Introduction
In order to understand how the frame can literally and conceptually shape a narrative – I considered what I had learnt from my case-studies into hybrid forms. This methodology is in perfect syncopation with my own natural way of thinking and designing. My graphic design is always informed by how stories are told in other forms – it is only from these models that one absorbs basic notions of structure, plot and narration. The western literary model is the basis on which all visual narrative is derived – from film to comic strips, and in my own work – to graphic design. There was a great value in looking to a seemingly removed narrative model and its use of framing. There is a fascinating potential in the literary equivalent to filmic framing – and how it can be used to construct a visual narrative. Writers create and employ framing devices through point of view and narration. When done conventionally, (first, second, third person narrator) it allows the reader to follow a story. There are degrees of unconventional use of narration, either via multiple points of view (Russell Banks’ “The Sweet Hereafter”), partially obscured point of view (Henry James’ “Turn of the Screw”) or utterly unreliable first person point of view (Agatha Christie’s “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd”).The following case studies are examples of manipulations of the frame of narration.
a. The Frame of Fiction
Point of View; Modernist relationship between teller and the tale.
Understand the basic nodes of narration in modernist and post-modernist fiction was an apt starting point. The aspects of narration such as handling of time and point of view, can inform my own burgeoning understanding of the ‘frame of narration’. Modernist writers like Nabokov, Borges, Beckett, Fuentes, Calvino and Joyce are all fascinating for the way they each, in their own ways, explored the tension between the method/device of storytelling, with the final story. As Anne Dillard points out, a writer doesn’t insert devices and techniques into a novel after the fact, “The work itself is the device. In traditional fiction the work is device made flesh; in contemporary modernist fiction the work may be technique itself or device laid bare.” (p.31) This fine understanding of the relationship between the device of making, and the final made piece – is utterly pertinent to my thesis studies. These work of these writers and others provide possible ways of dealing with this tension. They sometimes making the ‘frame’ of narration invisible, and sometimes leave this mark on the narrative itself – the final piece then bares the bones of its structure.
Handling of point of view in the novel is a good example of this tendency. Writers like Joyce, Conrad and Woolf used limited point of view in what became known a modernist technique – they did so in order to push the novel into the realm of the consciousness of the characters. It is ironic though that this ‘modernist’ technique overlaps with a post-modernist notion of self-reflexive form. That is, the other effect of this limited point of view is to distance the reader from the action, make the reader more aware of the ‘frame’ of point of view as a device. As Dillard observes with reference to Conrad’s narrative technique, “it is an aritifice which intermittently calls attention to itself.” (p42) The same could be said of Joyce’s narration in Ulysses; Molly Bloom’s mode of narration doesn’t truly allow us to see what that character sees – there is a constant friction between her frame of ‘seeing’ and our own.
When point of view is fractured a similar effect is created. In one respect, multiple voices recounting the same tale leads the reader to a more relativist, distancing reading of the events. As in “The Sound and the Fury”, “…For while we as audience walk round and round some fictional event, that event, while it acquires rondure and depth before our eyes, also becomes isolated.” (p42). Fragmented point of view, which is another form of limiting point of view, can make us speculate the element of fiction and its construct, rather than just experience the event. Dillard points out that limited viewpoints can have the opposite effect also. By drawing attention to what is usually the invisible surface of the ‘telling’, “…they flatten what would traditionally be the deep part of the work, the tale itself. And so by making the deep parts shallow and the shallow parts deep, they bring to the work an interesting and powerful set of tensions…” (p43.)
b. The Suspense of Henry James
Henry James attempts “…a balanced distribution of emphasis in the rendering of what is looked at, who is looking, and what the looker makes of what she sees”
(Novel to Film: An Introduction to the Theory of Adaptation; p.4)
Analysis of Henry James’ novella “Turn of the Screw” exposes a working methodology for manipulation of the narrative frame of point of view. This was James’ version of the Gothic ghost story – its underlying plot ambiguity built around the audience’s unsureness of the reliability of the narrator (the governess) in recounting the tale. It is a prime example of the notion that the tale itself is less central than the telling of the tale. It is a wonderful example of the tension than can be derived from playing with the frame of first-person narration. The effect of this style of narration is to heighten the reader’s involvement in the story, and our experience of the effects of suspense and fear. Through the structure of the text, the audience becomes an active participant within the story’s world. “James manipulates his narrators and, by extension, his fictional world to involve the reader totally. The reader is forced to puzzle the book together (382-383).”
Henry James was a master of deliberately creating what has been described as ambiguity through the very syntax of his prose. All such ambiguity is created through James’ precise handling of narration. This is a carefully conceived and designed tension between narrative voices, and narrational modes – as will be seen in my discussion. Jamesian methods employed include use of point of view, the story within a story, variables and constants, narrational gaps, and clues. James’ “unconventional handling of point of view…The reader, one might say, is constantly forced to pass through several foregrounds before he can make out clearly what is looming in the background…The same basic mechanism is operable with James’ central reflectors’ through whom all or nearly all of the action takes place.” (p19); “Novel to Film; An Introduction To The Theory of Adaptation”; Brian McFarlane).
Point of View,Syntax and Mistaken Identities.
“James recognized that his story was a `trick' story.”
Henry James’ writing is a beautiful example of how point of view can be perceived as a literal ‘frame of reference’ in the literary model. His use of character point of view goes beyond simple ‘mode of narration’ ( as in first person, second person, or third person). James’ uses character point of view as a sort of viewing frame, through which the audience visually and psychologically grasps the narrative. Manipulation of point of view is the fundamental source of the novella’s ambiguity. The all-pervasive ambiguity of the story results from result of a rendition by a first person narrator who is not omniscient or reliable.
Throughout the novella, James uses a variety of narrational techniques and juxtapositions to heighten this ambiguity. Use of first-person point of view typically functions to align the reader’s perspective, our literal and attitudinal view of the story – to the author’s, or protagonists. This central premise is questioned in “Turn of the Screw” halfway through when we begin to doubt the governess, who is presenting us the tale. From that moment of doubt onwards, the reader’s frame of reference is unstable. James maintains this instability carefully through how characters speak and can be identified. There is a crucial lack of direct identification of speakers that keeps the meaning constantly slipping, and even forcing the reader to question the actual identity of characters. At key, climactic moments James never writes “I said” or “he said”. Much has been made of whether Miles and Douglas (the narrator of the prologue) are the same person – and of course the suspense of much of the tale hinges on the identity of Peter Quint- whether he is an actual apparition or a figment of the governess’ imagination.
Understanding James’ form of narration is key to understanding the narrative – the two become so closely intertwined. As with much modernist fiction – the actual persona of the author even enters the fictional world of the novella – further confusing the ‘fictional frame’ the reader believes is operating.
James actually adopts a similar approach to the novella The Teller and the Tale, where James ‘with consummate artistry has led us off in one direction after another, with the trial constantly doubling back on itself, so that we are confronted finally with the personality of the author‘(101).
Mirror Structure and Language
James works with what could be described as a mirror structure in his novella – “This "basic structure," according to Brooke-Rose, is presented to us "framed" in a "mirror structure"--a set of reflecting dichotomies suggestive of reflections in a mirror.” Critics like Huntley and Bontly pick up on the mirroring between characters in ‘Turn of The Screw”, the way in which the Jessel/Quint relationship mirrors the relationship between the governess and her employer, or the mirroring of Miles and the employer.
In “The Turn of the Screw”,“…a special world is presented to us, with its own space and time, ideological system and systems of behaviour, to which we are, in our first perception of it, in the position of an external spectator, but into which we enter, accustoming ourselves to it, and gradually perceiving it from within, assuming a point of view internal to the work ("Surface" 191).
The ‘Twist’; Doubts and Doubly Directed Clues
The idea of the gap is a key strategy Henry James employs to create tension in his novella. It is both a motif and a structural consideration – James’ ability to create areas of doubt within a larger, believable narrative is the paramount to the novella’s cohesiveness, and intensity. This is a question of how James controls the reader’s doubts, or how he controls the reliability of the viewing frame, the governess’ point of view narration.
Rimmon has explored how “Turn of the Screw” structures and paces ambiguity with relation to other James’ works. In “The Lesson of the Master”, ambiguity is only perceptible in retrospect, in contrast to “The Figure in the Carpet,” where it is perceptible almost from the beginning. In “The Turn of The Screw”, the story is first set up to be believed (a reliable frame) – and only in Chapter Six does the reader’s doubt begin. The effect of this is to almost force a re-reading over what one has read, and a retrospective awareness of earlier ambiguity. One example of this is re-considering the reliability of what the prologue tells us about the governess’ account, considering Douglas was in love with her and that these events at Bly took place ten years earlier. Rimmon demonstrates how the reader alternates between ‘singly directed clues’ that allow us to believe contradictory readings which culminates in “an insoluble clash. Both the governess's and Mrs. Grose's "wavering" sometimes occur successively in the same episode, but contradictory interpretations by each character are also "scattered throughout the narrative" (134).
Critics like Rubin, Edel, and Collins attempt to peek into James's psyche as the author imagined his readers' reactions to the story he was creating: “One can imagine him chuckling at the whole thing. A triumph of craft indeed, of precisely the sort that he most enjoyed. For had he not accomplished just what he said he wanted to do: renovate a supposedly outmoded story form, the tale of horror? ... How thorough the ambiguity he attained...! The further we try to extend the meanings of a passage, a scene, the more elusive the answer. How often one finds oneself, after weighing all the evidence, coming to the same conclusion: `It could be either'.
c . Detective Fiction
“The aim of detective fiction, which makes it unique among literary forms; to prevent an idea from taking shape.” (RA; pg.25)
Detective fiction can be applied as a particularly fascinating and relevant literary model - a subject area that could be used as a methodology. In his essay Detection and Its Designs: Narrative and Power in Nineteenth-Century Detective Fiction,Peter Thoms discusses how detective fiction deals with the nature of storytelling, and specifically, the relationship between the author and the audience, and the audience’s relationship with the narrative itself.
