Warning: Spoilers!
Like plenty of girls who grew up with a ravenous appetite for the written word, Anne Shirley - plucky orphan extraordinaire - was my absolute favorite rags to riches story. A girl whose cleverness and indomitable romantic spirit saved her from a life devoid of love or compassion, charmed an entire town, and won the adoration of its most eligible bachelor.
It's not often a film adaptation can live up to the expectations of a book lover like me, but the eighties delivered just such a rarity in the form of Anne of Green Gables (1985) and Anne of Avonlea (1987). Megan Follows brought Anne to life on screen with all of the boundless optimism, heady romanticism, and dramatic desperation the character deserved. Jonathan Crombie was the perfect Gil (the guy nerd girls like me always dreamed of): Smart, funny, rich, and more interested in brains than boobs. So when Netflix rebooted Anne's story, I knew it wouldn't be the same because it wouldn't be my Anne, but I really did try to put aside any prejudices against it. I love the story so much, I thought surely there would always be room in my heart for more "Annes."
Room there may be, but not for this:
Pictured: Mr. Hammond beating Anne with a belt as she screams for mercy
This "gritty" reboot is brought to us in part by Moira Walley-Becket, a Breaking Bad alum. And while I love my hubristic chemistry teacher-turned drug kingpin stories filled with despair in the finest tradition of Greek Tragedy, I like my freckle-faced orphans with slightly less PTSD.
I like the little girl playing Anne. Ambeth McNulty is wonderful and delivers well in the role that has been written for her. I quite like Marilla and Matthew as well. The atmospheric film work and muted tones are actually things I enjoy in many dramas. But the 'Anne' L.M. Montgomery wrote, and the 'Anne' Megan Follows brought to the screen with writer/director Kevin Sullivan, was filled with hope. Even when in the "depths of despair" viewers had to laugh at what a drama queen she was. The few moments of genuine pain were all the more poignant for jutting out from so much love, laughter, and vibrancy.
After an hour and a half (the first episode) I wanted to drown myself in the Lake of Shining Waters. The best word I can think of to describe this new manifestation is bleak. And if I wanted bleak I'd read Cormac McCarthy.