Do We Need More “iPhone Face” Period Dramas?

As a new wave of Jane Austen adaptations loom, the period drama genre hangs in the balance—poised between meaningful reinvention and the risk of diminishing the best parts of their source material. 

To contextualize, what prompted this article was the release of the first trailer for Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights (or, as I like to call it, 50 Shades of Heathcliff). As expected, the video sparked another round of online debates about period dramas, specifically the ways adaptations twist their source materials. This reminded me of the disaster that was 2022’s Persuasion (more on that later) and got me thinking about the new wave of Austen remakes on the horizon.

I don’t mean to be a snob; I’ll still watch Wuthering Heights in theaters to see Fennell’s full vision before casting my final unsolicited opinion. She did, after all, put quotation marks around the title: a subtle visual cue that the film doesn’t intend to be faithful to Emily Brontë’s seminal work. And does that little detail even matter? Well, yes—because it invariably shapes expectations that shift how fans of the original material and non-readers alike judge the quality of an adaptation. 

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What Makes A “Good” Period Drama Adaptation? 

Really, the question applies to adaptations in general, though period dramas come with their own nuances. I’m not here to gatekeep or claim that everything should’ve ended with Joe Wright’s incomparable Pride & Prejudice. While mediocre remakes suck, their existence is a sign that Austen’s works live on in our collective imaginations, and people continue to find value in revisiting them.

Besides, debating the “best” Austen adaptation is a futile exercise. It’s like naming your favorite color or dish—everyone has their reasons, and no one’s budging. Case in point: never ask people to pit the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice miniseries against Wright’s film unless you’re ready to play referee in a heated, never-ending argument (though let’s just all agree they’re both spectacular in their own ways). 

But for the sake of this article, I’ve narrowed down the reasons why period drama adaptations fail and succeed, distilling them into two major points. You can agree to disagree, but these are just things I find crucial as a writer; most of the observations hinge on narrative, even when they tackle film’s inherently visual elements. 

The iPhone Face Phenomenon

I’ll start with the hook of this feature’s title: what netizens are calling the “iPhone Face” or “Instagram Face” phenomenon. We can define it as the typical, almost homogenous celebrity look—undeniably polished in that modern sense, which takes audiences out of a period piece. It can refer to hair and makeup, but it also points to the physical modifications that have become popular today: Botox, nose jobs, and, of course, veneers (because people in the 1800s would rather fix their teeth than find a cure for consumption). 

Many examples come to mind, but let’s use 2022’s Persuasion as our focal point. Dakota Johnson, who plays its heroine Anne Elliot, looks like Dakota Johnson—beautiful, yes, but not a woman living in Regency-era England. That’s enough to break the illusion of a film’s historical setting. The movie’s men aren’t spared from this either: Henry Golding, who plays Anne’s deceitful cousin William, looks like he’s just about ready to walk the MET Gala red carpet, rather than romp across the sprawling hills of the British countryside.

There are counterarguments to be made here: “You can’t change their faces” or “Why are we so fixated on what people do to their bodies?” Both are valid, but they can’t be excuses for poor filmmaking. If Robert Eggers can transform Bill Skarsgård into a monstrously unrecognizable Nosferatu, then surely more purposeful aesthetic choices can be made to tell a story that respects its source material. I guess what I’m getting at is, I wish people would try just a little harder. 

Part of what made an exceptional Austen adaptation like Ang Lee’s Sense and Sensibility (1995) work is the “barefaced” look of their performers. That’s not to say there weren’t any cosmetics involved, but they served the story and didn’t let current beauty trends bleed into it. The makeup (and costumes) did what they were supposed to: recreate Austen’s world—not perfectly, but as truthfully as possible. 

Is “Modern” Bad? Not If You Truly Lean Into It

Wright’s Pride and Prejudice proves a modern adaptation can get it right. Are the costumes 100% period accurate? No, and Wright admits it, stating he preferred the styles of 18th-century England, rather than Austen’s Regency-style (early 19th century) silhouettes. Yet creative liberty works for the film, not against it. The garments are gorgeous, and the actors imbue their characters with an authenticity that feels at once fresh and true to Austen’s vision.

I guess we can say it’s one of those rare pieces that straddles the line between “faithful” period drama adaptation and contemporary take, which is an incredibly difficult balance to pull off. Still, for all intents and purposes, it firmly leans into historical drama. It knows exactly what it wants to be. The script has a lived-in, candid rawness to it that’s not only easy to follow but also timelessly resonant, staying true to the striking language of Austen’s work while infusing it with something utterly unique. In other words, it adds to the existing conversation. 

Even Autumn de Wilde’s 2020 take on Emma—with all its candy-colored pastel glory—captures the essence of its text despite some mischaracterizations and inaccuracies. Visually, it stays innovative while still convincing audiences of its Regency- and Georgian-era setting. The costumes are impeccable, the hair and makeup restrained, and the script never feels contrived or forcibly modernized. And well, we can excuse Anya Taylor-Joy’s sculpted, modelesque face here because it actually fits the narrative, Austen describing her heroine Emma Woodhouse as “handsome, clever, and rich.” The essential “It” girl of the period, if you will.

