If there’s one story that keeps getting reinvented and re-loved every few decades, it’s Little Women. Whether you read it as a kid—maybe because your mother or grandma pushed it into your hands—or stumbled upon one of its many film adaptations, chances are you’ve crossed paths with the March sisters at some point.
Most recently, we’ve been given a new spin on the classic story thanks to Greta Gerwig’s 2019 film adaptation. But how does it compare to Louisa May Alcott’s original novel? What does it keep, what does it change, and does it really capture the heart of Little Women?
Well, let’s take a look.
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If you need a reminder of the story before you continue reading, you can pause here and read our summary of Little Women first!
Be warned, of course, there will be many spoilers ahead, both for the book and the adaptation.
One of the biggest—and boldest—changes in Gerwig’s version of Little Women is the very timeline of the story. Louisa May Alcott’s novel unfolds chronologically, starting with the March sisters at home during Christmas while their father is away fighting in the Civil War and following their journey into adulthood. It’s a straight, clear path from the beginning of the story to its end.
But Gerwig decides to mix things up, starting the film with the March girls already grown. We first meet Jo (played brilliantly by Saoirse Ronan) as she’s hustling in New York, trying to sell her stories, while Amy (Florence Pugh) is off having a chance encounter with Laurie (Timothée Chalamet) in Paris. The movie then jumps back and forth between these adult moments and their younger, more innocent years in Massachusetts.
Gerwig’s approach is like Jo herself is piecing the story together, reflecting on her life and the lives of her sisters in a way that feels personal and fragmented, as if she’s editing her memories into a narrative that makes sense. It’s almost as if we’re seeing the story unfold through Jo’s own perspective—her emotional scrapbook, so to speak. This choice creates lovely parallels between the sisters' youthful hopes and their adult realities, like when grown-up Meg (Emma Watson) is scraping together money for a dress, followed by a flashback to her younger self dreaming about society parties.
Now, while this gives the film a fresh and layered feel, it can be a bit confusing if you’re not already familiar with the story. The timeline shifts don’t always come with clear visual cues (other than some subtle changes in hairstyles), so if you’re watching it for the first time, expect some slight confusion.
That said, the way Gerwig weaves these timelines together gives the film an emotional richness that a straightforward adaptation might miss. By flipping between the past and present, Gerwig shows how these women’s pasts continuously shape their futures, and how their dreams and realities intertwine.
Now, this is where Greta Gerwig really gets creative. In the novel, Jo March is clearly a semi-autobiographical version of Louisa May Alcott—a tomboyish, fiercely independent writer determined to make her own way in a world that tells her otherwise.
But Gerwig takes it a step further, blurring the line between fiction and reality in ways that make Jo’s story even more powerful.
At one point, for example, we see Jo in a publishing office, pushing for the exact same terms that Alcott fought for when she sold Little Women: she wants the copyright to stay with her and insists on a share of the profits. With a scene like that, Gerwig isn’t only honoring Alcott’s legacy, but she’s also showing how ahead of her time Alcott really was. This is a woman fighting for creative and financial control in a time when women’s voices weren’t valued. By tying these scenes directly to Jo, Gerwig reinforces the idea that Jo’s story isn’t just a character’s dream; it’s a representation of Alcott’s own ambitions and achievements.
Another important aspect of Gerwig's adaptation is how she addresses Jo’s marriage to Professor Bhaer, a plot point that has sparked debate among fans for years. In Alcott’s novel, Jo’s eventual marriage feels like a compromise, one that Alcott herself admitted to making under pressure from her readers and publisher. Jo, the fiercely independent and unconventional character, seemed destined to remain single, much like Alcott herself, who never married.
Gerwig, fully aware of this history, approaches Jo’s marriage with a clever twist. Instead of presenting it as the inevitable conclusion to a woman’s story, she frames it in a way that leaves us questioning whether it’s part of Jo’s fictional narrative or an imaginative “happy ending” created to appease the concerns of her publisher. By portraying the final scenes with a meta-like quality—Jo rushing through the rain to meet Bhaer in a dramatic, almost cinematic way—Gerwig suggests that Jo’s “happy ending” might be a product of her own storytelling rather than a reflection of her true desire.
This nuanced approach allows the story to stay true to Jo’s spirit while nodding to the reality of Alcott’s time. It’s as if Gerwig gives Jo (and by extension, Alcott) the space to control her own narrative.
For a deeper analysis of Little Women’s beloved characters, check out our post discussing the March sisters.
Another clever and refreshing change in Greta Gerwig’s adaptation is the portrayal of Marmee (played by Laura Dern).
Traditionally, Marmee is depicted as the gentle, patient, and endlessly supportive mother who holds the March family together. While she still embodies these qualities in the film, Gerwig adds another layer by showing a side of Marmee that is often overlooked—her anger and frustration with the limitations society places on women.
