In L’Adaptation cinématographique des
textes littéraires Michel Serceau argues that film-makers and film critics
have often considered film adaptation in terms of binaries like translation/creation,
faithfulness/originality, transcription/interpretation, etc. (13-20).
Wright’s film clearly tries “to assert that it is the ‘real’ Pride and Prejudice”
(Hudelet 124) while emphasizing that it is a personal work which the director says he “put [his] heart into”
[62:50].1 Wright claims not to have seen the BBC series of
1995 (Hudelet 107). I want to look at the ways the film, at a
metafictional level, thematizes the process of adapting a literary text to the
screen, and how the film justifies its conception of film adaptation in
relation to the response it anticipates from the contemporary spectator.
I will start by showing how the representation of reading books is based on an
opposition between a critical and sensitive reading and a reading that merely
takes in a dominant discourse, an opposition which reflects, at a metafictional
level, the distinction film critics have often made between a creative
adaptation and an adaptation that is a mere transcription of the source text.
I will then deal with the representation and function of letters, which
likewise participate in this thematization of adaptation, but also point at
the difficulty of film, as a medium, to capture text in a dynamic way.
1. Reading Books: Critical and Sensitive Readings vs. Reproductions
of Dominant Discourses
In Joe Wright’s film, two characters, Elizabeth and Mary, are depicted
reading books, while a third, Mr. Collins, offers to read a book to the Bennets
and delivers a sermon in church. Mr. Bennet is shown reading the paper
after the ball [44:00], and certain shots underline that Mr. Bennet is
associated with books spatially [74:10, 113:20], but this pattern mainly points
at one of the things he and his favorite daughter, Elizabeth, have in common.
Elizabeth first appears on screen reading a book that, if we are to believe
Joe Wright’s commentary, happens to be Jane Austen’s novel [1:25].
Indeed, the reverse shot over Keira Knightley’s shoulder does not focus enough
on the letters to make the text readable, even by zooming in on a DVD player.
But when the shot is enhanced digitally2,
the text appears to be a variation on the last lines of Austen’s novel with
only the names of characters and places changed. (I have put the names
used in Austen’s text in brackets).
With their relatives [the Gardiners], they were always on the most intimate
terms. Candy [Darcy], as well as Katherine [Elizabeth], really loved them; and
they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who,
by bringing her into Wiltshire [Derbyshire], had been the means of uniting
them. (cf. Austen 388)
Elizabeth
is then shown in a close-up, smiling and bringing her hand to her mouth before
closing the book. She behaves in a similar manner later on in the film
when she closes a book that, the director tells us, happens to be Fordyce’s Sermons [70:05], a conduct
book recommended by Mr. Collins as it “speaks eloquently about all matters
moral” [27:10]. This parallel suggests not only that Elizabeth is amused
by the text she’s reading, but that she is capable of making a critical reading,
of establishing a certain distance between herself and a text.3 Note that the second time she is shown
reading, she also shuts the book, this time in order to counter Darcy’s
authority; he has just stated that an “accomplished woman . . . must
improve her mind by extensive reading” [20:20]. What Elizabeth is
opposing is the normative character of Darcy’s words, as well as Caroline
Bingley’s, which seem to have been taken straight out of a conduct book.
Elizabeth is not only a critical reader but a sensitive one as well. By
sensitive, I mean that Elizabeth engages emotionally and aesthetically with
art. “Culture” and “appreciation of
beauty,” the director indicates [80:15], bring Darcy and Elizabeth together,
just as Jane and Bingley both agree they don’t have time to read [8:10].
