Harris Dickinson is everywhere, but not in a way that feels overexposed. This year has been a year of debut's for the actor, from directing his first feature, Urchin, to fronting a Rhode beauty campaign. And soon, he’ll be stepping into John Lennon’s iconic round glasses in Sam Mendes’ Beatles biopic. But before that, he’s embarking on another first: voicing the inimitable Mr Darcy in Audible's audiobook adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.
When I connect with Dickinson over Zoom, he's fresh off the plane from Telluride Film Festival. It’s his voice that I first noticed. His East London twang might be at odds with the character's regional Derbyshire accent, but it’s undeniably tinged with the kind of magnetic allure that a project like this requires. While Dickinson didn’t read the novel until a bit later in life, he was always intrigued by it. But it was the challenge and universality in Mr. Darcy that he was drawn to.
"Darcy represents a man who refuses to change,” he says. “He’s fascinating because of the potential for growth within him. That’s something I think we all carry with us.” Dickinson found that deeply human – something many people can relate to – that rigid views or pride can prevent us from forming new understandings about others and the world. He admitted he didn’t grow up in the world of stately homes and high society, so it felt distant from him. Further expressing his “appeal at doing this in particular was the fresh lens to it and trying to find a way into it that was going to open it up to modern audiences”.
Darcy is one of those characters who’s long since escaped the confines of literature or historical context and entered the bloodstream of pop culture – Matthew Macfadyen’s hand flex still circulates TikTok nearly two decades later. But Harris Dickinson isn’t interested in echoing past portrayals. In fact, he made a point of avoiding them altogether. “It wouldn’t have been a smart thing to do,” he says. “Otherwise, I’d feel like I was just trying to imitate. We all agreed it was better to come at it from my own direction – to keep it fresh.” If Dickinson resists imitation, it’s because he understands that every adaptation now arrives preloaded with expectation. But he doesn’t flinch at the weight of references. Instead, he shifts sideways. His Darcy isn’t a brooding statue, but a man reimagined through cadence and restraint. His Lennon won’t be a tribute act, but something stranger, riskier we can assure, too.
As this was Dickinson’s first time recording an audiobook, the process forced him into a different kind of intimacy. “In film or TV, you can meander a bit, but in an audiobook, it’s all about being exact. It forces you to think carefully about every word,” he says, the precision of weighing in on not only the language but also the rhythm, tone, and emotional weight behind each line. Although Jane Austen may have written the text, the experience of performing it for an audiobook became a collaboration. It was less about projecting outward and more about peeling inward, letting the audience hear thought as much as dialogue. It became a conversation between Austen, the actor, and listeners. Working alongside his co-star Marisa Abela, who portrays Elizabeth Bennet, brought the story off the pages and to life, Dickinson shared. “The script was great, the adaptation was great – but we really had the chance to find it together,” he says, a grin breaking his careful gaze. “Marisa completely bowled me over.”
That tension between the classic and the contemporary runs through Dickinson’s career and into his reading list. The Grapes of Wrath, Oliver Twist and 1984 betrays a fondness for stories about dislocation, survival, men struggling to find order in chaos. When asked what books he gifts, his choices shift to Ian McEwan’s Lessons and Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five. “Adaptations are always tricky,” he says, hinting that Slaughterhouse-Five may yet find its way to the screen. “It’s about finding the right voice for the material, someone who truly feels compelled by it.”
When I asked what role he would do next, he laughs, almost shyly, “Fagin, from Oliver Twist. Maybe when I’m a bit older.” A refusal of the obvious, of the expected perhaps. But we can see Dickinson isn’t trying to be the next Darcy, or Lennon, or Fagin. He’s trying to be the version that doesn’t yet exist.
