Analyzing Literature- to-Film Adaptations This page intentionally left blank Analyzing Literature-t o-Film Adaptations A Novelist’s Exploration and Guide Mary H. Snyder 2011 The Continuum International Publishing Group 80 Maiden Lane, New York, NY 10038 The Tower Building, 11 York Road, London SE1 7NX www.continuumbooks.com Copyright © 2011 by Mary H. Snyder All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers. Library of Congress Cataloging- in- Publication Data Snyder, Mary H. Analyzing literature- to- fi lm adaptations: a novelist’s exploration and guide / by Mary H. Snyder. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN- 13: 978- 1- 4411- 4998- 5 (hardcover: alk. paper) ISBN- 10: 1- 4411- 4998- 8 (hardcover: alk. paper) ISBN- 13: 978- 1- 4411- 6818- 4 (pbk.: alk. paper) ISBN- 10: 1- 4411- 6818- 4 (pbk.: alk. paper) 1. Film adaptations— History and criticism. 2. American fi ction—Film and video adaptations. I. Title. PN1997.85.S59 2011 791.43’75—dc22 2010022592 ISBN: HB: 978- 1- 4411- 4998- 5 PB: 978- 1- 4411- 6818- 4 Typeset by Pindar NZ, Auckland, New Zealand Printed in the United States of America Contents Introduction 1 Part One The Creation and Study of Literature 19 1 Premeditation 21 2 On Literary Creation 25 3 Before the Beginning: Understanding the Study of Literature to Understand the Role of Literature in Our Lives 31 4 Literary Criticism/Analysis: Putting Theory into Practice 39 5 The List 73 6 A First Close Reading — Maria: The Injustices of Being a Woman 77 7 Beginning Maria, Beginning Sentences, Beginning Literary Creation 81 8 Critics on W omen’s Creations 87 9 Women Writers and Strategy 95 10 Deconstruction and Monsters 111 11 The Multiplicitous Nature of Intertextuality: Maria andSentences 121 Part Two On Literature Becoming Film 135 12 My Novel as a Film 137 13 A Marriage of Media? 143 14 Attempts at a Screenplay 151 Part Three The Creation and Study of Film 155 15 My History with, and an Abbreviated History of, Film 157 16 Film Production 171 vi ANALYZING LITERATURE-TO-FILM ADAPTATIONS 17 The Elements of Film 177 18 Film Analysis 183 Part Four The Literature- to- Film Adaptation Conundrum 195 19 Approaching Literature-to-Film Adaptation 197 20 The Conundrum in Practice 201 21 Twelve Observations about Literature- to- Film Adaptation Studies: A Disgruntled Novelist’s Perspective 239 22 Literature- to- Film Adaptation Analysis: Charting Some New Territory 243 23 Why Teach Literature- to- Film Adaptation Analysis? Why Learn It? 261 Appendix A1 “The Bear Came Over the Mountain”: Formalist Questions for a Close Textual Reading of the Story 265 Appendix A2 Questions to Ask of Film — Away from Her 267 Appendix A3 Questions of Away from Her (and its source text) — To Discuss in Class 269 Appendix A4 Intertextual Comparison of a Literature- to- Film Adaptation 271 Appendix A5 Grade Sheet for Intertextual Comparison Paper 275 Appendix A6 Sample Paper One 277 Olga Roque Appendix A7 Sample Paper Two 281 Kara Welch Appendix B ENG 260: Lit, Flicks, and Chicks 285 Appendix C Sample Academic Essay: A Study in Intertextual Comparison 289 Bibliography 301 Index 311 Introduction This book explores the adaptation of literature to fi lm from the perspective of a novel- ist, or fi ction writer. Admittedly, I would love to try my hand at a screenplay, as John Irving did, and successfully, for the fi lm adaptation of one of his novels, The Cider House Rules. I even wonder how it would be to direct a fi lm, although I’d probably end up tearing out all of my hair by the time I fi nished, if I made it that far. John Irving himself writes in My Movie Business, his memoir about the making of the fi lm The Cider House Rules, that it’s his job to give his notes to the director, “. . . but, in the end, there can only be one director . . . When I feel like being a director, I write a novel” (Irving 1999b, 152). As much as I like to imagine partaking in the role of director, or screenwriter for that matter, the truth is the reality of doing so does not attract me. I love to write stories but without the necessity of collaboration or frequent interruptions by the perspectives of others as fi lmmakers must endure, and unfettered by a specifi c format as screenwrit- ers must follow. In fact, I revel in making up stories about people in my spare time. I lie in my bed in the morning for at least an hour and think of hypothetical people, or characters, and their lives and