The first thing Elizabeth says to Bingley is that she’s heard “the library at
Netherfield is one of the finest in the country” [8:10], and she will indeed be
shown reading there [19:15]. As one of the indispensable qualities of an
“accomplished woman,” her interest in reading shows that despite appearances—despite
her family—Elizabeth is a well-educated person. If Miss Bingley is
capable of reciting almost all of the characteristics of the “accomplished
woman,” she only attempts to show she has that “something in her air and manner
of walking” [20:15], Caroline being, according to Raphaëlle Costa de
Beauregard, an “upper middle class” woman doing “her best to ape [her] betters”
(203). Elizabeth does not read because it is required of a lady but
because she has a genuine taste for it, a distinction which explains why she
shuts the book: unlike Caroline, she refuses to even attempt to incarnate
such “a fearsome thing to behold” as an “accomplished woman” [20:30]. Nor
does she mix reading and socializing, unlike Lady Catherine who, having stated
that “music is her delight” and that “there are few people in England who have
more true enjoyment of music than [herself], or better natural taste” (the key
words are “true” and “natural”), starts talking the second Elizabeth starts
playing the piano [60:00]. Elizabeth’s interest in art will be confirmed
when she looks at the statues at Pemberley by herself rather than following the
housekeeper on a guided tour [79:05]: remember that the housekeeper tells
her to “keep up,” a comment which suggests that Elizabeth needs time to
appreciate art. Just as Elizabeth seems to be impressed with Darcy’s
appreciation of art, Darcy himself seems to be attracted by the fact that
Elizabeth truly enjoys reading and doesn’t just say so; indeed, it is Darcy,
not Miss Bingley, who mentions reading, giving a sidelong glance at Elizabeth
right after Miss Bingley passes in front of him to impress him with “her manner
of walking.”
That being a sensitive reader is not incompatible with having a critical
mind is suggested in the first ball scene, when Elizabeth mocks the quality of
what her mother considers to be the “very pretty verses” written by one of
Jane’s former admirers: “I wonder who first discovered the power of
poetry in driving away love” [12:20]. Not only does this scene show her
capable of mocking a text written by a subject—an upper class man—more powerful
than she is, but it also gives her the opportunity to mock Darcy’s naively
romantic remark: “I thought that poetry was the food of love.”
Elizabeth’s retort—“Of a fine stout love, that it may. But if it is only
a vague inclination, I’m convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone
dead”—suggests she is capable of delivering a critical reading of a text even
if it is meant to be sensitive. If she is “romantic,” as Charlotte says
[53:05], it does not make her naïve, unlike Catherine in Northanger Abbey, who attempts to see the world through the filter
of Gothic romance.
That the book she’s reading is a variation
on the book on which her story is based establishes, at a metafictional
level, a distance between the film and the source text that, Elizabeth’s smile
seems to suggest, is ironic.4 For
more than simply alluding to the source text, this mise en abyme—i.e., the relation of similitude a part of a work has
with the work it belongs to—is a signal that the actress will take her cue from
the novel all the while modifying certain aspects: significantly, she has
reached the end of the novel and she
is shown closing it. This image
seems to construct the star of the film, Keira Knightley, as a synecdoche of
the film as a whole. Wright’s film clearly establishes a contract with the
spectator, announcing that, although based on Austen’s text, the film will
leave the novel aside in order to create something different: thus, the
adaptation the spectator will be given to see is not a transcription of
Austen’s text—the words are out of focus—but a creation. I want to insist that this reading is only possible
when the film critic has access to the peritext, information outside of the
film such as that provided by the director’s commentary. In other words,
there is a discrepancy between the way the film’s reception is represented and
conditioned by the film and the spectator’s actual response, due not only to
the spectator’s own cultural limitations but also to the film’s own
limitations, in this case because of what the director did not put in or make
clear.
I also want to make a second point concerning the use of the out-of-focus
effect. Nicole Cloarec and others have pointed out that these first shots
construct Elizabeth as the main “point of view” (194). Without completely
disagreeing with them, I nevertheless want to suggest that the shot of the book
does not completely enable the spectator to see what Elizabeth sees: not
only is it not a POV shot, but the out-of-focus effect establishes a barrier
between Elizabeth as a focalizer and the spectator, underlining that, because
of its very nature—i.e., for technical reasons (hence, the use of the focus)—the
medium does not enable us to see what the character perceives. The cause
of her amusement will thus remain a mystery to us.
