《英语文学导论 An Introduction to English Literature》课程教学资源（参考资料）剑桥指南 THE CAMBRIDGE COMPAN ION TO SHAKESPEARE ON FILM，RUSSELL JACKSON

I RUSSELL JACKSON From play-script to screenplay In fashioning their theatrical raw material into screenplays the makers of Shakespearean films have adopted strategies as diverse as the impulses behind their various projects.The wish to convey faithfully some of the perceived qual- ities of the chosen play has led to the adoption or rejection in varying degrees of the original's dramatic structure,language and character relationships.The Introduction to this Companion has already suggested some ways in which com- mercial considerations might not only influence the way a Shakespeare film is promoted,but stipulate outlines to which characterisation and narrative may conform.The example,for better or worse,of what has already been sold suc- cessfully is reflected in the affinities with film genre that Harry Keyishian dis- cusses below(chapter 4).As Geoffrey O'Brien observed in February 1997-when another flurry of new Shakespeare films had just been released-'singular oppor- tunities have been created,not to recapitulate,but to invent'.! In the study of film techniques a broad distinction can be made between films in which story-telling is effected by the montage of images,and which fore- ground the means by which this is done;and others which conceal the art which places dramatic scenes before the camera with an illusion of unobstructed and privileged access for the audience.Identified in particular with Hollywood before the 196os,this latter style of'continuity editing'came to be accepted as a norm of mainstream cinema.2 However,audiences quickly become habituated to innovation,and since the r96os films perceived as mainstream have tended to combine both approaches.The films of Orson Welles are remarkable for the simultaneous use of both montage and continuity editing,which partly explains the tension between the sense of radical disruption and a coherence that might (in an ideal world,with the right materials)be restored before the films reach their audience.3 In filmic terms,the most conservative Shakespeare films are those which adopt as many features of a given play's structure and language as possible,while adapting them to the accepted rules of mainstream cinema in continuity editing,clarity of character and story,and intelligibility of speech. The most radical seek to achieve the play's ends by using as fully as possible the 5

1 RUSSELL JACKSON From play-script to screenplay In fashioning their theatrical raw material into screenplays the makers of Shakespearean films have adopted strategies as diverse as the impulses behind their various projects. The wish to convey faithfully some of the perceived qual￾ities of the chosen play has led to the adoption or rejection in varying degrees of the original’s dramatic structure, language and character relationships. The Introduction to this Companion has already suggested some ways in which com￾mercial considerations might not only influence the way a Shakespeare film is promoted, but stipulate outlines to which characterisation and narrative may conform. The example, for better or worse, of what has already been sold suc￾cessfully is reflected in the affinities with film genre that Harry Keyishian dis￾cusses below (chapter 4). As Geoffrey O’Brien observed in February 1997 – when another flurry of new Shakespeare films had just been released – ‘singular oppor￾tunities have been created, not to recapitulate, but to invent’.1 In the study of film techniques a broad distinction can be made between films in which story-telling is effected by the montage of images, and which fore￾ground the means by which this is done; and others which conceal the art which places dramatic scenes before the camera with an illusion of unobstructed and privileged access for the audience. Identified in particular with Hollywood before the 1960s, this latter style of ‘continuity editing’ came to be accepted as a norm of mainstream cinema.2 However, audiences quickly become habituated to innovation, and since the 1960s films perceived as mainstream have tended to combine both approaches. The films of Orson Welles are remarkable for the simultaneous use of both montage and continuity editing, which partly explains the tension between the sense of radical disruption and a coherence that might (in an ideal world, with the right materials) be restored before the films reach their audience.3 In filmic terms, the most conservative Shakespeare films are those which adopt as many features of a given play’s structure and language as possible, while adapting them to the accepted rules of mainstream cinema in continuity editing, clarity of character and story, and intelligibility of speech. The most radical seek to achieve the play’s ends by using as fully as possible the 15

