There is something quite authentic in productions of the 70s to 90s, minus makeup sometimes, evoking a restraint in demeanor and scenes set in accurate buildings with all their very poor lighting. Even if it may not grab at the inclination to passion and one's own heartstrings for demonstratively happy resolutions it gives that feeling of authenticity. Every time Crawford walked into a room I felt Fanny's trepidation, and a slight ill-ease at his words and manner of speaking, without signs of any ability to read her coolness. The characterisation of Fanny was well done I thought, and her tenacity at pushing past her being a second class citizen, making herself indispensable and a solid foundation around which others could build on or set their clocks to to rhythmically bounce off in their pursuit of their own wants. The latter so much so that when an outburst from her came it was treated with utmost seriousness. The conclusion was quite quick in my estimation, and some time and thought should have gone into drawing out a bit more drama and emotion, so that more people could join in the feeling too. A problematic Austen novel, and the only mature one that covers a range of issues under the hood. This production made me reassess my favourite book.