The two other characters who are directly associated with reading books are
Mary and Mr. Collins. Mary seems to possess some of the qualities of an
accomplished lady: she plays the piano-forte, reads and enjoys
conversation, but she is also portrayed as a dull and rather pathetic figure,
notably when she comments that conversation is so much better than dancing to
get to know people. She is often heard dutifully practicing her scales,
and her piano-playing and singing seem to lack emotion [40:35, 43:55]. Unlike
Elizabeth, Mary lacks humor and takes things very much to heart (e.g., her poor
success at the ball [42:55]) and very literally (“Who’s got warts?” [4:10]).
At the end of the film, she is shown reading to her sister Kitty [102:45], and
in his commentary Joe Wright explains she is reading Fordyce’s Sermons. The dull, scholarly tone she takes while
reading this conduct book suggests she is quite literally taking Mr. Collins’s
advice: the film suggests, and Joe Wright asserts in his commentary, that
she would have been willing to marry the preacher [47:40]. Mary’s reading
indicates an absence of a critical mind and a readiness to submit to an instrument
of power used by the dominant gender and class to subject and fashion women.
At a metafictional level, it suggests that a faithful reading of a text is dull
for a girl like Kitty, who is the same age (seventeen) as a large part of the
audience Pride & Prejudice is
targeted at, and whose reaction—a
sigh—is heard before the shot allows
us to see the scene and before we even hear Mary’s words. Put in relation
to the scene where, smiling, Elizabeth shuts the very same book, as well as the
film’s opening scene, this scene argues the case against film adaptation as
faithful transcription.
Mr. Collins appears at the Bennets’ door holding several books [25:10] and
offers to read from Fordyce’s Sermons
“for an hour or two” after dinner [27:05], but he is not shown reading until
the church scene where he makes the blunder on “intercourse” while reading his
own notes laid out over a book that is probably the Bible or the Book of Common
Prayer [64:10]. The dullness of his preaching—the scene starts with a top
spinning on a bench and cuts to a medium close-up of Charlotte with a young man
sleeping behind her [64:00]—gives an idea of what the Bennets’ listening to him
read from the conduct book must have been like, apart from mocking the
occasional blunder. But Mr. Collins is often shown referring to a much
more important source, Lady Catherine [35:30, 46:05], who owns a parakeet and a
parrot of her own [57:05, 59:50]. I would argue that Mr. Collins is a
vessel for the discourse of power, a discourse that tries, albeit
unsuccessfully as his slip of the tongue suggests, to repress certain aspects
of his personality, notably his sexuality, but which he nevertheless attempts
to apply to the letter. That he fails to be the perfect incarnation of
Lady Catherine’s expectations may explain why he does not take Mary for wife
when she is the most perfectly suited for his needs but instead attempts to woo
the attractive Jane, the fiery Elizabeth, and finally Charlotte, who has some
of Elizabeth’s subversive qualities.
Joe Wright’s take on film adaptation is in keeping with the opposition
between faithfulness and creativity according to which directors and critics
alike have almost always conceived film adaptation. The originality of
Wright’s film lies, rather, in the relative coherence of its representation of
reading books as a metafictional treatment of film adaptation and as an attempt
to anticipate and maybe even condition the spectator’s response. If
adaptation were to be mere transcription, then one would get a perfectly dull
film: one would get Mary or Mr. Collins, a film which simply attempts
(and fails) to apply the authoritative text to the letter, not Elizabeth, a
critical and sensitive reading. Of course, this coherence has its
limitations and shows that the very idea that a film could condition the
spectator’s response by representing the response it anticipates is utopian.
2. Letters: Action and Reaction
The difficulty of adapting text to film is made explicit in the use of
letters, which, Joe Wright points out in the DVD commentary, are “really
difficult things to dramatize. They’re quite boring in terms of film”
[51:00]. Apart from when Elizabeth writes to Jane, the camera never
focuses on the actual text of the letter, but on the letter as carrier of the text: as far as the
film is concerned, the sheet might as well be blank. When Darcy writes
letters at Netherfield [19:15], the discussion bears little on their
content—they are quite simply “letters of business”—but on the quality (the
speed) of Darcy’s writing, from which Caroline Bingley is trying to distract
him. Darcy’s ironic remark toward Caroline further underlines how much
time and “room” (on a sheet of paper) words take to write while Caroline has
already expressed her “raptures at [Georgiana’s] beautiful little design for a
table” twice: “I’ve already told her once by your desire. . . .