RUSSELL JACKSON medium's ability to juxtapose images and narrative elements,to superimpose one element of the narrative upon another,shift point of view and register,and disrupt the sense of a coherent world seen clearly.In such films the original's form and methods are not respected,but replaced.The more 'mainstream'group includes such apparently straightforward adaptations as Joseph L.Mankiewicz's Julius Caesar(1953),which makes very modest use of techniques only available to or associated with the cinema.Among the most radical versions are Peter Greenaway's Prospero's Books(199)or films derived more or less directly from Shakespearean originals but not seeking to replicate their effects.(See Tony Howard's discussion of 'Offshoots'in chapter 17.)Between these extremes there is much blurring of boundaries.Nor can the presence of elements of avant-garde technique be assumed to indicate radicalism in the cultural values implicit in a film.Prospero's Books,for example,for all its elaborate visual effects and self- conscious theatricality(framed in turn by cinematic self-consciousness)includes the original play,spoken almost entirely by Sir John Gielgud.In the director's own words,this provides'a still centre around which everything revolves'.s Akira Kurosawa's 1957 Macbeth adaptation,Kumonosu-djo (commonly known in English as Throne of Blood),includes none of the original play's words but can be said to adopt(and indeed enhance)the play's fusion of psychology,supersti- tion and politics.A feature of this,and of Kurosawa's later King Lear film,Ran (1985)is the infusion of elements of Noh theatre,so that an elevated,aristocratic theatrical form with an eloquent repertoire of archetypes is married with ele- ments of the Western and of Shakespeare.In the West,the director's adventur- ous mixing of conventions may be at once more radical and less accessible than in his own country.6 Cinemagoers with a prior interest in Shakespeare-a significant but not dom- inant portion of a film's anticipated public-tend to begin by assessing the degree of a screen version's divergence from the published (and edited)dramatic text. Even if the ultimate measure of a film's worth is not its degree of fidelity to the words and structure of the original,understanding of the relationship between the two is an important element in the viewer's perception of what a given film is doing.An examination of some ways the mainstream film adaptations have used the texts of their originals also offers a means of assessing more insistently radical work. Speech,action and poetry The most obvious difference between a screenplay and the text of an Elizabethan play is the number of spoken words.In writing for the mainstream cinema it is axiomatic that dialogue should be kept to a minimum.What happens in a scene -as the director's traditional command indicates-is 'action'.Syd Field,an 16

medium’s ability to juxtapose images and narrative elements, to superimpose one element of the narrative upon another, shift point of view and register, and disrupt the sense of a coherent world seen clearly. In such films the original’s form and methods are not respected, but replaced. The more ‘mainstream’ group includes such apparently straightforward adaptations as Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Julius Caesar (1953), which makes very modest use of techniques only available to or associated with the cinema. Among the most radical versions are Peter Greenaway’s Prospero’s Books (1991) or films derived more or less directly from Shakespearean originals but not seeking to replicate their effects. (See Tony Howard’s discussion of ‘Offshoots’ in chapter 17.)4 Between these extremes there is much blurring of boundaries. Nor can the presence of elements of avant-garde technique be assumed to indicate radicalism in the cultural values implicit in a film. Prospero’s Books, for example, for all its elaborate visual effects and self￾conscious theatricality (framed in turn by cinematic self-consciousness) includes the original play, spoken almost entirely by Sir John Gielgud. In the director’s own words, this provides ‘a still centre around which everything revolves’.5 Akira Kurosawa’s 1957 Macbeth adaptation, Kumonosu-djo (commonly known in English as Throne of Blood), includes none of the original play’s words but can be said to adopt (and indeed enhance) the play’s fusion of psychology, supersti￾tion and politics. A feature of this, and of Kurosawa’s later King Lear film, Ran (1985) is the infusion of elements of Noh theatre, so that an elevated, aristocratic theatrical form with an eloquent repertoire of archetypes is married with ele￾ments of the Western and of Shakespeare. In the West, the director’s adventur￾ous mixing of conventions may be at once more radical and less accessible than in his own country. 6 Cinemagoers with a prior interest in Shakespeare – a significant but not dom￾inant portion of a film’s anticipated public – tend to begin by assessing the degree of a screen version’s divergence from the published (and edited) dramatic text. Even if the ultimate measure of a film’s worth is not its degree of fidelity to the words and structure of the original, understanding of the relationship between the two is an important element in the viewer’s perception of what a given film is doing. An examination of some ways the mainstream film adaptations have used the texts of their originals also offers a means of assessing more insistently radical work. Speech, action and poetry The most obvious difference between a screenplay and the text of an Elizabethan play is the number of spoken words. In writing for the mainstream cinema it is axiomatic that dialogue should be kept to a minimum. What happens in a scene – as the director’s traditional command indicates – is ‘action’. Syd Field, an russell jackson 16

