You Have Bewitched Me, Body and Soul (At Least Six Times a Year)

By: Rivy Mosegi, Opinion Editor

We all have that one comfort movie we can’t resist. It doesn’t matter the season, the mood or the length of the to-do list – it’s the film you throw on in the background while tackling homework, folding laundry or even sipping a glass of wine on the phone with a friend. For me, that movie is Pride and Prejudice (2005). And yes, I watch it at least six times a year. This week was my third rewatch, and it’s only September. I tell myself it’s partly because I crave a good British accent (we Americans are suckers for them), but really it’s a mix: the slow-burn enemies-to-lovers romance, the messy family drama we can all relate to and, of course, that iconic final confession between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love you”: Darcy says this to Lizzy, and honestly – how could anyone get enough of that? Still, I swear the line only works because it’s wrapped in an English accent. Imagine hearing it in a flat American tone: not nearly as swoon-worthy. But last week, somewhere between sighing over Darcy’s hand flex and quoting along with Lizzy, I paused and asked myself, why do I keep coming back to this movie?

At first, I thought it was simple: I’m hooked on the romance. I love watching Darcy and Lizzy fall in love as if it’s brand new every time. But on this rewatch, I noticed something else – the family chaos. The Bennet household is full of interruptions, judgmental relatives and constant chatter. Then there’s the wider society: relatives who sneer at the “lower” class, neighbors who gossip and people who judge others for what they don’t have. Strip away the regency costumes and candlelit ballrooms, and it feels… familiar. And that’s oddly comforting. The movie doesn’t sugarcoat human flaws; it lays them bare, and somehow that honesty makes me feel at home.

The comfort doesn’t come from wanting these struggles, but recognizing them. Art in all its forms – movies, books, music – allows us to see ourselves reflected back. Sometimes it’s a softer version, sometimes it’s harsher, but it’s always recognizable. Pride and Prejudice may end on the sweet note that “love conquers all,” but the reason I return again and again is because it reminds me that our realities – awkward families, social divides, unspoken desires – are worth telling stories about. Comfort, after all, isn’t about escaping life; it’s about finding little pieces of it woven into art.

So yes, I’ll keep pressing play on Pride and Prejudice five (or six… or ten) times a year. And if loving Mr. Darcy and Lizzy this much is wrong, I don’t want to be right.