Perhaps you will give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again. At
present, I have not room enough to do them justice.” Yet, if the scene opens
with Miss Bingley’s remark—“You write uncommonly fast, Mr. Darcy”—Joe Wright’s film repeatedly demonstrates that one
of the problems with representing the writing and reading of letters on film is
that it slows down the pace of the narrative. This kind of delay occurs
when an extreme close-up shows us an ink pen writing “Dear Jane” and we hear
Elizabeth speak these very words after
she’s started but before she’s finished
writing them [62:30]. That she’s interrupted by Darcy’s sudden intrusion,
a first and failed desperate attempt to ask for her hand, says Joe Wright
[63:25], further argues the case that film narrative has no time for tedious
letter-writing and progresses, rather, through action and dialogue.
Letters are used, however, as
objects that make the narrative progress, if only because they deliver
invitations [14:45] or announce the departures and returns of various
characters. When he receives the letter announcing Mr. Collins’s arrival
[24:40], Mr. Bennet is first shown looking down at the letter he’s holding,
then looking up when he reports its contents to Mrs. Bennet, while Jane and
Elizabeth observe him in the background. (Significantly, he glances at
the letter briefly when he speaks the word “addition,” the glance associating,
by metonymy, the letter to its author, Mr. Collins, while the word “addition”
refers to the latter’s financial power as he is to inherit the estate—an
addition can be a part of the house that has been added, and in French, an
“addition” is a check at a restaurant.) When Jane receives Miss Bingley’s
letter announcing their departure [49:40], we are shown Elizabeth’s verbal and
non-verbal reaction (close-up) to her sister’s mute reaction (reverse shot) to
having read the letter, held in her hand, that she lets fall at her side
(close-up). Written (and even spoken) language is replaced by body
language—as occurs quite literally in the following scene [49:50] which, Ariane
Hudelet seems to believe, “illustrat[es] the contents of the letter” (66).
In other words, in order to “read” a letter, the mise en scène puts the characters in a position where they can
observe and react to each other’s reactions, while the succession of shots puts
the spectator in a similar position; neither Elizabeth nor the spectator needs
to hear her sister explain the contents or articulate her sorrow: all
that is needed is to look at her face, then at the letter.
There are also occurrences where a character does in fact read a passage
from a letter out loud. In the subsequent scene where Jane hands Caroline
Bingley’s letter over to Elizabeth [50:50], the latter, after reading a few
sentences, gives her interpretation of Miss Bingley’s words: “Caroline
sees that her brother is in love with you and is taking him off to persuade him
otherwise.” This instance again portrays Elizabeth as a critical reader
capable of reading between the lines of a text, unlike her sister Jane who
seems to be satisfied with a literal reading: “But I know her to be
incapable of willfully deceiving anyone. It’s far more likely that he
doesn’t love me and never has.” Once again, the characters’ reactions and
interpretations take up more time and more “room” than the actual letter.
But it seems to me that, at a metafictional level, this scene seems to be
arguing for the very necessity of using the characters as interpreters of an original text: it is not at all certain that all
early-twenty-first-century spectators would perceive the implicit meaning of
the letter. Indeed, characters are often used to explicate the gravity of
a situation in cultural terms. For
example, Elizabeth’s explanation to Charlotte that “the estate is to pass
directly to [Mr. Collins] and not to us poor females [the Bennet daughters]” due
to the gender conventions of her time is meant not so much for Charlotte, who
would surely be familiar with those conventions [24:50], as for the
contemporary spectator. Here is another instance where film adaptation as
transcription is shown to be untenable; in the light of cultural differences,
interpretation appears as the only viable solution.
Letters are employed more dramatically in the second part of the film.