In one of the most striking scenes, Marmee confides in Jo that she’s “angry nearly every day of her life.” Gerwig brings this moment to the forefront, allowing Marmee to reveal the emotional burden she carries. She isn’t just the saintly mother figure we see on the surface; she’s a woman struggling with the same societal confines that affect her daughters. This moment of vulnerability shows that even the strongest and most supportive figures have their own internal battles, making Marmee feel much more relatable.
Gerwig also deepens this portrayal by showing Marmee’s practical side. She’s not just a passive caretaker; she actively supports her family through alternative means, like her homeopathic remedies for Beth (played by Eliza Scanlen) when traditional doctors fail to help. This is another subtle way Gerwig modernizes Marmee, making her a more dynamic figure who takes action rather than just offering comforting words.
Another important shift in Gerwig’s adaptation is the reworking of Amy March’s character. In Alcott’s novel, Amy often comes off as the spoiled youngest sister, concerned with appearances and social status. She burns Jo’s manuscript in a fit of anger and seems self-centered, and for many readers, she’s a tough character to love. However, Gerwig takes this perception and flips it, giving Amy much more depth and making her one of the standout characters of the film.
In the movie, Florence Pugh’s portrayal of Amy brings a new sense of maturity to the character, showing her as more than just a vain, bratty child. Gerwig highlights her ambition and her understanding of the realities facing women of her time. One of the most powerful scenes in the film is Amy’s monologue about marriage, where she explains that as a woman, her only path to financial security and social mobility is through marriage. It’s a scene that isn’t in the book, but it’s a brilliant addition that gives us much-needed insight into Amy’s choices and motivations.
This moment reframes Amy’s character entirely. She’s not simply chasing wealth for the sake of luxury; she’s making a calculated decision based on the options available to her. Her pragmatic approach makes her seem strong and self-aware, rather than shallow. It’s a reminder that, during that time, women’s choices were incredibly limited—marriage wasn’t just about love, but survival.
Gerwig also does a fantastic job of showing Amy’s growth throughout the film. We see her start as a somewhat self-absorbed young girl, but by the time she reconnects with Laurie in Paris, she’s matured significantly. This evolution is emphasized when she calls Laurie out for his laziness and self-pity, challenging him to be the man she believes he can be. It’s a powerful shift from the Amy we initially meet and makes her eventual relationship with Laurie feel not only believable but earned.
By the end of the film, Amy is no longer just the little sister who got her way—she’s a fully realized woman who makes difficult but practical choices within the confines of 19th-century American society. Gerwig’s reimagining of Amy provides an admirable portrayal that challenges how we still perceive ambition and practicality in women.
In conclusion, one thing is for certain: Gerwig has managed to honor Alcott’s spirit while making the 150-year-old story feel relevant. It’s not just a story about young women navigating love and ambition—it’s about taking control of your own narrative (sometimes literally) and finding power in your own story, even when society tries to rewrite it for you.
So, whether you’re a die-hard fan of the book or a newcomer, we think Gerwig’s adaptation gives you something new to consider.
And if you’re anything like us, it might just leave you pondering whether some stories truly end, or if they simply keep growing, like the timeless women who inspired them.
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The most popular Little Women movie adaptation is often considered to be the 1994 version, directed by Gillian Armstrong and starring Winona Ryder as Jo, Susan Sarandon as Marmee, Kirsten Dunst as young Amy (with Samantha Mathis playing her older counterpart) and Christian Bale as Laurie. The movie is beloved for its faithful retelling of the novel and its warm, nostalgic feel. The film was both a critical and commercial success and is often seen as the definitive adaptation for those who grew up with it.
However, Greta Gerwig's 2019 adaptation of Little Women has also become incredibly popular in its own right, especially with younger audiences.
By jumping back and forth between the March sisters’ childhood and adulthood, Gerwig’s adaptation can show us how their early dreams and ambitions shape the choices they make as adults. It creates a more emotional connection for the audience, as we can see how their past influences their present. Plus, it’s like Jo is piecing the story together herself, reflecting how memories and storytelling can blend.
Yes, Gerwig’s film adds a layer of ambiguity to Jo and Professor Bhaer’s relationship that was not present in the novel. In the novel, Jo’s marriage to Bhaer seems to fulfill a typical 19th-century “happy ending,” but in the movie, Gerwig plays with the idea that this may be more of a narrative choice than Jo’s true future. The final scenes, where Jo rushes through the rain to meet Bhaer, feel almost like a story Jo might have written to satisfy her publisher—just as Alcott had to. This smart addition gives us viewers the freedom to decide if Jo is really in love or simply creating an ending that fits societal expectations for her book.
First and foremost, Nina is a reader; she devours literature with gusto, from classic novels to contemporary poetry to graphic novels and everything in between. She believes that within each story, there's a universe waiting to be explored, and loves exploring with company. She's often found sharing her perspective on characters, plot twists, and literary themes with friends. When her friends get tired of listening to her ranting, she writes blog posts sharing her explorations with the other bookworms of the internet. In recent years she has developed an inexplicable addiction to matcha lattes, but has asked us not to talk about that.
