“Women…they have minds, and they have souls, as well as just hearts. And they’ve got ambition, and talent, as well as just beauty. I’m so sick of people saying love is all a woman is fit for,” said Jo March, the rebelliously feminist writer and protagonist of Louisa May Alcott’s 1868 novel, Little Women. 

A timeless story of youth-turned-adulthood, dreams-turned-ambitions, friends-turned-family, and domestic-restrictions-turned-broken-glass-ceiling, Little Women holds a special place in the hearts of not only readers of classic Western literature, but in the countless number of actual little women who began to believe in themselves upon cracking open that dusty volume their mothers lovingly pressed into their palms. How does one replicate such a treasure of a 19th century novel into a film of the 21st century? How does one extend a story of boringly ancient “domestic struggles” (at least according to Jo March) into a contemporary depiction of the modern feminist lens? Well… ask Greta Gerwig. 

Despite her start as a solo female director in a largely male-dominated industry, Gerwig quickly found critical acclaim with her 2017 debut film, Ladybird—and upon the release of her 2019 adaptation of Little Women, the world witnessed the solidification of her success as an inherent result of her directorial prowess and artistic eye. 

How does one extend a story of boringly ancient “domestic struggles” (at least according to Jo March) into a contemporary depiction of the modern feminist lens? Well… ask Greta Gerwig. 

As such, Gerwig’s Little Women rises to the challenge of reproducing a timeless classic by imbuing her unique style into every shot, character beat, and narrative twist. Her innovation is reflected in the film’s non-linear, yet somehow rhythmic pattern of time jumps and flashbacks. As the story follows the lives of the four March sisters in the Civil War era of America, the audience would expect to watch them grow up in a chronological fashion (similar to the 1994 adaptation). And yet, Gerwig’s film takes a surprisingly genius turn as she weaves scenes from the future, older March sisters with those of the past, younger versions of themselves. 

In order to create such an unexpected, ingenious adaptation of the book, Gerwig had to cast actors of extraordinary talent and depth. A task that, yet again, she executes wonderfully, evident in how the true essence of each of the March sisters is preserved incredibly well in their castings. 

For how can you not, with the extraordinarily talented actress Saoirse Ronan playing the rebellious and talented tomboy writer Jo March, determined to fulfill her dreams of becoming a successful novelist and bring home the bread for her family while her father is away in the war. Ronan, who specializes in playing free spirits, applies an extra level of ingenuity to Jo’s character through their similar personalities. 

Other primary characters include Theodore “Laurie” Lawrence—whose romantic proposal Jo turns down for her lack of wanting to get married—played by the soulful and incomparable Timothee Chalamet. The rest of the March family is all brilliantly casted too—artistic and ambitious Amy, the youngest sister, played by the equally magnetic Florence Pugh. Meg, the maternal yet hedonistic eldest sister who sacrifices her materialistic desires by marrying for love over financial security, played by the iconic feminist actress, Emma Watson. Beth, the shy, kindhearted and musically gifted sister, played by the lesser-known but endearingly charismatic Eliza Scanlen. Marmee, the loving, willful mother of the March family, played by the powerful Laura Dern. And lastly, the rich, feisty, and practically-minded Aunt March, played by the force of nature that is Meryl Streep. 

Knowing these wonderful actors would be up for the challenge of playing such rich characters in such a complex context, Gerwig capitalizes on her resources to create a film that would take an unexpected but ingenious route.

While some initially found this balance of youthful scenes with their adulthood counterparts jarring, most found that it was well-paced, and seamlessly connected with threads of aching nostalgia, emotional peaks, and subtle links across the different eras of their lives. By creating a non-linear yet connective conversation between the film’s twisting timelines, Gerwig provides her audience with a deeper understanding of the March sisters’ adolescence, while also amplifying the richness of their future destinies—and thus the immediacy with which the audience engages with the characters. For instance, the film starts off with an already adult Jo pursuing her dreams of being a novelist in New York, rather than the book’s opening with the girls in their younger years on Christmas. 

Although Jo has always dreamed of becoming a famous writer, the audience only understands her yearning passion upon viewing scenes of her childhood, where she finds her voice concocting homemade plays for her sisters and receiving many dismissive acceptances and rejections. Gerwig threads these scenes of the past alongside those of Jo’s future, in which she begins taking her writing more seriously by working on a novel after Beth’s death. This creates a deeper connection between Jo and the audience, as seeing her overarching growth while jumping back and forth between time periods allows for a more complete understanding of her character. 