The construct of the detective story is different from other literary constructs in that its effectiveness is reliant upon the author’s manipulation (even deception) of the reader’s viewpoint. These texts deliberately prevent the reader from grasping the whole truth. The frame (or point of view) is used to disguise the content beneath it – all in the service of creating a suspenseful and engaging experience.
The detective story became a curiously fertile site to examine how the ‘frame’ of point of view shapes a story. This unique dual use of the narrator’s voice (to both reveal and conceal) is fascinating to me as a potential tool for heightening tension and visually telling a story in the most interesting way possible. This creates a double-edged discourse – which carries the potential for internal irony, and ultimately (and more interestingly), a far deeper dimension to the story and the way it is perceived.
The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd
“Barthes says, correctly, that in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, the reader seeks the murderer behind the “he” when he is really hidden behind the “I”. (p33)
If detective stories are built around the notion that the frame of narrator (or detective) obscures – Christie’s novel “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” pushes this to the limit. In her most famous novel, Christie creates a unique construct in which the narrator is the murderer, a fact she withholds from the reader up until the final pages. In this way, the novel is built around the frame of the narrator literally obscuring the solution to the entire story, while simultaneously narrating. This frame reveals enough to bring the reader into the fictional world of the novel and its plot twists and turn, but obscures enough to keep the reader in the dark. It is a fascinating and extreme example of how framing can work in creating a narrative.
Pierre Bayard’s “Who Killed Roger Ackroyd; The Mystery Behind the Agatha Christie Mystery” goes behind the construction of the novel and breaks down how the balancing act is pulled off. He lays out the Van Dine principle upon which all detective fiction relies – two rule stating that the final truth must be hidden throughout the book, and that while being hidden, this truth must be accessible, but disguised. This principle is essentially about the method of concealing the truth – by actually making it clearly visible to the reader but somehow disguised. Interestingly, this is reminiscent of Hitchcock’s comments about how he was able to build suspense in his films – emphasizing not notions of pure concealment and ambiguity, but the very opposite; "Clarify, clarify, clarify," said Hitchcock, "you can't have blurred thinking in suspense."(Bogdanovich, The Cinema of Alfred Hitchcock, pp. 40, 43.)
Following this, the strategies of disguise and distraction must operate – “Scattered through the text, the truth emerges only when the reader has reassembled these fragments that have been made deliberately unrecognizable.”
As with “Turn of the Screw”, tension and ultimately resolution are built through manipulation of the first-person narrator in Christie’s novel. The frame of first-person narrator is set up as a reliable voice but ultimately is the ultimately obstruction to the truth, “…a chief form of concealment here arises from the confusion of narrator and murderer. The difference from James’ novella is, we are never made to doubt the reliability of the narrator in “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” until the end.“Agatha Christie’s cunning was to manage to disguise the murderer in the process of narration as that invisible and trustworthy voice which ostensibly discloses the story to the reader as if it were above suspicion because it is quasi-divine in origin – as if it were the utterly detached voice of the narrative itself.” (p34)
Conclusions…
Detective stories provide a model and series of well-worn strategies for shaping and controlling a narrative. They are pertinent to my line of enquiry as they deal primarily with frame (as a metaphor for point of view). Detective stories are entirely about how an audience is given access to the components of the narrative – the pieces of the puzzle, the clues. They are built around the idea that the gradual accretion of information leads to a resolution, an understanding. The pleasure of these stories is not really in the content, in the story – but in the unfolding, illuminating – the framing of this story. In this way – they are among the most self-referential of all narrative forms. They are highly aware of the audience’s point of view, character point of view, the detective’s point of view. These all function as pivotal ‘frames’ of reference through which the story is glimpsed. Manipulation of this frame is fundamental – the detective’s viewpoint can function as the primary frame through which we grasp information – but might also compete with other information we glimpse through another frame of reference, such as information from other characters, or information directly from the author in the form of sub-text, setting, atmosphere. Like Henry James’ concentric circles of reference in “The Turn of the Screw” – the detective story is constructed out of the tension, and final resolution, of these frames of reference. When the audience’s framing of the story finally aligns with the authors, and the full picture is visible – the mystery is solved – the story is complete. How do we get there? How do we move through the narrative?
d. Mazes and Labyrinthes
“…There are some striking parallels between the strategies Matthews describes for constructing a maze and the strategies frequently employed to construct stories…” (W.H. Matthews’ “Mazes and Labyrinths” (1922) Thrillers; p.24)
The basic idea that the maze must contain some level of complexity, or the pleasure in getting out of it is diminished – this equally applies to the mystery/detective story adage that the solution cannot be too obvious or the power of the ending is lost. Matthews also speaks about the design of a labyrinth as being either compact (space is taken up by the paths of the maze or space between paths) or diffuse (extra space beyond the path. “One could draw an analogy between the compact maze and the tight, centripetal structure of the whodunit, in which everything contributes to the final solution. Similarly one could compare the diffuse maze to the looser, centrifugal structure of the detective thriller, in which there is more room for digressions and deviations from the main path…” (Thrillers, p25)
“When we enter a story, we enter a maze, down whose forking paths we are led by the author, who unwinds the route little by little, conceals things from us, creates blind spots and false turnings and barriers around which we cannot see, in order to prolong the suspense and give us the pleasurable anxiety of being lost…for a little while.” (p25) read over a motion sequence in presentation.
It is interesting to observe this theory in practice in the narrative structures created by both writers and filmmakers. Argentinean writer Jorge Luis Borges is known for the labyrinthine structure of his novels – and his literal use of the maze as a thematic concern.. In “The Garden of Forking Paths” (1941), “This characteristically convoluted Borges tale eventually collapses the distinction between novel and maze: ‘Everyone assumed these were separate activities. No one realized that the book and the labyrinth were one and the same.” (Thrillers; p.25) More subtle evocations of a maze-like construct are evident in the narrative structures of Nabokov and Marquez – in the latter, this working to create a circularity of plot that sweeps all disparate storylines into one epic tale, In the former, the maze-like structure of the plot, as in “The Defence” forces the reader to literally navigate blind spots – and heightens the overall tension of the novel.
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The films of Fritz Lang are an excellent example of a film narrative built around a maze-structure. Lang’s “Dr Mabuse, the Gambler (der Spieler)” broke new ground in creating a physically labyrinthine environment for the action to take place in. In the opening scenes audiences see the maze-like network of nightspots and secret lairs which are all linked by twisting back alleys and underground passages. “…this world is infused with a mood of pervasive conspiracy- a mood made tangible through the film’s visual design, keyed on a series of deep compartmentalized spaces that entrap the characters and expose them to the menace of the master villain.” (p60) Lang’s “M” (1931) uses a maze-like structure to construct not only it’s physical space, but its plotline and mise-en scene. This allowed Lang to truly punctuate a story about the police manhunt of a doomed child murderer with a deeper sense of entrapment. The film draws from the labyrinth structure to become a sort of geometric pattern that perfectly expresses a sense of conspiracy. Everything from the physical setting, to the shot-to-shot structure, to the use of sound liken its construction to a web-like maze. The use of sound bridges, where sound carries from one scene to the next, and sound-image bridges works to create an interconnectedness between all elements of the film.
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Literature and Film as Modern Mythology
William K. Ferrell; Praeger Publishers, 2000 Westport, CT
Chapter 2
Reading the Novel and the Film (pp. 31-58)
THE WRITTEN NARRATIVE: HOW LITERATURE COMMUNICATES
The broadest division of fictional literature is genre, a distinct type or category into which literary works may be grouped according to the context or subject matter. The four major literary genres are poetry, fiction, nonfiction, and drama. This concept of genre applies to both literature and film as libraries and book and video stores tend to group novels and films according to their subject matter. Originally this term was used to separate comedy and tragedy. Theoretically tragedy occurs when the protagonist loses the struggle; comedy occurs whenever the protagonist succeeds in his or her conflict. As a practical matter, any area into which a number of stories can be grouped can be considered a genre. For example, comedy and tragedy are usually subdivided into types of tragedy and types of comedy. These generic subdivisions will include such categories as romance, adventure, science fiction, mystery, horror, humor, and drama. Subdivisions occur because an author manipulates the structural forms--the seven basic elements of literature--to create a specific type of literature. These forms are, for the most part, universally accepted as to meaning and application.
Plot applies to both the action and the arrangement of the episodes or sequence of events. All of the action and events that occur in the story must connect. By connection, there must be a sense of causality in that one event leads to another and all connect by their relation to a central plan of action.
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Plot refers specifically to the sequence of event, episode, or incident in the story; causality forms a base for all aspects of the narrative. This connecting force includes everything from a specific character's motivation to the effect of environmental circumstance, which may or may not be a recognizably contrived circumstance. Because a story is a created entity and every action in the story must connect, there is a level of contrivance in all literature and film. When an action becomes too contrived, that is, it taxes one's imagination to accept it as believable, it conforms to an ancient Greek theatrical device called deus ex machina, or an act of God intervened. In ancient Greek theater, a large crane was used to manipulate the actions from above by allowing one of the gods to descend and interact with the characters. Obviously a crane transporting a god is not a part of modern literature or film; however, there are devices an author or director may use to create an intervention. Nevertheless, if an act of contrivance becomes too overt, by coincidence, fate, or karma, the story can lose its significance. In literary language this contributes to the very important aspect of verisimilitude (from the Latin veri similis: "like the truth"). In literature and film it is most important that the characters, the actions they perform, and the setting in which they perform the actions be truly believable within the scope created by the author.