their stories, and I let my imagination take over. I refer to them as waking dreams of a sort. And, when it seems time to capture these stories for the sake of posterity (and possible public display), the medium I slide into as if it were my favorite, comfortable chair, softly worn, cushiony, and inviting, is the written word, welcoming me to shape a narrative that best suits my subject, my characters, my story — or, my plan of my imaginary world. Writers of novels, and short stories, always have a plan, a strategy. And, this plan unravels as they begin and continue in their process of creation. The plan and the pro- cess vary for each writer. John Irving, for example, explains his process: Most of my friends who are novelists have told me that they never know the end of their novels when they start writing them; they fi nd it peculiar that for my novels I need to know, and I need to know not just the ending, but every signifi cant event in the main characters’ lives. When I fi nally write the fi rst sentence, I want to know everything that happens, so that I am not inventing the story as I write it; rather, I am remembering a story that has already happened. The invention is over by the time I begin. All I want to be thinking of is the language — the sentence I am writing, and 1 2 ANALYZING LITERATURE-TO-FILM ADAPTATIONS the sentence that follows it. Just the language. (Irving 1999b, 156) When I wrote my novel, I started with two short stories about two different women whose lives I began overlapping. I didn’t know my beginning, my middle, or my end when I began. The novel grew as I grew with it. Irving employs the method above for writing each of his novels, he reiterated during a talk he gave at a writer’s confer- ence. I, on the other hand, am looking to another novel, beginning with a vague idea of a plan, and letting the subject matter and characters carry me along for a while. Then I’ll know what to do. I rely on an inner guidance while Irving prefers to focus on the language of his work as he begins. Other writers have other processes. Michael Cunningham, for The Hours, began the novel as a contemporary version of Virginia Woolf’sMrs. Dalloway. He almost threw away his fi rst attempt, until he considered adding a character based on his mother, changing the dynamics of the novel. When he came upon this revelation about the novel, he decided not to “kiss it goodbye,” and explains that at this point all he had to do was write it. Misconceptions of the creation of a novel, when looking at literature- to- fi lm adapta- tion, seem to abound. Those who study fi lm adaptation do not consider with much depth what goes into making a novel, while they are quite focused on defending the multitude of factors that go into making a fi lm. I’m not disputing the latter, but I expend quite a bit of this book addressing the former. I do so not only to justify my own work, in elaborating on what went into creating my own novel and all the factors leading to its production, but also to justify the work of novelists and fi ction writers, which it seems necessary to do. I’ve discovered that approaching literature-t o-fi lm adaptation from a novelist’s perspective is a rather unique perspective, in that most of the scholars and experts on the subject that I’ve read began with some form of a literary training, and developed an educational and often experiential background in the art of fi lm, and fi lm theory and analysis. Some of these scholars are strictly trained in fi lm studies. Many of these individuals teach fi lm, and are referred to as fi lm experts. I hail from a literature department, but my interest in fi lm is limited. And, primarily, it’s limited to fi lm adaptation. I appreciate fi lm, and I respect the art and see it as art, but my focus is literature, and the dynamics of adaptation of the literary to the fi lmic have become fascinating to me. At fi rst, I was intimidated by the concept, especially from the personal perspective that my novel could be made into a fi lm. However, through my research and as my own thoughts on the topic have developed and evolved, I’ve become more comfortable with literature- to- fi lm adaptation. I don’t see the process as one medium hacking away at the other, or disrespecting the other, although that can occur if the process is mishandled. I also don’t see the fi lm adaptation process as requiring “fi delity” or “faithfulness” to the original