When Elizabeth visits the newlywed Collins, the contents of the letter she has
written to Charlotte to announce her arrival, and which refers to a letter she
previously received from Charlotte, are related in a voice-over [54:20].
Although Elizabeth is not even shown writing the letter, this device is so
common in cinema that the spectator gets the point as soon as he hears the
heading “Dear Charlotte.” But the subsequent scene plays on this
artificiality by opposing the profilmic level (i.e., what is in front of
the camera: Elizabeth is already
arriving) and the voice-over, which allows us to see the scene through the
prism of an audio flashback, so to speak. The spectator does not even
wonder at such a temporal impossibility; in a sense, it is as if two texts (and
two times) were superimposed: the letter and the action of arriving.
The letter is thus represented as an anachronism, lagging behind the moving
image.5
The scene where Darcy brings his letter to Elizabeth [71:00] also uses a
device common in film-making in order to adapt the epistolary form: the
spectator can hear the writer’s voice, presumably heard in the reader’s mind.
But I would suggest that the montage severely deconstructs this device by not
delineating Darcy’s voice at the profilmic level from the voice-over. He
is shown first speaking to Elizabeth, then impossibly speaking the letter, Darcy’s lips moving as he says, “I will not
renew the sentiments. . . .” This tactic adds to the
scene’s melodramatic quality by making Darcy’s presence ghostly. By the
time Elizabeth has started reading Darcy’s letter, the latter has already
vanished. Again, this scene seems to prove that reading letters merely
delays the progress of the narrative, as if the time spent reading the letter
were quite literally wasted time.
If in the preceding scene the “voice over” corresponded to a scene in the past,
a sort of audio flashback, this time
the reading of the letter corresponds rather to a flashforward, but even so, the action nevertheless catches up and overtakes the reading of the letter.
The shot showing Darcy riding off on his black horse only emphasizes the time
that is wasted reading letters as the heroine’s lover is traveling increasingly
out of reach. Along with the previous voice-over scene, this is the only
time where the spectator is allowed to hear the contents of a letter without
the mediation of a character’s interpretation. The point is, obviously,
for the spectator to realize that Elizabeth’s critical readings and
interpretations are not always right and to make his own interpretation.
Indeed, unlike in the scene where Elizabeth reads Miss Bingley’s letter, and
unlike in the novel (Vol. II, Ch. XIII), her interpretation is quite literally
silenced: she shares the letter with no one, not even her sister Jane,
another difference from the novel (Vol. II, Ch. XVII). The spectator must,
then, rely on his own judgment, as is suggested by the scene where Charlotte,
the addressee of the previous letter read in voice-over, enters the room and
Elizabeth hides the letter from her. This time the letter is not only an
object which underlines, through the use of the focus, Elizabeth’s baffled
pride at having misjudged Wickham and Darcy; notably, it has become a text
which empowers the spectator to perceive Elizabeth’s own prejudices.
In the last section of the film, letters are mainly used for dramatic
effect. In the scene where Elizabeth receives the news of Lydia’s
elopement, the letter is once again used as an object to create suspense [87:05].
Not only does the spectator, like Darcy and the Gardiners, have to wait for
Elizabeth to come out of her quarters and share the news with them (long shot),
but they all see her tearful reaction (reverse medium shot) first while the
contents remain unreadable on the white sheet, and they are made to wait even
longer as Elizabeth quits the room to regain her composure for the sake of
decorum. Once again, the actual text remains elusive and the emphasis is
placed on the characters’ reactions and interpretations of its contents, Mr.
Gardiner’s stating for the contemporary spectator’s benefit that such an
elopement could “ruin[ ] the family forever.”
The letter is used, yet again, to increase suspense when the Bennets
receive news from their uncle concerning Lydia and Wickham [89:45]; once again,
the suspense is, at a diegetic level, a consequence of social conventions.
Mary prevents Kitty from opening the letter, saying, “You can’t do that, you’re
just a baby.” The letter would quite literally fail to disclose its
meaning if Mr. Bennet were not here to receive it. After summarizing its
contents, Mr. Bennet and then Elizabeth interpret the meaning in terms of
social conventions for the sake of Jane, another stand-in for the spectator.