Characters are individuals created by the author to act out the story. There are several types of characters. The protagonist is the focus, as originator or principal recipient, of the action; the antagonist(s) may be one character or many who stand in opposition to the protagonist. Antagonism may extend to nature in the case of environmental forces, as in The Old Man and the Sea. In addition, there are exposition characters, necessary to provide information the reader or viewer requires in following the action. Transitional characters are those whose function is to move the plot in time or place. Major and minor characters are arbitrarily determined by their direct effect on the plot. And finally, flat characters are one dimensional, providing the reader with limited knowledge about either their physical or psychological makeup or both, and round characters are multidimensional. The more we know about the character, the rounder they become, which generally implies a greater function. A character's function or influence on the plot is the most important factor.
A conflict or struggle occurs when the protagonist encounters obstacles while attempting to accomplish something or to prevent something from being accomplished. Each obstacle becomes a function of the plot. There are the familiar definitions: man versus himself, man, society, the environment, or the supernatural. This broad definition tends to generalize the concept. In approaching the story through its archetype, we will need to be more specific. In the case of McMurphy in Cuckoo's Nest, it is not just man versus man, but a messianic hero trying to free the inmates of a mental
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hospital from the forces of evil. These forces are represented by both character and circumstance. McMurphy encounters many obstacles, first, in conflict with a single character, the ward nurse, and then, by the entire system, the machine-like manner in which the hospital functions. If McMurphy is able to overcome and defeat the obstacles, the story becomes a comedy by definition; if he fails, it is a tragedy.
A setting is always the time and place of the story. The place is the space in which the story takes place. Time includes not only the date of the setting but also whether the story takes place in continuous real time or in flashback. A flashback may be presented chronologically, that is, maintaining the original order of events, or in nonchronological form, by merely connecting thoughts or memories in no particular order, discounting the relevance of time. The entire story of One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest is narrated as a flashback, following chronological order. The English Patient takes a much different approach. Chronological time means nothing because this story is told by an omniscient narrator, interweaving memory with real time, making the element of time less important. It is the relation between memory, which contains no time element, and current action that conveys the story. In each case, the time-space relationship influences what the reader perceives. A place may be as small as a hospital ward in One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest or cover half of the U.S. in Shoeless Joe/Field of Dreams. What is important regarding setting is not the size or scope but rather the amount of influence it imposes on the story's characters or theme. For example, in The Last Picture Show, it is the setting--a somewhat desolate and deteriorating Texas town--more than any single character that provides the antagonism. How necessary is the setting, both time and place, to the story? Could the character's action have occurred elsewhere with the same effect? To what extent is the character being controlled or manipulated by the environment?
Theme refers to the central or controlling idea of the work. From a reader's perspective, a theme in its simplest form may be that meaning of a story the reader can relate to his or her life. On a broader level, a reader or viewer may infer a metaphysical or metaphorical meaning in accordance with or even beyond what the author may have intended. This is particularly true of stories removed from their originating time and place. If the archetype theory exists, and in this book it does, today's meaning of a story may not have been a nineteenth-century author's conscious intent. In addition, a good novel may be approached from a variety of perspectives, which will shade a theme toward a relationship with life the author did not or could not know. Generally, there will be one dominant theme emerging from the story, but as each reader filters that theme through his or her own experience and knowledge, variations become the rule and not the exception. An author communicates thematically, but the reader translates
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the meaning into his or her own objective reality. It is through the sharing of these variations that a broader meaning to the story and, most important a clearer understanding of a theme is developed. This is what makes Jung's archetypal concept meaningful. The story may connect to each of us in a slightly different manner, but what ultimately separates the good from the mundane is that a good story actually does connect. When an archetypal connection is made, the story potentially appeals to a mass audience.
In addition, there are three elements over which an author has much more control than a film counterpart. It is through his or her manipulation of these elements that the story will generally succeed or fail.
First, and perhaps most important to a written narrative, is point of view. This is the voice, persona, or narrator who tells the story. Students are usually taught that a story may be first person, an identifiable narrator, or third person, an anonymous narrator. However, these are simply headings for several types of each available to an author. A first-person narrator may be from a major or minor character, interior monologue, dramatic monologue, letter narration, diary narration, subjective narrator, detached autobiography, memoir, or observer narration. An anonymous narrator may be categorized by how many characters with whom the speaker has omniscience --the number of characters and to what extent the narrator sees into the mind of a character. Or the anonymous narrator may be a fly on the wall and be a totally objective observer, unable to know the thoughts of any character. A unique form of either first or third person is stream of consciousness, where the voice relates seemingly unrelated thoughts that connect thematically. To use this form requires great control and generally relies on metaphors and symbols to convey meaning. Point of view also presents a major difference in literature and film. A written narrative always has an identifiable narrator, that is, a human voice telling the story. A reader must evaluate a narrator's reliability and relative objectivity or subjectivity in relating the events of the story. The persona telling the story contributes to the level of verisimilitude conveyed to the reader. For example, the narrator of Cuckoo's Nest is a schizophrenicparanoid American Indian who wavers between hallucination and reality throughout the novel. However, as the novel progresses, his hallucinations become fewer and fewer, until, by the end of the flashback, he appears rational enough to leave the hospital. The longer he narrates, the more believable he becomes. Because the story is a flashback, we can accept the verity of his narration because we know he has been cured. On the other hand, the narrator of Larry McMurtry The Last Picture Show sounds very much like a town gossip. Some of his narration seems to glory in the frailties of the characters and their misadventures. As a reader, we may want to take his words with a grain of salt--enjoying the satire, but always recognizing it as exaggeration. In film, the point of view is ultimately the camera lens.
Tone and style refer to the diction and detail of the story. Diction is the
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author's choice of words--the types and syntax of sentences. The details are the amount of dialogue, arrangement, and order of incident and information, and the number and location of descriptive passages. Other concepts applicable to diction and detail are the author's use of imagery and/or tropes (figurative language), use of formal, informal, colloquial, obscene, concrete, abstract, or other type of language or combination of these. The structure of diction and detail create a tone. This includes the attitude the author is expressing through his or her choice of words in descriptive narrative as well as the words used in dialogue. As a point to observe, verbs and their modifiers are the primary part of speech inducing tone. Tone, in some novels, may be the dominating element. Satire is frequently used to establish a particular perspective by ridiculing the subject or treating it in an absurd manner. However, satire can vary in its intensity. Larry McMurtry's narrator in The Last Picture Sbow used a mildly exaggerated form of satire in the somewhat absurd behavior of his teenage characters, while Robert Hornberger (Hooker) chose a more acerbic tone in M*A*S*H. George Orwell conveys his condemnation of the communistic form of government in Animal Farm by transferring his human characters into animal form, a totally absurd idea. Some other labels for tone include formal, informal, solemn, somber, serious, ironic, patronizing, intimate, sardonic, and facetious. The other side of tone is the emotional response the reader receives, generally categorized as mood. The author establishes a tone, which evokes a mood or feeling in the reader. Most frequently these are not the same.
These three literary elements--tone, style, and point of view--can be controlled and manipulated and provide an advantage the author of a literary work has over the film version. It is very difficult for a film to take a viewer into a character's thinking; it requires a level of contrivance, as in a disembodied voice, which lowers believability. Omniscience may in fact be the major difference between the written form and the motion picture. A reader is able to form a personal visual perception by being able to see through the eyes and mind of a character. Film to any formal degree is unable to accomplish this. The greatest of actors are certainly able to convey feeling, but they cannot convey a precise or specific thought visually. An actor can display anger but not the reasoning process that went through his or her mind evoking the anger. It may have been a series of memories of past associations with the character, the event, or a combination of the two. One artist who demonstrates the degree to which this can be taken is James Joyce in Portrait of the Artist or Ulysses. In both novels, Joyce uses a stream-of-consciousness point of view that upon a first reading is extremely confusing. The protagonist is allowing us to see the full range of memory and feeling an event may evoke. Joyce relies on symbols to connect the described memories to the action. Omniscience can take us there; acting, no matter how brilliant, cannot.
A thought to remember concerning word choice comes from a quotation
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attributed to Mark Twain: "The difference between the right word and the wrong word is similar to the difference between a light bulb and a bolt of lightning." When the right word appears within the right syntax, the readers feel the effect within their own being.
The cohesion of the elements in relation to the abstract quality of the narrative will determine the quality of the presentation. Just as in music or painting or any of the other fine arts, what determines quality, beyond a high proficiency with mechanics, is the harmony and unity the author can develop in the elements while simultaneously presenting a strong theme. The structural forms listed above are the basic devices used to identify specific weaknesses or strengths in a work of literature. The archetypal idea, which frames the theme and meaning of the work, can only be qualified by identifying which of the elements the author could have or should have improved. It is well to remember that a critic begins when the author finishes his or her creation.
HOW FILM COMMUNICATES
There was a time when it could be truly said that reading is fundamental. At ages four to six, children were exposed to the written word, and the only pictures were book illustrations or the occasional movie such as Pinocchio or Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Since the mid-1950s, children have been exposed to film almost from the moment they enter the world. Instead of being fundamental, reading has become, to some extent in the minds of many, an adjunct to their sensory world. A response such as, "It was a good movie, but the book was so much better," is no longer a common response. There are probably many explanations for such reactions, none of which is really relevant to our subject here. Our interest is not in determining which medium is superior. Each form of presentation has strengths and weaknesses in presenting an archetype. Our goal is to assess which form is a more accurate and comprehensible portrayal of our culture at a specific time and place.
This will be determined in the manner we approach each medium. When we read a novel, we tend visually to imagine the characters and action as described in the narrative. In other words, we are mentally creating our own picture version of the story. Since each of us creates a personal picture version, each will be different in detail, clarity, and depth. Each version becomes dependent on the level of knowledge and experience each of us has in relation to the story. For example, a black teenage girl reading Alice Walker's The Color Purple will imagine a particular set of images based on her own experience. These images will be different if the teenager lives in New Jersey rather than Mississippi. It will also differ if the teenager is male or white or Buddhist or whatever mixture he or she might be. It would even be different if he or she has read other novels by Walker. Each person
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has a lifetime of personal experience, both real and learned, that will influence the images he or she perceives. This is true for everyone who reads a novel and sees a motion picture.
