An exhalation of breath in the frigid Yorkshire air; the evanescent heat dissipating into the cold and immediately retracting into stillness – such is the quality of Fukunaga’s Jane Eyre. The warmth goes as quickly as it comes, just as the flickering flames of a candle flee into darkened corners, but leave them just as fleetingly. That is not to say that such a nature leaves the film barren in any way – on the contrary, it lends an entirely new shift in the kaleidoscope of the themes interwoven throughout the novel, which should be the intention of any literary adaptation.

My full thoughts here.