Sanditon

A gorgeous eight-part "Masterpiece" miniseries. Although fans will find many of the requisite Austen touches -- including smoldering suitors and jockeying for a large inheritance -- this PBS presentation includes issues not only of class but race, with a dollop of sex for good measure.

Andrew Davies has the witty sense and sensibility to carry the story forward, concocting a delightful diversion that feels to her manner born. Charlotte Heywood (the effervescent Rose Williams), is a quintessential Austen heroine. [6-19 Jan 2020, p.8]

Mr. Davies is free to do what he will with “Sanditon,” and he has. ... It’s worth the trip to Regency-Era England to find out what actually happens, and who does what to whom.

A delight, as it blends the costume drama conventions we’ve come to know and love with bracingly contemporary elements.

A silly but acceptably entertaining eight-episode series (premiering Sunday) that will probably sit well with “Masterpiece” viewers. It’s not the next “Downton Abbey” (what could ever be?), but it certainly works as an intriguing piece of Austenalia, as it tries to both respect and elevate the story she might have had in mind.

It doesn’t click entirely with Austen’s vision — comic ironic wit and misunderstanding that inevitably lead to lessons learned, love found, and marriage vows spoken — and it may well trigger Austen loyalists. But without the Austen connection — it’s a reasonably absorbing and pretty story that will ring all the pleasure bells for “Masterpiece” diehards.

It’s tough to say how to square the final episode’s ending with the truly lovely production that precedes it. Because regardless of what Sanditon does at the end, the first episodes are completely enjoyable, and as Charlotte says to a friend when the series comes to a close, “I do not regret the time I spent there.”

Sanditon's strong conceit gives way to too many episodes that serve as clunky filler between Charlotte's disastrous first encounter with Sidney and their eventual oozy denouement. ... Even in spite of Sanditon's many prosaic faults, I left the finale thinking, "Wow. They really went for it."

Every box is ticked off to great satisfaction or dull predictability depending on where you stand on the period drama tolerance scale.

It leaned into pulp and became a careless attempt to finish what might have been a great work. The more salacious bits might well have their place, but tying it to Austen is an extraordinary miscalculation.