This personal history adds degrees of complexity when viewing a film after having read the novel. A viewer enters the film with a multitude of biases based on an expectation generated by his or her imaginary perceptions and, in addition, how and to what degree he or she likes, or in the case of a classroom assignment, dislikes the novel. It is assumed very few people will force themselves to read a novel they dislike.
A third element has to be considered. In literary analysis, it is impossible to separate the author from the work. A good novel is, by any standard, a work of art. Therefore, the novelist has a reputation, perhaps a following that recognizes this author as having something meaningful to say. A culture holds its best writers, composers, painters, and architects in high regard, some attaining the status of national treasures. Based on cultural traditions, we expect a good novel to offer a psychological, social, or philosophical commentary that is worthy of consideration.
Generally we do not hold film directors to that same level of esteem. The question then becomes, Do films ever reach a level where they may be considered art? If not, then we could never have a film equal to a novel. Could a mediocre or bad novel or short story be turned into a classic film, deserving to be called art? How can we tell if it reaches such an elevated stature? The aesthetic standards for literature are generally accepted. There are some generally agreed-on standards we can apply to film. V. I. Pudovkin expresses the idea that the art in film production does not really occur in any one aspect. Rather, just as in literature, it occurs when the elements come together in a special manner in a finished product. "Between the natural event and its appearance upon the screen there is a marked difference. It is exactly this difference that makes the film an art" (86). just as the author brings together all of the devices of literature in a harmonic manner that will express a meaningful theme, the film director brings together the elements of film at his or her disposal to accomplish the same end. Some devices are applicable in accordance with literature only, others are applicable only to the art of cinema, and some apply equally to both.
In considering film as art, we must recognize that each medium is dependent on the devices or conventions available at the time it is created. An author or a film director cannot go beyond what is available in the way of technology and understanding than is present at the time of creation. We have discussed some of those conventions with which an author must work. In order to understand the devices related to filmmaking, we need to identify process, function, and applicable terminology.
An approach to film analysis must begin with an area of study most associated with film criticism. Semiology as a term may be applied to both literature and film, but for communication accuracy, we will use it pri-
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marily as a film device. Semiotics, with regard to film analysis, is the study of the structural placement and integral function of major scenes in the development of the overall plot and theme. The creative process for film begins with a story idea (a novel or short story), which is translated into a screenplay. The screenplay or script places into written form the dialogue and a summary of location in space and time. The screenplay is then converted into a storyboard, a visual representation that places into structural form the scenes, in both content (location, characters, props, required action) and order (selection and placement of scenes), necessary to present the story. This concept differs from literary analysis primarily because from the very beginning, the story is being "reduced" to those components that can be translated into visual replications of the novel's action. At this point, the viewer will be an omnipresent participant in developing the production. The storyboard places into the planning the order and location for scenes, and identifies for the director, cinematographer, and sound engineer what the viewer will need to see and hear to comprehend the story.
An aesthetic judgment is made as to what scenes will be included in the visualization process and what scenes will be excluded. For example, consider a very dramatic, perhaps melodramatic, scene in the novel Shoeless Joe, from which the film Field of Dreams was made. Ray Kinsella, the protagonist of the film, is the Iowa farmer who hears the magical voice telling him, "If you build it, he will come." Early in the novel, in order to focus the reader's attention on Ray's mystic nature, we are given the following passage:
It was near noon on a gentle Sunday when I walked out to that garden. The soil was soft and my shoes disappeared as I plodded until I was near the center. There I knelt, the soil cool on my knees. I looked up at the low gray sky; the rain had stopped and the only sound was the surrounding trees dripping fragrantly. Suddenly I thrust my hands wrist-deep into the snuffy-black earth. The air was pure. All around me the clean smell of earth and water. Keeping my hands buried I stirred the earth with my fingers and I knew I loved Iowa as much as a man could love a piece of earth. (14)
What we see in the film is Kevin Costner, as Ray Kinsella, pull a stalk of corn from the earth and plunge his hands into it just as the disembodied voice interrupts his moment. In this scene, he angrily cast the stalk aside as he challenges the voice to identify itself. We are not told, by action or sound, why he is examining the stalk's roots.
One might imagine Phil Alden Robinson, who wrote the screenplay and directed the film, mulling over whether to include this scene. How would it be filmed? Would it add to or diminish his version? Or would it, perhaps appear too melodramatic for a contemporary audience? Whatever may have been his motives, he chose not to include it in the film. W. P. Kinsella,
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the novel's author, obviously thought it important in establishing his alter ego protagonist's character. Because Ray Kinsella is an archetype, a man who measures life in terms of family and the primal forces of nature, does the omission of such a descriptive scene lessen the emotional bonding between reader and protagonist? Or does Robinson at some other point in the film provide a scene where this aspect of Ray's character can be felt and understood? Only a careful study of the film structure allows judgment.
One method is to look at each scene semiologically; focusing on each scene as both a revelation and a structural component. It is a given that the order in which scenes are placed is fundamental in conveying the story. However, within that organization of scenes, a director and his or her staff must consider the composition of each frame. This brings into focus the spatial arrangement of character, objects, and background. Film, as a visual medium, must be concerned with a specific and limited space. A novelist has no need to concern himself or herself with space. An author may take us into the mind of the character, who at any given moment may take us on a memory trip, recalling a time and place located in the past, present, or even the future. Directors and cinematographers are therefore somewhat more limited than a novelist regarding space and time. Michael Ondaatje, in his novel The English Patient, observes no rules in manipulating space and time in the minds of his characters. In fact, when reading the novel, there are times we have to pause and reconstruct what we have previously read to place the events being described into an understandable order. As the plots and subplots become more complex, the pauses may become more frequent. Anthony Minghella, the film's award-winning director, does not have that privilege. His film version is a continuous movement from one scene into another and does not allow a viewer the opportunity to pause and reconstruct the events mentally. Minghella, in remaining somewhat true to the novel, uses flashbacks to convey the story. He does this by bringing the camera in for a close-up of the English Patient's face, using a dissolve to convey we are entering the memories of the character. When we return from the flashback, we are brought back into the scene we left. The novel, narrated by an anonymous voice, is free to move to another character, switch to another memory, or return to real time. Minghella, using the camera as his narrator, must conform to cinematic limits. The director must move smoothly from one scene to another, keeping the audience informed as the story develops.
Being visual does have some advantages. In constructing his story, the director has the opportunity to locate the film in a setting that will not only provide a sense of realism but can also enhance the story. The background of a scene can act as a metaphor amplifying a theme or specific idea the story wants to convey. George Stevens, producer and director of Shane, a popular western of the 1950s, selected a location near Jackson Hole, Wyoming, a flat valley at the base of the Grand Teton Mountains,
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to film what became a modern western classic. The mountains become a frame for many of the outdoor shots. The use of a lens filter causes the mountains to be bathed in a lavender tint providing a subtle "purple mountain majesty" to underscore the romantic idealism of the film. In addition, the camera is placed near ground level, and the camera lens thus becomes an "active observer," presenting to the audience a view of the characters as large as their Rocky Mountain background. We subconsciously see them as larger than life. This is film semiology. The filmmaker is manipulating our minds to see a perspective that influences judgment.
For literature, the language for its presentation is grammar and syntax. For film, we move to the shot, a series of single frames making up a sentence or paragraph. For the episode or incident, film may substitute the scene. Keep in mind that film is a sequence conveying action, dialogue (words), and background, with each functioning independently and together as a single unit. Sequences are then spliced together, creating a plot. A sequence will merge many camera perspectives. As an active observer, the camera lens, within a single sequence, may show us faces, hands, wide angles, deep perspectives, actions, reactions, background sights and sounds, symbols, or any other visual or audio possibility the director or cinematographer feels will enhance the concept he or she is trying to provide.
Although this concept tends to oversimplify the comparison dramatically, it does provide a perspective suitable for comparative discussion. Paradoxically, motion pictures are much more and at the same instant much less. An author using words, is limited to the number of words that will apply to the presentation. For the film director, the possibilities for the use of multiple cameras and angles, real and created settings, artificial lighting, and film technology are unlimited. Consider the denouement (literally the "untying of the knot"; the solution, explanation, or outcome) in a recent film, A Few Good Men. The trial has been concluded, and two young marines have been exonerated of murder, yet because of their actions, they will receive a dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corps. The protagonist, a naval officer played by Tom Cruise, stops the young and very dedicated marine corporal before he exits. Prior to this moment, the negative tension between these two characters has been very strong. That was before Cruise, as the marine's defense attorney, had placed his own future in jeopardy by accusing a marine general on the witness stand of dereliction of duty, thereby doing what the marine corporal had failed to do. Cruise faces the young man who has been told his marine career is finished and states: "You do not have to wear a patch on your arm to have honor." The camera goes to a medium shot of the marine, and you see him realize the truth of the moment. He seems to swell to attention and in a very steady and commanding voice calls, "A-ten-hut! Officer on deck." He follows this with a very precise and smart salute, holding it until Cruise returns it just as militarily and, for his role, totally out of character. The line was meant
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for both of them, and at that moment the characters and the audience know it. In a few seconds of film, the camera captured a moment it might have taken an author a page or more to describe. The statement is made, language is unnecessary. This brief scene speaks volumes though its images. It is its own language. It is the archetype of spring: the birth of a hero and the defeat of the powers of evil and darkness. It makes the audience feel good even though it ends the corporal's career.
