Back to Henry V - Film Adaptations

In today's post, I'm getting back to the discussion of the play Henry V and its film adaptations (from earlier posts on January 29 , February 11 and the 16).

The 1944 film, Henry V, based on the play by William Shakespeare, with Laurence Olivier stands apart from the 1996 Branagh version in many ways. Concentrating on the mis-en-scene--what is photographed inside the frame, working from the back forward, we have the set of the scene. It is Disney like in appearance, the green, rolling hills leading back to the pristine village buildings that are all set underneath a willowy blue sky and puffy white clouds. There are brown, tan and gray cliffs in the foreground through which we see soldiers running away from the fighting behind them. The King rides from behind the cliffs into the frame on a white stallion with red trimmings, carrying a sword. He is the only one on a horse and appears above everyone else. The props and costume are obvious with a medium shot cut to Henry with his blue, red, and yellow dress and gray silver armor surrounding his arms and his neck and up to his head. He removes his helmet in grand gesture with both arms moving up, his elbows extended out with his hands at his chin to push up the front of his face plate. He then brings the whole of it off of his head and as he does so his sword remains in his right hand swinging across his chest, so large that it moves half out of the frame. Olivier’s movement’s as the King are controlled, precise, and deliberate. He is on show, at play in the play, not in a real fight for life and death. The one time anything appears blocking him it is one of his minions carrying the flag. Enhancing these scene elements, is the orchestral score with the omission of any battle sounds and the absence of any explosions or cries from men whose flesh has been torn by blades. This film is a representation of the so called glory of war; with the noble untouchable king leading those lesser into the fight. Violence and death are hidden. It is the Poster child of the United Kingdom’s war offices to fight the good fight for mother, honor, and country. There is no realism, no blood, no suffering, so the film could be used as a marketing tool for the country’s people to join the fight against the Nazi’s and to feel good about it.

The 1989 film of Henry V directed by and starring Kenneth Branagh contains vastly more realism than Olivier's production. Again, the historical factors are significant at the time the film was made. We have defeated the Nazi’s, experienced the further atrocity of the war in Vietnam and the U.S. revolution of the 60’s where revolt against war became popular. We are at the end of the cold war and at the brink of the Eastern Bloc’s Wall come tumbling down. Smartly, Branagh still maintains his respect and admiration as the noble King Henry V, but he does so while showing the destruction that war causes. Scenes begin with all the grittiness of battle, the light of fire, dirty, bloodied faces, and chaotic raging movement leading into the sounds of massive explosion. Henry here, played by Branagh, is a tiger. His speech is guttural, fraught, and fiery. Branagh’s sword is raised straight up and then swings wildly side to side then towards us while he spews the words of once more onto the breech as if he were mad, his lips are wet and his eyes excited, it is dark and he atop a horse who becomes blocked by a mass the men’s helmet’s shining helmets so that it almost looks like Henry is carried by these men. Then there is a cut to a close up of one of these men whose intensity of concentration and arousal for king and war is clear in his eyes. Branagh puts the violence and death right in our faces. He doesn’t sugar coat it. He’s telling us it’s a necessary evil and that to run away is to dishonor ourselves and be left to a worse condition, perhaps spared certain death, but to live in disgrace to your dying day, your dying breath.

The Fiction of Film

Are you ever disappointed when you read a great book and then see a film that is in some way based upon that writing? There are several ways of looking at what is often referred to as the secondary work, the film, adaptation of a story. First, pay attention to the two words "secondary" and "adaptation." Secondary implies just that--a film based in any part on some written work is often deemed secondary, second best, a poor imitation. On the other hand, anyone who has ever worked in the art of film knows that a work of literature is an inspiration for a new work of art which may be a literal, traditional or radical translation of that piece of literature. Adaptation or translation? Isn't language, language, whether translated into words, fine art (drawing, painting, sculpture, etc.), music, dance (movement), photography or film (a combination of many forms-audio-visual, including dialogue and sometimes words as in print whether in subtitle form or cuts with straight printed words).

Naoomi Rapace in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larsen)

Even though I wish I could relive the great feeling I get from reading a book the first time, I know that I cannot. You can never produce the exact same experience from your first reading of a piece of literature. You can read it again and relish the flavor from your first reading of the work, but it will never exactly replicate itself. You have a built in spoiler alert.

Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier in Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)

So I would suggest that when you see a film after reading it's afore-produced printed version that you consider it as an independent piece of work, whether or not it is supposed to be a literal, traditional or radical translation because film is a different medium.

Sean Connery and Christian Slater in The Name of the Rose (Umberto Eco)

Each one is a piece of art.

Fiction into Film - The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

I prefer to read a story before I see its adaption into film. I can accept changes made to a story in a film, but I can’t prevent my imagination from being affected when I see the film version of a story first. When I read, I relish the picture my imagination creates for me. I begin my paragraph about The Wonderful Wizard of Oz with this point because it’s particularly relevant to this review. I grew up with Dorothy and her three companions, the scarecrow, the tin man, and the cowardly lion. As a young girl growing up in America when the film The Wizard of Oz was regularly shown on network TV beginning with commentary by renowned TV personalities, I counted on it as a staple of my childhood. Baum’s original story was very different from the film version, and because not only had I seen the film first and many, many times, and that it was such a feature of my childhood experience, I was unable to fully realize the potential of my imagination to create an original picture for me. I still enjoyed it, and in fact, I was pleasantly surprised because I was anticipating that I would be reading the story I already knew that was the film.
The twist was that in seeing the film first, and then reading the original story The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, I was dumbstruck by the incongruity of Baum’s introductory stated aim to “solely to please children of the day.” As he felt modern education included morality, he would write a story that would keep all the wonderment and joy, yet leave out all of the heartaches and nightmares. Was that his intention when he created the terrifying creatures called the Kalidahs and or when he had the Tin Woodman use his ax to slay 40 wolves and then cut off the head of a wildcat? Baum’s Tin Woodman provides yet another dichotomy in the following passage, representing how we, as human beings, love.

Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything. “You people with hearts,” he said, “have something to guide you, and need never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very careful. When Oz gives me a heart of course I needn’t mind so much.”

Not having a heart actually makes him more sensitive and “care.” On the other hand, he thinks that when he possesses a heart, it will not be necessary for him to “mind.” The two points are disconnected and opposed, implying that those with hearts are actually careless, and that the mind (intellect) and heart (emotions) can be considered separate. Don’t we always end up hurting the ones we love? What Baum intended to do and what he did is at odds, his story contains profound subject matter and is most certainly morally based. Baum’s notion of writing a story for children’s entertainment sake alone, its discord with the actual story he created and its screen adaption, as well as in the dichotomy evidenced by Tin Woodman’s desire for a heart, set up a wonderful mimicry for the studying of fiction into film.
Dorothy finds out how we hurt the ones we love when she searches for that somewhere else "Over the Rainbow" and ends up breaking Aunt Em's heart. My heart reels when I hear how beautiful Judy Garland's voice is and lovely she sings this song. I sadly recall how very young she was when she died. Perhaps what is gray (like Kansas) is really not if we could look at things through rose colored glasses using the expression inside out or in a glass half full sense.