The camera pans in on the singular slender figure of Elizabeth on a stage. The figure is in front of the main curtains of a deep crimson red, and the spotlight is on Elizabeth. There is dramatic lighting that makes the curtains looks like those of the most beautiful stages. Elizabeth holds the book “Pride and Prejudice” in the crook of her arm.

Elizabeth: (primly states, accentuating the words as if reciting them from memory) It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. (dramatic pause, Elizabeth continues with a slight twinkle in her eye and an ironic smile) However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

(Elizabeth curtseys and walks off stage, she is wearing clothing of the 19th century, however as she walks the audience can see a bit of blue jeans sticking out from underneath her petticoats and a pain of beaten up converse sneakers. Her hair is far less ridiculous than on the cover of the book and it is put up haphazardly)

(The curtains open to the house of the Bennet’s. The scene is no longer on stage. There is a close up on Mrs. Bennet’s dry dark lipsticked lips.The camera focuses on Mrs. Bennet’s dry lips and the wrinkles around her mouth as she speaks.)

Mrs. Bennet: My dear Mr. Benett, have you heard that Netherfield is let at last? (her lips cease moving for a moment, she continues) But it is, for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it. (speaks louder, with aristocratic authority, trying to get the apathetic Mr. Bennet’s attention) Do not you want to know who has taken it?!

(The camera pans out, Mrs. Bennet is sitting at a table in the backyard of the house, there is a pool in the backround. She has bleach-blonde hair with roots, it is layered and poofy. Everything about her seems forced. She is wearing a 19th century dress with 21st century accessories. A gold Italian horn sits in her cleavage she also wears gold earrings and rings. She has an annoying voice. The camera moves quickly over to Mr. Bennet, he is a big Italian man, he lays with his shirt off, on a hammock outside, he has the tone of a kind man, who is tired, defeated and apathetic.)

Mr. Bennet: (hardly glancing at his wife from his spot on the hammock) You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.

Mrs. Bennet: (talking mainly to herself) Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of a large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.

Mr. Bennet: (sits up from hammock to take a sip of his iced coffee on the table next to the hammock before speaking) What is his name?

Mrs. Bennet: Bingley.

Mr. Bennet: (still not looking at her) Is he married or single?

Mrs. Bennet: (delighted he finally asked the correct question) Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of a large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!

(Camera cuts out to a quick section with the words “the girls” which follows with a quick close up on each girl posing and their name labeled underneath. We are quickly brought back to the conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.)

Mr. Bennet: (Entertaining himself, he decides to torture his wife for a bit by ignoring her not so subtle hinting. He scratches his big belly as he speaks) How so? How can it affect them?

Mrs. Bennet: (slightly indignant) My dear Mr. Bennet, how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.

(Mrs. Benett says the word “dear” the same way some people say ‘fuck you.’ It is a common occurrence among married people to use this term of endearment in such a way. They walk through the screen door into the living room of their house, complete with crystal figurines and sculptures. The room is overly gaudy in a way only Italians can make it.)

Mr. Bennet: (pulls on his shirt and shuffles behind his wife.) Is that his design in settling here?

Mrs. Bennet: Design! Nonsense! How could you talk so? But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of the, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes. (it is obvious that Mrs. Bennet’s main concern is more about the prospect of marrying for money, than for love.)

Mr. Bennet: I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which is perhaps still the better, for you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party.

Mrs. Bennet: (she laughs a loud fake laugh to the complement) My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be any thing extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.

Mr. Bennet: In such cases, a women has not often much beauty to think of.

Mrs. Bennet: (Enjoying the flattery, but still adhering to the task at hand) But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes to our neighborhood.

Mr. Bennet: (Still toying with his wife) It is more than I engage for, I assure you.

Mrs. Bennet: (starting to let her impatience show through her preplanned conversation) But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in general you know they visit no new comers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him, if you do not.

Mr. Bennet: You are over scrupulous surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying which ever he chooses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.

Mrs. Bennet: (starting to get pissed) I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than all the others; and I am sure she is not half as handsome as Jane, nor half as good humored as Lydia. But you are always giving her the preference.

Mr. Bennet: (defensively, speaking the truth) They have none of them much recommend them, they are silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of a quickness than her sisters.

Mrs. Bennet: (continuing to strangely speak of her husband as “Mr.”) Mr. Benett, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.

Mr. Bennet: (sounding like the old, tired, man that he is) You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.

Mrs. Bennet: (loudly) Ah! You do not know what I suffer.

Mr. Bennet: (obviously longing for his hammock, he continues) But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighborhood.

Mrs. Bennet: (pouting) It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come since you will not visit them.

Mr. Bennet: Depend on it, my dear, that when there are twenty I will visit them all.

(Camera cuts out)