This brings into focus what may well be the most complex and important aspect of filmmaking: film editing. This is truly where film, literature, and art come together. There are two editing techniques applicable for evaluation. The first, mise-en-scčne, is that part of the filming that takes place on the set. We have all seen pictures of a film director getting ready to shoot a scene, where he makes a square frame with his hands and peers through the square at the setting and actors before adjusting the camera or the actors. Or he or she may have a monocular hanging from his or her neck that will identify precisely what each camera lens will photograph. All of this allows the director to fashion the scene with the perceiver in mind. At this point, the director is concerned with what the audience will see and hear. This includes placement of the actors in relation to the camera, the location of the camera regarding angle and distance, the actor's directions, or any other immediate choice the director makes at the moment the scene is being filmed. Modern cameras have amazing capabilities regarding distance and focus. Camera lenses can telescope for close-ups or open to a wide angle incorporating large vistas. They can invert to give the appearance of a distance. A cinematographer may photograph as much or as little as is selected. In addition, with modern techniques of graphic enhancement, a computer may place an object or character into a scene at a later time. Forrest Gump can be seen shaking hands with a dead president; a more elaborate example of this technique is Steven Spielberg Jurassic Park. In all but two scenes involving dinosaurs, the actors performed without the presence of any animals. All of the chase scenes involving Tyrannosaurus rex and the velociraptors were added by computer graphics during the editing process. The actors are running from an empty space, to be filled at a later date.
The second form comes when the many pieces of film are spliced together into a single unit. This splicing is called the montage. During this process, the director, the film editor, the cinematographer, and selected staff will review all of the film and piece it together using various types of transition. One of the most famous and successful montages came in Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho. The shower scene, in which a young women (Janet Leigh) is murdered, is filmed using six cameras from different angles, and produces several minutes of film. The final splicing the audience sees lasts seventeen seconds. This was the final montage. The transition Hitchcock uses is the quick or flash cut, switching quickly from one viewpoint to another.
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This scene is considered a masterpiece. A more common form, and one to which we have become accustomed, is the manner in which we see and hear a conversation between two or more characters. The camera may show us the speaker, or we may hear the speaker and see the reaction of the listener. There is no limit to the possible variations in just one conversation. This technique is available in all scenes where multiple cameras are used.
Transitions occur within scenes and between scenes. Other techniques to facilitate scene changes include the fade, where one scene appears to go to black slowly. A good example of a unique fade occurs in Steven Spielberg The Color Purple. Rather than simply fading to black, the camera focuses on an open mailbox, moving slowly into the darkness of the inner box until the screen is in total darkness, opening on a new scene in Africa. Metaphorically the audience has just been mailed to Africa. Another method is the dissolve, where one scene fades as another enters and for a brief second we, as viewers, are mentally moving through time and space into a memory, a simultaneous occurrence or perhaps just a new image. A dissolve can be accomplished very slowly or extremely fast. In Field of Dreams, a young Archie Graham is very quickly converted into seventytwo-year-old Doc Graham by the camera's focusing on a pair of baseball spikes stepping over a rock path and becoming a pair of well-worn wingtips. As the camera opens its lens, we see first his medical bag and then a full body shot of the doctor moving quickly to aid the choking child.
A third method of transition is multiple imaging, by which we see on the screen more than one image. This technique is frequently used to place us into the mind of a character. In older films, inserts are used to move the audience in space or time: the clock with the hands turning, newspaper headlines, dates falling from a calendar, subtitles, and fireworks exploding or waves crashing on the rocks following a love scene.
The motion picture is not limited to strictly visual images; action is accompanied by sound. In filmmaking, there are three types of sound present in practically every scene. First, and probably most important, is the dialogue. It is important the audience hear and understand every line. A good sound mixer can separate each track and augment where necessary to heighten and control communication. A second use of sound is musical accompaniment, for which there are two types. Orchestral background music is generally written to enhance the mood and action of the film. A second type of musical background has recently become very popular. The film American Graffiti (1973), instead of using orchestral music, used contemporary music as it would be played on a radio. This started a trend that is both popular and in many ways more economical for the production. Stop into any record store, and you will find a category of recorded sound tracks--music in both forms that accompanied the film. The third type of sound is natural sound in whatever setting the scene is being performed--
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automobile horns, or trains, or traffic, or voices, or whatever else would be present in reality. Sound is always within the control of the director and audio engineer. Special effect sounds are categorized under the umbrella of total special effects. One real advantage that film has over other media is the ability to add, subtract, augment, or rerecord sound at any time prior to presentation. Everyone has seen the opening of The Sound of Music with Julie Andrews singing with full orchestral accompaniment while romping alone on a mountaintop. The actual sound recording was made in a studio and later dubbed into the film's action. The dubbing process is a major part of filmmaking, particularly for outdoor and action scenes and in every case, singing.
In evaluating the quality of film, one must consider the actors beyond the descriptions that appear in the literature. Characters, whether developed by literary authors or screenwriters, are creations. Authors may pattern a character after a living person or persons, but they are just as likely to develop a character to fit a particular set of functions, both physically and psychologically. In casting a film, the casting director does not have that prerogative. He or she must select a living person to portray the literary creation. Sometimes the actor chosen fits and other times does not. Actors may be chosen to play a role because of their celebrity value as well as their talent. In some cases an actor may select a particular story he or she wants to play, secure the story, and develop the project. One fact must be accepted: incidents and characters in a novel are not the characters and incidents we view on a screen. Jack Nicholson, regardless of the fact he won an Academy Award for his portrayal of Randle P. McMurphy in One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, is not "red headed with long red sideburns . . . as broad as papa was tall, broad across the jaw and shoulders and chest." Nor is Tim Robbins as Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption a "short, neat little man with sandy hair and small, clever hands." Unlike literature, where the reader develops his or her own mental image of the character based on whatever physical description an author may provide, the director selects the person he or she believes fits the role or, in some cases, the film's commercial requirements. Who plays the lead roles may or may not determine the success of the film at the box office.
Fundamentally, there are two types of actor. A personality actor, such as John Wayne, Jack Nicholson, Goldie Hawn, and Roseanne, has a personal quality that dominates his or her presence on the screen. John Wayne could not believably play a hairdresser or Goldie Hawn a nuclear physicist. The public would not accept them even if their skills would allow them to play the role. Technically this type is known as presentational: they present themselves as the character an author creates in fiction, be it a play or a novel. Robert Duvall, on the other hand, can play a reformed alcoholic country singer in Tender Mercies, for which he won Best Actor, or Major Frank Burns, an oversexed religious zealot in the film M*A*S*H, and be
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quite believable in both. He is a character actor, attempting to internalize the role in order to "become" the created character. This division of acting style is present in both male and female actors and does not in any way determine the quality of a performance. Two females noted for their ability to create character are Meryl Streep, who won an Oscar for her portrayal of a holocaust survivor in Sophie's Choice, and Jessica Lange, winner of the 1994 Best Actress Oscar for her portrayal of a woman losing herself in Blue Sky. These actors are representational. They attempt, as physically and psychologically as possible, to represent the character an author has created.
According to Konstantin Stanislavski (1863- 1938), a Russian stage director who literally wrote the book on acting,
While the art of living an image strives to feel the spirit of the role every time and at each creation, the art of presenting an image strives only once to live the role, privately, to show it once and then to substitute an externalized form expressing its spiritual essence; the hack actor disregards the living of the role and endeavours to work out once and for all a ready-made form of expression of feeling, a stage interpretation for every possible role and possible tendency in art. In other words, for the art of living representation, living the role is indispensable. The hack manages without it and indulges in it only occasionally. (qtd. in Pudovkin246)
In film and on the stage, it is the job of an actor to so completely "live" the role that a viewer does not see the person playing the part but sees the character an author created. For a John Wayne, it would happen rarely; for Dustin Hoffman, it happens most of the time.
What is important to remember is that when we are looking at films constructed from a novel, we must consider the choice of actors as well as the quality of performance in portraying the roles created by the author. Does the actor's physical presence overshadow the story, or by giving a poor performance harm the story? Or was the actor simply miscast, rendering the original story ineffectual?
Or perhaps the story or the characterization is altered to conform to the actor rather than the cultural archetype. One very well-known story involves John Wayne in his final film, The Shootist. The novel, written by Glendon Swarthout, was successful as a western novel. When production rights to the book were purchased by Wayne's company, there was a discussion regarding changes. Swarthout wanted final script approval and apparently felt he received it. However, when the film was shot, the ending of the novel was considerably altered to fit the image of John Wayne the actor rather than the novel's character. This was also true of the ingenue role played by Ron Howard. The novel portrays Howard's role as a loss of innocence into a future of gun fighting, but one could not expect to find our little Opie or Richie Cunningham descending to such an evil end. In
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The Shootist, he is "forced" to use a gun, but then dramatically casts the gun aside, implying a gunless future. John Wayne, true to his image, goes down in a blaze of glory, heroic to the end as he disposes of the two evil men who might otherwise threaten civil society. A court suit attempted to prevent the opening of the film, but failed. The movie opened on schedule and met with reasonable success. An interesting sidelight to the making of the film was that Miles Hood Swarthout, son of the author, adapted the screenplay, emphasizing how little control the screenwriter has in the final editing.
In many films, it is not the stars who ultimately determine the overall quality of the presentation. In many cases, it is the smaller parts that when done extremely well make the overall picture memorable. For example, while Whoopi Goldberg was deservedly nominated for an Oscar for her performance as Celie in The Color Purple, Desreta Jackson, who plays the teenaged version of Celie is rarely mentioned, yet she did a superb job in establishing the character in the minds of the viewers and certainly provided the audience a base for Goldberg's characterization. Whatever accolades may go to the star, a film's ultimate success, as in any other group endeavor, will require the supporting cast to perform equally well. Anyone who has seen Coppola masterpiece Apocalypse Now will remember a very small scene in which a young black actor (Herb Rice), moving slowly and deliberately, turns off a blaring radio, calmly listens to a distant voice, and quietly loads and fires his grenade launcher, silencing the taunting. What haunts the screen is that his expression never changes. All we know about him is his expressionless face, his native-like adornments, and his title, ghost. When we leave the theater, we take with us his image. Perhaps he as much as any other character in the film is Coppola's symbol of the Vietnam War. A stage director's mantra as he prepares the cast for performance is an old cliché and is as true for film as for the stage: "There are no small parts, only small actors."