Loose adaptations can also be excellent—if they know what they are (and aren’t). In fact, some of my favorite films are decidedly modern takes on old works. Think 10 Things I Hate About You (based on Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew), Easy A (very loosely inspired by Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter), and Bridget Jones’s Diary (an iconic riff on Pride and Prejudice)—all movies that barely resemble their source material at first glance, yet demonstrate a deep understanding of their themes and characters. 

As with any craft, you can successfully “break the rules” when you have a firm grasp of the fundamentals. That’s why these films remain brilliant: they masterfully interrogate, twist, and reinvent their source material to reflect the zeitgeist because they know what made the original work resonate in the first place.

I can’t even hate Bridgerton for what it is, despite all its flaws (I stopped watching it as soon as I heard a string cover of Ariana Grande’s “thank u, next” during a ball scene, but that might just be a me problem). It’s very much aware that it’s rewriting history, unapologetically embracing its campy, horny, melodramatic, iPhone face elements. It’s divisive, yeah, but at least it’s honest and not half-hearted.

Case Study: How 2022’s Persuasion Wasn’t So Persuasive

2022’s Persuasion, to put it bluntly, didn’t understand the assignment. In fact, it seemed to completely miss the point of its text. Its main character, Anne Elliot, is a spunky, “quirky” heroine who day drinks bottles of red wine in her bedroom and stares wryly at the camera a la Fleabag (a useless string of fourth wall breaks that, unlike in Fleabag, don’t actually offer anything to its story). 

From the get-go, it’s clear filmmakers wanted her to appeal to today’s jaded, “liberated” Millennial or Gen Z girl (if they wanted a perfect example, they could just look at Keira Knightley’s Elizabeth Bennett). But Anne isn’t any of those things. This affront is most noticeable to longtime fans of the work, but even those unfamiliar with the story will probably get this sense of vapid “coolness” and try-hard intelligence that just doesn’t feel earned. 

Persuasion is, as its title suggests, ultimately a story about an impressionable, kind, and soft-spoken woman whose initial failure to stand up for what she wants leads to one of her biggest regrets in life—losing the man she loves, Captain Frederick Wentworth. She bends to the opinions of others, including her wealthy family, who deem Wentworth an unsuitable match due to his lack of fortune. But when circumstances change, and the captain returns to her life, Anne is given a chance to finally name what she desires: a slow but steady process that feels both heartwarming and rewarding to see unfold. 

Our heroine isn’t Dakota Johnson glamorous: in fact, the book describes that her “bloom had vanished early,” at least by the standards of her time. With her reserved and mild-mannered nature, she certainly wouldn’t day drink or deliver sarcastic quips, either. She’s the girl for all girls who were made to feel like their gentleness is weakness, which is why so many readers adore her (myself included). The story isn’t about killing one’s tenderness with cynicism or resentment, but rather, fueling it with an admirable inner strength. “You may perhaps like the Heroine, as she is almost too good for me,” writes Austen, describing Anne in an 1817 letter to Fanny Knight, her eldest niece.

Sadly, the film somehow turned Persuasion into a story about bitterly mourning over an old flame in the loudest way possible. Which, in itself, is fine—but it’s not Persuasion. As a character, Anne is lovable precisely because she does the exact opposite: learning to navigate the ulterior motives and machinations of those around her with quiet grace and self-respect. To forget that is to forget Austen’s talent for crafting complex women. But I suppose, if it’s any consolation, no film adaptation of Persuasion has truly nailed the delicate intricacies of Anne’s character; the 1995 and 2007 films paint her as too much of a meek pushover, though they’re leagues better than the 2022 version.

The adaptation can’t seem to decide what it wants to be: a Wrightian historical drama that infuses just enough inventiveness to resonate with modern audiences, or a contemporary remake that skillfully breaks rules. The result is something that feels just barely alive, a story that’s neither here nor there, missing all the marks and removing any trace of Austen’s spirit. 

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How did we go from “There could have never been two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement,” to “But a heartbeat ago, there were no two souls more in rhythm than Wentworth and I. Now we’re strangers. Worse than strangers. [sigh] We’re exes.” I’m sighing too, Dakota, but for a different reason.

The 2022 adaptation might’ve worked better if it had embraced its contemporary tone outright, reframing itself as a “loose” remake set in the present day or an alternate reality. That’s where setting the tone and managing audience expectations becomes crucial: make a choice, commit to it, and ensure that creative liberties enhance the story—or at the very least add something meaningful—instead of undercutting it.

I can only hope the next round of Austen remakes (and literary remakes in general, like the new The Age of Innocence that’s currently in the works…which I’ll remain skeptical of until I’m proven wrong) will build on their darlings rather than butcher them. Classics should continue to be engaged with—that’s how they remain relevant. Adaptations and reimaginings need not be faithful to a T, but if they’re going to deconstruct and recreate, they should do it armed with knowledge, respect, and careful effort. It’s the least they can do to honor the brilliance of their source material. 

Photos courtesy of Kinorium (unless specified).