around it all: a romance novel turned film with a fashion-forward press tour in which lead actress Margot Robbie, styled by Andrew Mukamal, took to international red carpets in Dilara Findikoglu corsets cinched up tight. [...]

In Forbidden Fruits, the four main characters host a séance in frilly Rodarte dresses embellished with lace and ribbons. The costumes may conduct a romantic feel, but the plot does not—someone's about to get initiated into a cult. Wuthering Heights may look romantic but it doesn't really feel romantic. Each is provocative in its plotline, heart-wrenching, scary, even gross, at times despite the overt presence of ribbon and corsetry. Whereas releases like Office Romance or People We Meet on Vacation (based on a romance novel) feel more like romance in substance if not costume. Is something romantic purely because it has a Victorian element? Or because it takes place on the moors of England? "I got an Instagram ad for these dresses that literally looked cut-and-paste from the set of Wuthering Heights, and I think that's when people miss the mark," Biga posits. "Can you imagine somebody wearing a whalebone corset in Prospect Park? They would look like they were in a play." (Camille Freestone)

A contributor to The Wall Street Journal has selected five books where houses are important and one of them is

Wuthering Heights

By Emily Brontë (1847)

2. In her story of ill-starred lovers and class divisions set on the bleak moors of Yorkshire, England, Emily Brontë creates two contrasting visions of home. Catherine Earnshaw, raised in the “disorderly, comfortless” gothic abode of Wuthering Heights, is seduced by the refinement of the neighboring Thrushcross Grange, “a splendid place carpeted with crimson.” She transforms herself from “a wild, hatless little savage” into a lady, which estranges her from her childhood companion and besotted admirer, Heathcliff, a foundling who lives with her family. Losing Catherine to Edgar, the heir of Thrushcross Grange, prompts Heathcliff, the perpetual outsider, to vow vengeance; he maneuvers to gain financial control of both houses with the aim of destroying each one’s inhabitants. “The more the worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush out their entrails.” Brontë subjects her characters to the competing influences of the two houses; those who venture too close to the Heights—such as Catherine’s daughter, years later—get sucked into the abject darkness within. Heathcliff is unable to find solace in either mansion. For him, home can only be one shared with Catherine, and he must escape his earthly bonds to unite with her spirit. (Manil Suri)

A columnist from The Argus says that 'Scientific classics deserve a place beside great novels'.

When people talk about reading classical literature, they often talk about it as if it were a kind of cultural passport, a document you must get stamped with Dickens, Austen, the Brontës and Hardy before you’re allowed to pass through the gates of polite society. Admit that you haven’t read Bleak House or that you stalled halfway through Jane Eyre, and you can watch their expressions shift from surprise to a faint, pitying amusement.

Yet the same people who treat nineteenth-century fiction as a universal benchmark will, without hesitation, dismiss the great scientific works of the same era as unreadable, irrelevant or impossibly dense. They will recoil at the idea of opening Darwin’s Voyage of the Beagle or The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, even though these books were written for general readers and sold in their thousands to ordinary Victorians who had less scientific training than most of us today. (James Williams)

A contributor to Ethic (in Spanish) writes in defence of Anne Brontë.