Film technology includes a point of view, which in most cases is the camera lens. However, it is possible to film in such a way as to present the scenes from a character perspective. For example, in both the novel and film, The Shawshank Redemption, Red, a long-time prison inmate, functions as its narrator and as a major character in the story. This allows the director to use Red as voice-over, providing transitions connecting scenes that are years apart. This technique is also used in Spielberg The Color Purple, a novel conveyed in letters. Films that are presented from the viewpoint of a particular character provide opportunity for both transition and perspective. In both cases, the "objective" observer is the camera, while the subjectivity results from our knowing, that the story is being told from a single character's memory. A voice-over occurs when a disembodied voice makes observations about the scene, filling in gaps in time or as a motivation for the action. The voice-over is a kind of vestigial soliloquy, a theatrical device occurring when a character speaks directly to the audience,
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providing information the audience needs to know in order to follow the plot. The voice heard is generally that of the protagonist, although it can be another character, as when a letter is being read by its author. Subjectivity primarily enters in the editing of the film rather than the filming.
Originally a camera position was stationary and could only pan vertically and horizontally. As technology expanded, the position became extremely mobile through the use of tracks, dollies, hydraulic arms, aircraft, automobiles, balloons, and even a bicycle. A more prominent upgrade came with the advance in the quality and type of camera lens. A camera with a telephoto lens and fast film can focus on a single feature of the actor, such as an eye or a tooth, or it can pull back and photograph a very wide angle. However, because film, like literature, is dependent on character, there are stock shots conveying a total characterization: head shot or close-up; medium shot, which includes the torso; a full body shot called a long shot; and a two-shot covering two people in the same frame. These shots make up the majority of most films, but there are as many variations as the imagination of the cinematographer or director will allow.
One important perspective is to view the camera as an eliminator. The camera becomes a directional viewfinder as a director focuses on a specific aspect, eliminating from sight all extraneous objects or action that might distract an audience from seeing precisely what he or she wants them to see. This is a major difference from stage performance. During a play, the entire space in which a scene is being performed is always visible to the audience. Every character within the scene is also visible. Film has the ability to eliminate everything except whatever specific object or action is desired--a rear, slowly descending a cheek (accomplished by using a drop of mineral oil, since tears, being water, descend rapidly), or perhaps an object. In The Color Purple, Steven Spielberg, during a romantic scene in which Shug and Celie kiss, the audience is treated to a view of a pink wind chime. Its delicacy of color and sound adds a rather sentimental innocence to the encounter. Chances are that if the camera had not eliminated all other aspects of the scene, the audience would not have noticed the wind chime.
Lighting, like sound, has advanced dramatically as equipment, particularly the quality of film and cameras, has been technologically improved. From the beginning of motion pictures at the turn of the century until the late 1930s, almost all films were black and white. It was believed even into the 1970s that black and white film had an advantage over color because it seems more real. However, by the mid 1960s and the proliferation of color television, if a film was to make it to television, it had to be in color. American filmmakers (with few exceptions, one being Peter Bogdanovich The Last Picture Show, 1971), producers, and directors would not take the chance on losing that commercial reward. (To be accurate, it is most notably the investors who demand the insurance of video options.) Peter Bogdanovich had great difficulty in convincing the studio that black and white
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was appropriate for his film. In the end, he was proved correct, but his success has not led others to attempt to film in black and white.
Quality of film is the determining factor with regard to lighting. The two technologies are interwoven. The faster the film, the less lighting is required to illuminate the shot. Technicolor, the first real color process, was invented in 1935. The difficulties it created had to do with its high light requirement, which created problems of where scenes could be shot. With today's highspeed color film, the director can use less light and use filters, altering the tint in order to create a mood. Audiences who have viewed any of the Dick Tracy or Batman films will recognize this process. For our purposes, we will concentrate on the color values presented in two general categories. For black and white films, we need to be aware of the amount of shadow and gray the film uses--how much contrast exists between white to gray to black. This will also relate to the amount of backlighting (lighting behind the action) the director uses in filming the story. An interesting technique recently developed for commercial television has found its way into motion pictures: inserting color into black and white frames for communicative purposes. Pleasantville (1998) interweaves color as reality with black and white, which is fantasy. As characters discover reality, they are seen in natural color. It does make sense; the real world is in color, and we certainly think of emotion as color. When we are angry we see red, or we become green with envy. Computer graphics now allow the cinematographer to color a face or hand or whatever else and leave the rest of the frame black and white. We will certainly see more of this rather than less. Color becomes a trope enhancing meaning within the structure of the story.
For color, we will become aware of contrasts, hues, and tints within a scene and as an overall picture. The English Patient was partially filmed in North Africa, much of it conveying the vastness of the desert. Color and shadow are used to enhance the open space, forming a background that is integrated into the action demonstrating the smallness of humans in relation to their environment. This is further enhanced by the actor's costumes and makeup. Everyone in the desert seems to blend into the surroundings conveying one of Michael Ondaajte's themes: man is not the center of the universe but simply one of its many features.
Color film, even high-speed film, requires more light than does black and white to bring out the contrasts.
APPLYING THE ARCHETYPE TO NOVELS AND FILM
Art, in whatever form it may be presented has been defined as "the embodiment of the spiritual matured to the point of revelation" (Jaffe qtd. in Jung MS250). It is an act whereby the artist creates a work that will reveal to the public an aspect of human spiritual nature. An artist sends a message; a reader, viewer, or listener must be present to perceive or art cannot exist.
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One way to perceive and comprehend is to analyze the work within the context of a previously defined set of standards and approaches to it. For literature and film, there are available some general categories into which a work may be placed that will provide a form for analysis and evaluation.
Realism is a fidelity to actuality in its representation in literature or film, or its level of verisimilitude. A third term, coined by Edgar Allen Poe, added the ingredient of probability. No matter a story's setting, characters, or plot, the reader must be able to believe in a level of probability. What matters for each of the terms is to create within the mind of the reader or viewer a sense of believability. In drama, whether stage or film, this requires suspending disbelief on entering the theater. In a theater the audience sits in the dark and, for the time there, suspends awareness to the obvious and accepts that what is happening on the stage or screen is real. In literature, it means being willing to accept the story on the terms supplied by the author. This implies the reader or viewer will place his or her imagination under the control of an author. Rod Serling, writer and narrator of a 1950s television, show labeled this the "twilight zone." In this application, realism (with a small r) applies to the level of believability the author or director communicates to the audience.
A more literary application of the term is for an entire genre of literature--the school of realism. This can be defined only in comparison with its adjunctive terms, romanticism and naturalism. These terms have very broad and overlapping meanings when applied to either literature or film. A very simplistic but workable explanation is that when the character seemingly controls the environment, or the environment is shaped in such a way to conform to the needs of the characters, it becomes romantic. When the environment appears to control the character, it is naturalistic. Realism appears in between, allowing some control over and some influence by the environment. Historically, romanticism is generally associated with idealism, as in creating an environment as you would like it to be rather than as it is. In an ideal world, a world of spring and summer, good always triumphs over evil, and for the moment, it appears that everyone will live happily ever after. Nineteenth-century England is most noted for its romantic literature, particularly the novels of Jane Austen (Pride and Prejudice and Emma) and the Brontë sisters Charlotte (Jane Eyre) and Emily (Wuthering Heights). The great adventure stories, past and present, also are a major romantic genre. America contributed Edgar Allen Poe and his many stories of the grotesque along with Nathaniel Hawthorne (The Scarlet Letter), Herman Melville (Moby Dick), and the bridge between romanticism and early realism, Mark Twain (Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer). Each of these has been made into film, some of them several times.
A major difference between the novels listed above and modern romance novels and films is that contemporary stories generally incorporate elements of realism in even the most romantic of stories. There are several devices
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each medium possesses in order to connect romance and realism. One example for film is the use of actual locations, particularly with familiar settings. Alfred Hitchcock did this frequently; his famous North by Northwest finale was filmed on the faces of the presidents at Mount Rushmore. A novel or a film may incorporate real people or actual historical events or places to enhance believability. Robin Hood, one of the most famous mythological heroes, occupied an actual forest, Sherwood Forest in western England. Romanticism by tradition also includes all imaginative literature-when imagination overshadows reason, focusing instead on horror, fantasy, or adventure, and including those films relying on special effects rather than plot or character to attract an audience. Romantic novels make no attempt to present the world realistically but instead create a world to fit the needs of the story. In American literature, romance is most often associated with the movement west with the novels of Zane Grey and Willa Cather, and present-day authors Larry McMurtry and Louis L'Amour. As can be readily seen by the diversity of romance writers, the genre is alive and well represented throughout both centuries. Its popularity remains high as contemporary novels and films continue to rely on romantic characters and settings, and while they may be in one sense mythical, they are not bound to maintain a mana identity. The general focus of modern romance literature is primarily directed toward entertainment and caters more to satisfy our popular culture.
It is in the area of realism where literature and film are at one point closest to each other and perhaps semantically the furthest apart. It is paradoxical to discuss fiction, be it novel or film, as being real. Paradox or not, it is in realism, connecting to actual experience, that the idea of film as mythopoiea becomes most closely united. "People only respond to the mythic nature of a story when they recognize the inherent truth of it" (Monaco AFN253). In realism, just as in myth, there exists the aura of truth. The closer the novel or film represents a primeval reality, the closer the story relates to myth. The closer the story connects to myth, the more direct the connection between the story being told and the reader or viewer of that story. "Real myths, those artistic evidences of our collective consciousness . . . spring directly from roots in reality" and are of our genetic inheritance. We cannot resist connecting with these stories as they tend to "heighten reality and condense it" (251). For the moment in time in which we are participating in the story the unknown becomes the known.