Such a non-linear structure is reflected in the other sisters’ timelines, as well. While Meg maintains a materialistic view on life in her youth—wherein she resents her family’s poorness—she eventually grows to understand that there are more important things in life than money. She discovers this upon her marriage to the poor but loving tutor, John Brooke. Her struggle to accept his lack of financial support progresses to an appreciation for his efforts to provide the most he can for their family. Gerwig develops this conflict by interspersing scenes of a younger Meg trying to assimilate into the wealthy class of her friends at ceremonies and dances, with later scenes of her overspending on dress material and, upon realizing her selfishness is draining John’s funds, reconciling with him in loving, humble acceptance. 

Meanwhile, the youngest sister, Amy, similarly struggles with their family’s lack of affluence, letting her immaturity and vanity replace more genuine concerns with superficial ones, such as her obsession with physical beauty, marrying rich, and her burning Jo’s childhood writings over a fight. However, Amy too grows into a better woman, one that learns to appreciate beauty for what it is and prioritize family and true love, as shown through intertwining scenes of her youthful mistakes while studying art in Paris, choosing to marry Laurie for love over money, and reconciling with Jo.  

Even though Beth grew up as the kindest, most selfless sister of the family, she too has dreams of her own. Gifted with immense musical talent, Gerwig connects scenes of Beth playing the little piano at the March’s house with ones of her being given a new one by Laurie’s grandfather after he lets her play the grand piano in his mansion. Beth’s angelic character is further developed through her actions of extraordinary humility and warmheartedness, prioritizing her family and helping others above all else. She even contracts her fateful sickness while helping a poor mother’s family nearby that the sisters’ mother, Marmee, had brought them to visit before. 

Thus, as the film weaves together scenes of Beth’s younger self falling ill, with her older self contracting the sickness again, the buildup to her death proves all the more tragic and meaningful. A warm scene of young Jo running down the stairs to find Beth recovered at the kitchen table is later reflected in a cold, somber parallel of older Jo seeing Beth gone from her bed and slowly walking down the stairs, only to find that the worst has occurred. 

Gerwig’s purposeful arrangement of scenes in such a rhythmically non-linear fashion serves to develop not only the characters but their storylines in a much more meaningful way. For instance, the way Beth’s death occurs adds extra layers of importance to the scene’s ripple effects, such as how it pushes Jo to finally write the novel she had always wanted to: the story of her and her sisters’ lives. It also reconciles Jo and Amy over their many differences and fights, making them realize that life is “too short to be angry at one’s sisters”, and ultimately brings the whole family and their friends back together after separations from war, economic struggles, and heartbreak, all in an air of sweet remembrance and loyal honoring of their dear sister. 
Ultimately, despite some initial viewer confusion, Gerwig’s irregular weaving of the film’s overall tapestry serves to not only keep audience members on the edges of their seats but creates a wonderfully inventive and still thematically loyal retelling for Little Women’s modern and traditionalist fans alike, as it still captures all of the novel’s primary plotlines, from endearing events of the sisters’ childhood to their tragic, romantic, and ambitious moments in womanhood.

Gerwig’s irregular weaving of the film’s overall tapestry serves to not only keep audience members on the edges of their seats but creates a wonderfully inventive and still thematically loyal retelling for Little Women’s modern and traditionalist fans alike…

Besides the perfect casting and unique plot development, it is Gerwig’s rare ability to convey the inner character of Little Women as an overall story that adds the gratifying finishing touch. She conveys the story’s underlying themes of the importance of family, love, the appreciation of women, and following one’s dreams, through the creation of a cozy, welcoming atmosphere. This environment is brought about by natural, familiar dialogue overlapping in a subtly musical way, uncannily period-perfect costumes and production design, and richly textured cinematography of youthful eras contrasted with the somber, cool-colored tones of adulthood scenes. 

As the audience members are lulled into this inviting warmth, they are much aware of the substance behind that comfort. This is seen in how the characters challenge the status quo, which may draw out the audience members’ own suppressed artistic dreams and ambitious desires, or how the March’s reflect the significance of a caring family and a commitment to finding true love above all else, which may remind them of the importance of their own personal relationships. 

With the film’s unpredictable twists and turns in this nonlinear timeline, and its subtle moments of modern feminism, Gerwig recaptures one of the most timeless tales in a wonderfully warm, freshly innovative, and yet true-to-the-novel perspective. Knowing Alcott was forced to compromise the ending of her novel by having Jo married, it is all the more satisfying to see how the film ends with the rapturous flourish of Jo becoming not only a woman able to preserve her independence while falling in love, but the sleep-deprived, inkstained, and bestselling author that she always dreamt she’d be. Or in other words, how she (and her fellow March sisters) “made [their] own way in the world.”

—Emily Hamill, Spring 2023 Staff