In this scene, the letter is explicitly represented as a vehicle for
patriarchal discourse; by focusing on the characters’ reactions, the camera
focuses on the effects of power. This emphasis harks back to the scene at
Netherfield where Darcy is writing letters6 while Elizabeth is reading a book, thus respectively to producing and
receiving texts. This opposition between men who write and women who read,
however, is not maintained throughout the film. Darcy is shown reading a
letter while Caroline Bingley, Elizabeth, Jane and Mary [27:20] also write
letters—though in the case of the first three, their letters are all directed
to women, and we do not know whom Mary’s text is meant for.
It could be argued that in the film, unlike in the novel, the
representation and the function of letters is shown to be antithetical, in the
sense that the function of the letters as objects does serve to advance the
plot, but the showing of text would tend to slow the narrative down.
Furthermore, by placing emphasis on the characters’ reactions to and
interpretations of letters, Joe Wright’s film seems, at a metafictional level,
to argue, once again, in favor of film adaptation as interpretation, not
transcription, because of the medium and
because of the cultural differences. By making such an argument, Joe
Wright somewhat places himself in the position of an auteur who appropriates the source text, like Fellini with Fellini – Satyricon (1969), adapted from
Petronius’s text. Wright, however, is humble (or realistic!) enough not
to call his film Wright – Pride & Prejudice and merely dares
to replace the “and” in Austen’s title with an ampersand!
NOTES
1. Time is not always exactly the same from one
country to another; there can be a difference of a few seconds. This DVD is the French version.
2. I want to thank Anne Berton-Rouhette
for providing me with an enhancement of this shot.
3. It is, by the way, significant that she
reads this book at the very moment when she’s calling herself into question,
i.e., applying her critical mind to herself. It also quite obviously
recalls her readiness to mock the “ridiculous” Mr. Collins, when she herself
will admit at the end of the film that both Darcy and herself have behaved like
“fool[s]” [113:35].
4. Compare this scene to Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (1991), where Belle
sums up her favorite book which also anticipates her own story to come.
There is in the animated movie, however, no attempt to “film” the text and
little or no irony in Belle’s reaction to a text she seems to take quite literally;
if the townspeople see her as different it is because she reads, not because
she has a critical mind.
5. There is a similar effect in Francis Ford
Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula
(1992), in which Jonathan Harker is shown already on board the train to
Transylvania when he reads Dracula’s letter inviting him there.
6. One of the titles on the soundtrack is “Darcy’s Letter.”
Works
Cited
Austen, Jane.
The Novels of Jane Austen. Ed.
R.W. Chapman. 3rd ed. Oxford: OUP, 1986.
Cloarec, Nicole. “‘First Impressions’: L’Incipit
de Pride & Prejudice (2005).”
Pride and Prejudice: Le roman de Jane Austen et le film de Joe
Wright. Ed.
Laurent Bury and Dominique Sipière. Paris: Ellipses, 2006. 191-99.
Costa de Beauregard, Raphaëlle. “Marble Fauns in
Joe Wright’s Adaptation, or the New Depths of Enlightenment.” Pride and Prejudice: Le roman de Jane Austen et le film de Joe
Wright. Ed. Laurent Bury and
Dominique Sipière. Paris: Ellipses, 2006. 201-10.
Hudelet,
Ariane. Pride and Prejudice:
Jane Austen et Joe Wright. Paris: Armand Colin-CNED, 2006.
Pride & Prejudice.
Dir. Joe Wright. Perf. Keira Knightley, Matthew Macfadyen, Brenda
Blethyn, Donald
Sutherland, Judi Dench. DVD. Working Title, 2005.
Pride &
Prejudice: Music from the Motion Picture.
By Dario Marianelli. Perf. Jean-Yves Thibaudet. CD. UCJ,
2005.
Serceau, Michel. L’Adaptation cinématographique des textes littéraires: théorie et
lectures. Liège: Éditions du Céfal, 1999.
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