In addition, there is a form of realism where fiction and fact come in direct contact. One example is a film made from a "true novel," Truman Capote In Cold Blood. Capote moved to Kansas, the setting of the brutal murder of the Clutter family, and spent a great deal of time researching the events surrounding the crime, the subsequent capture of the young perpetrators, and their execution. Capote was first and foremost a novelist, not a historian. The book that resulted from his research contains much
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factual material. At the same time, because of Capote's personal beliefs, the novel presents a strong argument opposing the death penalty. The 1967 black and white film version, directed by Richard Brooks, followed the novel's form by appearing as a semidocumentary in relating the details of the crime, the capture, and subsequent execution. Through excellent performances by the cast, particularly Robert Blake and Scott Wilson as the young killers, the audience was made to feel great sympathy for the youthful criminals during their last moments of life. This follows the book in highlighting and enhancing Capote's theme, that capital punishment is unnecessarily cruel, to a much wider audience than the novel did. The result of this type of narrative is a presentation of the story realistically but not precisely objectively, that is, events were shaded to present a subjective reality. The plot of a story can present a theme of why seemingly good boys become violent killers and simultaneously attempt to sway the audience to a particular ideology. In Capote's mind, there was little difference in how the youthful murderers killed the Clutter family and how the State of Kansas subsequently treated them. As fiction, the story possesses a high level of verisimilitude; as fact, it becomes subjective reality. It also contains all of the elements necessary for myth. Two young men, crazed by alcohol and greed, lose their innocence and commit a multiple murder for which they ultimately try to "redeem" themselves, but society exacts full payment for their transgressions by requiring them to forfeit their lives.
A very contemporary entry into this mode is John Berendt Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, a "true novel" about a murder and the subsequent trials in Savannah, Georgia. The novel was published in 1994 and almost immediately rose to the best-seller list, where it remained for over a year. The film version, directed by Clint Eastwood, arrived in theaters in 1997. The film received mixed reviews.
Some other excellent combinations of film and novel based on historical circumstances are Compulsion by Meyer Levin, a story of Chicago's famous Loeb and Leopold crime and trial, and All the President's Men, concerning the Watergate burglary and the ultimate resignation of President Richard Nixon, written by reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. Oliver Stone 1991 retelling of Kennedy's presidency and assassination, JFK, according to many critics attempted to rewrite history by rejecting the Warren Commission's conclusions and reviving the conspiracy theory. Another novel that sought to rewrite history is Robert Penn Warren All the King's Men. Although many critics consider the novel biographical in nature, Warren, admitting to similarities between the novel and the life of the late Huey P. Long, colorful senator from Louisiana, assured readers that the connections were present only to provide a realistic base for a fictional story. What he really wanted to show a public emerging from World War II was the dangers of demagoguery. By incorporating actual events or settings in a fictional novel or film the author used a literary device that im-
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poses a sense of verisimilitude to their presentation. By attaching fictional rather than real names, the novel has a universal and timeless appeal. By connecting the plots and the characters with a mythical archetype, the novels and films provide that spiritual revelation Aniela Jaffe spoke about.
Whether a novel or film is romantic or realistic, the author or director must include an element of real truth, which then becomes the means by which the story connects to the audience. When the reality of the story represents a metaphysical truth, the story connects to a recurrent archetypal theme and reaches toward myth. It does not matter if the story is based on actual events or is totally the creation of the author. The critical measurement is in how effectively and to what extent the author or director is able to incorporate truth in his or her work of art.
Our focus is not on the historical content but on the author or director's ability to portray the complete story with a sense of the actual. In a practical sense, realism requires the novelist or filmmaker to stay within the laws of natural science in portraying the character, the action, and the setting. As simple as this sounds, any avid reader or film aficionado knows that nature is often bent to conform to the needs of the story. In reality, seldom does a clap of thunder occur at just precisely the right moment to punctuate the character's statement or action. A stack of cardboard boxes does not always appear in an alley when police are in hot pursuit, and a parked car never becomes a ramp for one car to catapult into the air before exploding. (My personal favorite is the uncanny ability to find a parking place directly in front of the character's destination.) When action, setting, or character become recognizably contrived, verisimilitude becomes lost, which in turn loses truth, which compromises the story's mythopoeia.
By the presentation's incorporating a concrete sense of reality, the story has a base from which the reader or viewer may connect to a truth that provides a base for myth. If it is myth that brings the known (reality) closer to the unknown (abstraction), it would follow that the more realism or truth a fictional story develops, the closer it would bring us to a fundamental metaphysical truth. The more real a spiritual experience (mana) is, the closer we get to whatever exists as ultimate reality. For archetype and myth to connect, "realism [must reach] an artistic critical mass, at which point the record becomes transformed into myth" ( Monaco AFN252).
The final broad category into which we can place literature and film are those stories employing an aura of naturalism. This term is applied to realistic literature or film that tends to subjugate people to the extrinsic forces of culture and nature. It "attempts to describe life exactly as it is, and ends, by the very logic of that attempt, in pure irony" (Frye AC49). John Steinbeck, one of America's foremost naturalistic authors, demonstrated this form in his great American novel, The Grapes of Wrath. Whether you read the novel or view the 1940 film, the dark and violent world of the migrant fieldworker is deeply real. From a literary perspective, it is so real that it
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becomes somewhat surreal, attaining a nightmarish quality. The elements of character and setting, through their symbolic reference, create a reality beyond the visible. When what you see in your imagination or on a screen is presented to conform to an exodus from depression- and drought-ridden Oklahoma to a "promised land," California, and manifests itself fully in the humiliation and degradation of a family that was "perfect and upright, and one that feared God and eschewed evil" (Job 1:1), a metaphysical reality is simultaneously created. As such, the story moves into the realm of naturalism. The environment dominates the characters. It is an environment over which the Joad family has no control. Drought, ignorance, poverty, violence, and societal indifference become forces that control the Joads' very existence even though they have seemingly done nothing for which punishment would be deserved. They allegorically represent the exodus of the Jews from Egypt and the story of job.
Naturalism dominated American literature during the 1930s and 1940s. It was also a strong aspect of All the King's Men, as the protagonist, Willie Stark, succumbs to the power of corrupt politics. The theme of the novel and film follows the admonition of British Lord Acton when he warned, "Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely." Willie Stark begins his quest an honest man and loses. When he fights corruption with corruption, he wins. Like the Joads, Stark is consumed by the environment. The characters in these two novels seem physically and intellectually unable to combat the evil influences of the environment and suffer grave consequences. This does not diminish the reality of either story. In fact, The Grapes of Wrath was so real that, when it was published, it had an impact on the social order in the United States. People became outraged that good families were being treated in the manner of the Joads, and in many states, especially California, laws were enacted to protect migrant workers.
When discussing a modern novel or film, it is not necessary to classify the story formally as romantic, realistic, or naturalistic. However, it is necessary to understand the level of influence that extrinsic forces, such as the environment or contrivance, impose on the characters. Be careful not to confuse literary realism with believability. Literary realism is more synonymous with being true to life, as in verisimilitude. A story, such as Interview with a Vampire, can be completely believable to those seated in the theater or reading the novel and not in a literal sense be realistic. A purely imaginative story will always be romantic, for it exists in a world created solely to fit the needs of the characters. For analytic depth, it is necessary to identify the amount of compliance the author of the original story gave to realism. This is an area on which much critical analysis and judgment will be made--how many laws of nature are contrived or subverted to fit the story. We will critically assess the level of believability, realism, and verisimilitude in character, setting, and plot.
A third area involving the term realism occurs when it is contrasted with
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obstraction. An abstract quality in novel or film occurs when an idea or event goes beyond sensory perception for its comprehension. A realistic quality, on the other hand, is comprehensible in concrete terms. George Bluestone, in Novels into Film, seems to feel this is an area of great difficulty for film to compare favorably with a novel. However, it is not an area film directors tend to omit. The good ones attempt to develop cinematic methods that will, even in the brief space of time given to such devices, convey a feeling that will amplify or enhance the narrative meaning.
This would compare to the use of imagery and figurative language in poetry. Images are sensorially perceived, while tropes or figurative language, as in metaphors, similes, allusions, and allegories, require a more abstract ability to connect two different objects or ideas. For example, a novel or film utilizing symbol to enhance or amplify a particular theme is relying on the ability of the reader or viewer to connect the symbol with the action. In the theater, you perceive the action visually and audibly; this is real. The symbol, which may or may not be directly associated with the action, connects in a superconscious or subconscious or abstract sense to amplify the meaning or theme. In film, as in the transition following a passionate love scene, the camera will move to waves crashing on the rocks. This acts as both a transition and a symbol. One of the classic love scenes from film, duplicated many times, originated in From Here to Eternity. This scene is able to interweave the symbol into the action. Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr emerge from the sea, symbolically cleansed from all past transgressions and, as if they were Adam and Eve, fall upon a blanket on the beach and immediately engage in a passionate embrace. The camera pulls back to focus on the sea breaking on the rocks. What takes place on that blanket occurs completely in the imagination (this is a 1954 film). However, the sea crashing against the rocks should provide some concrete images based on each individual's past experiences.
This type of realism as symbol also occurs in literature. In Walter Van Tilburg Clark's classic western novel, The Ox-Bow Incident, concrete language describing the harshness of the environment is used in tandem with the behavior of the characters, implying they are connected. The story involves a lynching of three innocent men by an angry mob. At the point of the lynching, Clark describes the seconds prior to whipping the horses from under the three victims:
We all moved out of the circle to give the horses room. In the last second even the Mex was quiet. There was no sound save the shifting of the horses, restless at having been held so long. A feathery, wide-apart snow was beginning to sift down again; the end of a storm, not the beginning of another, though. (186 )
The mob, the victims, the horses, and the weather were bound together, acting in unison. It was not simply an act of good or evil, but a reflection
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of the time and place. Combining reality (action and setting) with the abstract (the implication that the men were only what their environment made them) amplifies and enhances a mythopoeic theme that a person is not a superior entity created by a benevolent God to dominate the land, but instead is merely an intelligent animal incapable of exercising the will to go against the pack (nature), even when he or she knows the pack is wrong. The novel, being narrated by an active participant, made this connection much better than the film version did. Critical analysis shows the novel's presentation to be naturalistic, while the film version was termed "starkly realistic."