text on no uncertain terms. I believe a literature-t o-fi lm adaptation process-t o-p roduct can be successful within parameters that are not necessarily narrow or limiting, but that are mindful, however, of the source text. I’ve come to see literature-t o-fi lm adaptation as a form of intertextuality worthy of intense study and exploration, from many angles, allowing for critical study that can be made accessible not only to high school or undergraduate college students, but also to the layperson. By layperson, I refer to any individual with an inquiring mind, although Introduction 3 not necessarily one with a scholarly mind who wants to probe the more intricate aspects of fi lm adaptation, or who wants to write a book or make a movie. Perhaps the book clubs begun several years ago might even consider taking on discussions of fi lm adap- tations, once given the basic tools for doing so. What I want to do is make those tools available to those individuals interested in viewing literature- to- fi lm adaptation from a more informed perspective. This book is for the student who would like to turn a more discriminating eye towards the practice and theory of adapting literature to fi lm. Where does one begin to analyze the process? Where does one begin to analyze the produc- tion? Where does one begin to scrutinize the entire system of adaptation? Where does one begin and how does one continue? The main objective of this book is to put forth a means to analyze literature- to- fi lm adaptations, and from this point, I will refer to literature- to- fi lm adaptations as lit- to- fi lm adaptations, for the sake of writing and reading ease. I do not defend the fi lm aspect of lit- to- fi lm adaptation, but instead introduce specifi c critical approaches that can be applied to analyzing lit-t o-fi lm adaptation, contending that to do so fairly is to reinstate the importance of the literature in lit- to- fi lm adaptation. Since I am approaching lit-t o-fi lm adaptation from the perspective of a novelist who has written a text that could be considered for fi lm adaptation and I examine the complexities that accompanies this action for a writer, I’ve taken note that in the midst of all the discourse surrounding lit- to- fi lm adaptation, most attention by some quite fi ne minds has been focused on a defense of the fi lm piece of lit-t o-fi lm adaptation. For example, fi lm theorist Robert Stam in his introduction to Literature and Film: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Film Adaptation devotes an entire section entitled “The Roots of a Prejudice” to an examination of how the literature has been privileged automatically in the discourse on the quality of its adaptation to fi lm, due to its assumed superiority to fi lm. Yet as he continues, his discussion of originality and source texts from a poststructuralist perspective signal to me quite problematic issues, especially for the novelist. Thomas Leitch, Brian McFarlane, Timothy Corrigan, among others, also present arguments concerning fi lm adaptation studies that, even if subtly, spend a good amount of time and energy defending fi lm and its quality and value, and its limi- tations and specifi cities, which I don’t feel is necessary. (That is, they often contradict themselves by being almost overly defensive of fi lm. If fi lm needs to be so defended, does this not imply that it is not only seen as less, but that it might be less? I don’t see fi lm as less, but I also don’t see it as more, or in need of so much protection.) I am fair to both the literature and fi lm in my presentation of lit- to- fi lm adapta- tion, or at least that is my design. We’ve come to a point in our culture where fi lm has become increasingly respected as a text and has begun to fi nd its place in academia, to the point that perhaps its defense has been successful. However, now it’s time to con- sider both literature and fi lm and the parts they both play in a lit-t o-fi lm adaptation, in an equitable manner. I’ve searched endlessly and have not found a book about lit-t o-fi lm adaptation from the perspective of the writer. A few writers have chronicled their personal experience with fi lm adaptation, but these are not analytical approaches to the “discipline.” I’ve wondered about that. It seems most scholars that speak to lit- to- fi lm adaptation analy- sis and theory assume they understand unequivocally the creation process of fi ction or