Vanity Fair (2004)

Vanity Fair is special because it treats its heroine not as a tidy moral lesson, but as a dazzling, complicated force of will—Reese Witherspoon’s Becky Sharp is charming enough to win you over even when you’re not sure you should be rooting for her. Mira Nair stages early-19th-century England with lush, bustling visual flair and a sly sense of wit, so the film feels less like a museum-piece costume drama and more like a living social arena where every smile can be a strategy. The story moves with satisfying structure and sweep, threading romance, ambition, and class anxiety through a uniformly strong cast (Eileen Atkins and Jim Broadbent are especially delicious in the margins). If you want a prim, comfort-blanket period romance, Becky’s sharp elbows may not be your cup of tea—but if you like your dramas smart, sumptuous, and a little wicked, this one is an easy recommendation.

Mira Nair’s Vanity Fair wants to be a glossy, crowd-pleasing period romance with a scrappy outsider heroine you can root for, and it’s handsomely mounted with rich costumes and a steady, watchable cast. The problem is it often plays it too safe: Becky’s sharper edges are sanded down, so the social satire loses its teeth and what should feel wickedly ambitious can come off perky and oddly tame. If you’re coming for Thackeray’s bite, moral discomfort, and a heroine who’s genuinely dangerous, this may feel like a polite misreading that drifts into dull stretches. But if you just want an accessible, PG-13 costume drama with Reese Witherspoon’s charm and a few strong supporting turns, it can still be an easy, undemanding watch.