One other form of metaphor we need to know is allusion, a specific type of comparison when the symbolic idea or object is derived from a previous literary or historical source. A flood, or a snake, when incorporated into a literary work or film as a symbol, will signify God's wrath or the presence of evil. Both of these originated in a literary sense in the Bible. An "Achilles heel" signifies a weakness or fatal flaw (hamartia) and comes from Greek mythology. The great Greek tragedies and for the most part all of Shakespeare's tragedies occurred as the result of a protagonist's flaw. A recent movie built around an allusion was Don Juan DeMarco, in which the actor, Johnny Depp, believes himself to be the reincarnation of the great lover Don Juan, a renowned romantic hero of seventeenth-century Spain, immortalized in an opera by Mozart and a poem by Lord Byron. The novel Jaws was, according to author Peter Benchley, a modern and considerably less literate version of Herman Melville Moby Dick. An allusion can be a symbol or an entire story.
Film not only uses literary allusion effectively but also creates allusions all its own. Two of the best known are the shower scene from Psycho and the beach love scene in From Here to Eternity. In addition to scenes, memorable lines from film have become a part of our culture. Rhett Butler's famous line, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn," and the maid's line, "I don't know how to birth no babies," from Gone with the Wind have found their way to other movies and certainly to television. "What we have here is a failure to communicate" from Cool Hand Luke is another wellused line. Such well-known television shows as The Carol Burnett Show and Saturday Night Live rely on film classics for many of their skits. Television's situation comedies frequently use both classic and current movie scenes and lines, mainly due to their quick recognition by the audience; a thirty-minute show must rely on shortcuts.
One other important device present in good literature and film is the effective use of irony, which occurs in three forms: verbal, situational, and dramatic. Irony exists when the language or action conveys a meaning beyond what you read, see, or hear. It is through the use of irony that the abstract quality is conveyed. Verbal irony is obvious when the language, description, dialogue, and tone of voice convey meaning beyond the de-
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notative intent of the words. Also, a metaphor, symbol, or allusion can be used to create verbal irony through hyperbole (exaggeration) or understatement. The English language has many words that may denotatively convey the same object or action but when written or spoken, they convey a different quality assessment. For example, a dining establishment can be referred to as a restaurant, diner, café, ptomaine tavern, or greasy spoon. Each means a place where you can purchase food, but each term conveys a different picture in the imagination of the reader. An action may be performed savagely or sadistically, or at another time sensuously or graciously, each supplying a tone to the expression. Everyone can relate to a time when a mother or father admonishes, "Don't use that tone of voice with me." The voice inflection conveys to the parent the child's discontent, which in turn, creates their discontent. Where a writer uses word choice and syntax, a speaker uses inflection to create the same outcome, a meaning beyond what the senses actually perceive.
Situational irony occurs when the action implies a meaning greater or less than what is being presented. Just as hyperbole and understatement apply to verbal irony, parody or overacting and underacting or subtlety, conveys in many cases meaning far beyond the literal action. Compare the performances of Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie and in Rain Man. In Tootsie, the role called on Hoffman to exaggerate his character to become a "raging feminist." In Rain Man, the demand was for subtlety. The character is required to be withdrawn and confined within himself. This type of irony includes body language, facial expressions, and hand gestures, as well as interaction with other characters or objects within the environment. In acting, this is known as subtext. The actor, through body language or expression, communicates something more than the dialogue conveys. In literature this is developed through the conflict and a narrator's subjective diction used to describe the action.
Dramatic irony is somewhat different. In literature, theater, and film, dramatic irony exists when the reader or viewer knows information the character or characters do not--a subtle but very important device. For example, in The Last Picture Show, readers or viewers know the truth about rich and pretty Jacy, Duane, and Sonny's love interest, long before the boys realize they are being used by her. Knowing this prepares the reader for Jacy's eventual rejection of both young men, and as a result, we accept without question her behavior, knowing, even if the characters do not, they are better off. This is one way an author uses dramatic irony to create verisimilitude. In many cases, the difference between contrivance and verisimilitude is in how well the author uses dramatic irony to foreshadow the action.
All of the technologies for both media are merely devices available to the author or director in conveying the reality and abstraction of the stories. In order to assess the presentation critically, we will evaluate how effec-
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tively the author or director made use of these devices. We certainly will not always agree, nor should we. We may not even agree on the archetype, but what we will have is a base from which to discuss and evaluate the quality of each medium.
For literature, we will focus on the author, for film, the director. They are the creative intelligence responsible for the final entity. In each of the novels and films we analyze, we need to keep in mind that the director has some advantage. First, the film will have followed after the novel was published. In some, such as The Shawshank Redemption, the time lapse is substantial, while in others, like The Color Purple, the film follows closely enough that the reader will also be a prime viewer of the film. In addition to the technological advantages, the director has the advantage of any literary criticism, as well as public acceptance and popularity of the novel. This, of course, is a two-edged sword. The public, particularly professional critics, and, where the film is contemporary to the novel, the reader, will have a preconceived notion of what the film should accomplish. The director knows what has been considered good and what was not so well received about the novel. In the final analysis, however, the director must make choices. He or she will choose those characters and actions that may be developed and spliced together to convey the story. A professional screenwriter, or in some cases the novel's author, will create a screenplay that will be used by the director as a base upon which to build the final product. Ultimately the director creates the film, for it is he or she that who brings together the technologies. This is the major point at which semiology becomes a prime factor. A film director may continue to film and edit until that particular scene meets the precise criteria he or she wants the audience to see and hear. In essence, a film director represents each member of the audience. Also, a director can be more objective than an author because the story being filmed is the actual creation of the author. The director may not have a personal interest in the story, only in how the story can be conveyed visually.
The choices a director makes may be obvious, such as in The Color Purple, where the story is told in the form of letters written by the protagonist, first addressed to God and later to her sister, Nettie. It would not make much of a movie to have a woman sitting at a table and reading aloud for 152 minutes what she is writing. Literary critics for the most part agree that for this story, the point of view is effective, although at least one scholarly critic felt that a poor, abused black woman writing letters to God was a little contrived. Steven Spielberg, the director of the film version, chose the scenes the letters described that he felt reflected the essence of the controversial Alice Walker novel. You will read the novel in its letter form and then view the film. You will be a judge of whether Spielberg selected the correct scenes to convey the story's essence. You will evaluate whether the correct actors were chosen to play the parts. You will determine
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to which seasonal phase this story of one woman's passage from adolescence to womanhood belongs. The novel created controversy in both the black community and among many whites. Much of the controversy occurred because people either do not agree on what Walker wants to say or they agree about her purpose but disagree with the way Walker and Spielberg tell the story.
In other films, the choices are less obvious. Some novels adapt easily to film. Practically everything Ernest Hemingway wrote has been converted to film. Because of his terse style of writing and the fact that he constructed straightforward dialogue, his stories seem to be easily adapted. Stephen King is a contemporary author whose work has been made into film. Some critics state that he structures his novels with the film version in mind. One short story of King, "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption," was published in a four-story volume entitled Different Seasons in 1983. Critics are split when reviewing the stories, some stating that King should stick to horror stories while others say it demonstrates King proves he can write more than horror tales. The film version of this story came twelve years later and is considered one of the best pictures of 1995, with Morgan Freeman nominated for an Academy Award for his portrayal of the institutionalized long termer, Red. It is an excellent film, but there is much more to the novella than what the audience sees. It is the overall story that translates, although style certainly plays a part. It is the story through its primeval reality, its mythological truth, that connects to the reader or viewer.
One final aspect to consider is the context of the time in which the novel was written and the film produced. In older films, such as Henry King The Sun Also Rises, made in 1957 and based on Ernest Hemingway's 1926 novel of the same name, restrictions on what could be filmed and what could be published are much different from today. The language contained in the novel is by today's standards very mild, and it is even milder in the film. This is one reason we do not want to compare a 1926 novel too closely to a 1983 novel. This is why beginning with the archetype provides a basis on which we, as familiar as we may be with novels and films of the 1990s, can find a common ground. Does the archetypal essence and mode of the story emerge from the form, be it film or literature, 1926 or 1998? What does it tell us about the culture that produced it? Is the inclusion of graphic sex and profane and obscene language an enhancement? Will any of the novels or films be available to audiences fifty or more years from now? What do these stories tell us about us?
In each case, a novel and film must be judged on its own context. Although we will analyze stories according to their archetype, the study will focus on a novel and its companion film as a single entity. The bond between them comes not only from their using the same archetype to tell the story, but the creative idea of one became the source for the other. Dis-
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cussions relating to comparisons of different novels and films will reflect cultural changes incorporated in the presentation.
The stories we read, view, analyze, and criticize are modern versions of archetypal myths. Each represents in its treatment of the archetype a seasonal genre. The story is not only a romantic, realistic, or naturalistic comedy or tragedy, but it is a product that enters our minds by connecting to our natural instincts regarding the rituals and celebrations related to seasonal changes.
Following a midterm project, you will be required to complete an outside project where you will select a novel/film combination to work on individually. There will be a list (Appendix C) from which you may select a novel/ film combination to evaluate. You may want to review some of the examples mentioned in the prior text material. Any combinations mentioned will be acceptable excluding the class selections. In this book, we explore selections beginning with a look at contemporary heroism, segue to modern rites of passage from youth to adulthood, and conclude with an evaluation of morality and magic. For each, we will archetype them in order to categorize their significance, discuss their form and content, and attempt to determine what they tell us about out culture and their relationship to our world. As Malinowski stated, "We can say that the narratives being constructed during the late 19th and early 20th century are the stories from which future generations will construct our mythology. These then are the stories reflecting 'a narrative of [our] primeval reality '"(104).
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