Kelley Rand’s review published on Letterboxd:
Life is too short to be angry at one’s sisters.
Greta Gerwig's Little Women is the dictionary definition of a "treasure"; it is, simply, exquisite in every way. I have regarded Louisa May Alcott's immortal text as my all-time favorite book for almost two decades now, and this faultless adaptation already means so much to me after one single viewing, my brain isn't quite sure what to do with itself.
It is, at once, a perfectly crafted time machine back to 19th-century Massachusetts *and* a dazzlingly fresh presentation of a story that’s been told countless times. It feels both classic and modern, without ever expressly trying to *be* either; it just is. Its strength lies in the delicacy of its feeling, the script's completely brilliant non-linear structure allowing past to seep into present, memories softly glowing into consciousness just as they do in real life. It is sumptuously designed on every level—namely Yorick Le Saux's typically artful photography; Jacqueline Durran's typically divine period costuming; Jess Gonchor's typically mind-blowing, transportive production work; Alexandre Desplat's typically decadent-but-never-obtrusive scoring; and (perhaps most of all) Nick Houy's symphonic editing—and performed by a cast that uniformly delivers (my MVP is Ronan...and Pugh...and Chalamet...and Watson...and Dern...and Cooper...and Scanlen...and Streep...and, well, you get the picture).
I find that there’s nothing quite as wonderful, as a moviegoer, than slowly realizing how much a film will mean to you for the rest of your life while you watch it. This is unquestionably one of those magical pictures, for me.