From play-script to screenplay influential teacher of screenwriting skills,insists that'a screenplay is a story told in pictures,and there will always be some kind of problem when you tell the story through words,and not pictures'.His definition of 'the real dynamic of good screenwriting'offers an encapsulated definition of successful mainstream work: strong and active characters,combined with a unique,stylized visual narrative that constantly moves the story forward' Aiming for the 'ideal'running time of less than two hours,most Shakespeare films have used no more than 25-30 per cent of the original text,and it has been shown that Welles(again,a good example of the most adventurous use of an orig- inal)consistently uses fewer words for each transaction between characters.s Kenneth Branagh's adaptations of Henry V,Much Ado about Nothing and Love's Labour's Lost and Trevor Nunn's Twelfth Night probably reflect the specific theat- rical experience of their makers by following the common stage practice of cutting within speeches and scenes,making the dialogue leaner but(mostly)preserving the scene's original shape.In each of these cases there is some reordering of the play's scenes,as in the opening of Nunn's Twelfth Night,the 'watch'scenes of Much Ado and,more extensively,in the more radically adapted text of Love's Labour's Lost.There is also some transposition and cutting of entire scenes,but the narrative outline of the original is more or less adhered to and theatrical prac- tice and priorities are acknowledged although not slavishly followed. In July 1935,when Max Reinhardt returned to Vienna after filming A Midsummer Night's Dream in Hollywood,he expressed his delight that the sound film would allow an immense audience to appreciate the subtleties of the most intimate conversation:the cinema now had the potential to become Kammerspiele fiir die Massen ('chamber theatre for the masses).The opportu- nity,unfashionable as it may seem,continues to attract.Geoffrey O'Brien,in the essay quoted above,argues passionately for attention to the plays'language in film versions.In the films by Branagh and the theatre directors Trevor Nunn and Adrian Noble (A Midsummer Night's Dream,1996),as well as those by Olivier and Mankiewicz,dialogue retains its theatrical role as a dominant vehicle for characterisation and for the conducting of business between the persons of the play.This has resulted in some notable clashes between the habitual technique of actors and what the camera needs.A classic account of a stage-trained Shakespearean's encounter with acting for the camera is that of Micheal Macliammoir,enlisted by Welles to play lago to his Othello.Macliammoir wrote in his diary: Find what I have long suspected:(a)that one's first job is to forget every single lesson one ever learned on the stage:all projection of personality,build-up of a speech,and sustaining for more than a few seconds of an emotion are not only unnecessary but superfluous,and(b)that the ability to express oneself just below the rate of normal behaviour is a primal necessity.. 7

influential teacher of screenwriting skills, insists that ‘a screenplay is a story told in pictures, and there will always be some kind of problem when you tell the story through words, and not pictures’. His definition of ‘the real dynamic of good screenwriting’ offers an encapsulated definition of successful mainstream work: ‘strong and active characters, combined with a unique, stylized visual narrative that constantly moves the story forward’.7 Aiming for the ‘ideal’ running time of less than two hours, most Shakespeare films have used no more than 25–30 per cent of the original text, and it has been shown that Welles (again, a good example of the most adventurous use of an orig￾inal) consistently uses fewer words for each transaction between characters.8 Kenneth Branagh’s adaptations of Henry V, Much Ado about Nothing and Love’s Labour’s Lost and Trevor Nunn’sTwelfth Night probably reflect the specific theat￾rical experience of their makers by following the common stage practice of cutting within speeches and scenes, making the dialogue leaner but (mostly) preserving the scene’s original shape. In each of these cases there is some reordering of the play’s scenes, as in the opening of Nunn’s Twelfth Night, the ‘watch’ scenes of Much Ado and, more extensively, in the more radically adapted text of Love’s Labour’s Lost. There is also some transposition and cutting of entire scenes, but the narrative outline of the original is more or less adhered to and theatrical prac￾tice and priorities are acknowledged although not slavishly followed. In July 1935, when Max Reinhardt returned to Vienna after filming A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Hollywood, he expressed his delight that the sound film would allow an immense audience to appreciate the subtleties of the most intimate conversation: the cinema now had the potential to become Kammerspiele für die Massen (‘chamber theatre for the masses’).9 The opportu￾nity, unfashionable as it may seem, continues to attract. Geoffrey O’Brien, in the essay quoted above, argues passionately for attention to the plays’ language in film versions. In the films by Branagh and the theatre directors Trevor Nunn and Adrian Noble (A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1996), as well as those by Olivier and Mankiewicz, dialogue retains its theatrical role as a dominant vehicle for characterisation and for the conducting of business between the persons of the play. This has resulted in some notable clashes between the habitual technique of actors and what the camera needs. A classic account of a stage-trained Shakespearean’s encounter with acting for the camera is that of Micheál Macliammóir, enlisted by Welles to play Iago to his Othello. Macliammóir wrote in his diary: Find what I have long suspected: (a) that one’s first job is to forget every single lesson one ever learned on the stage: all projection of personality, build-up of a speech, and sustaining for more than a few seconds of an emotion are not only unnecessary but superfluous, and (b) that the ability to express oneself just below the rate of normal behaviour is a primal necessity . . .10 From play-script to screenplay 17

RUSSELL JACKSON Since the 195os the distance seems to have diminished between the speaking of Shakespeare's language in the theatre and on screen,if only because few theatre actors make their living by acting Shakespeare in large spaces,and forceful pro- jection and self-conscious rhetorical mannerisms are consequently less prevalent Films,however,have their own non-verbal means of denoting transactions between characters.Some have their equivalent in the theatre,such as the con- struction of spatial relationships between characters.Others are specific to cinema,notably the choice of camera angles and the rhythm of shots in the edited film.Musical emphasis under dialogue is also more common and more readily accepted than it is in the theatre.In the bustling world of Zeffirelli's Taming of the Shrew the intimacy of the looks they exchange and the moments of silent understanding they share-underlined by the orchestral score-suggest the inev- itability of eventual union between Kate and Petruchio.A striking example of film's aptitude for revealing intimate feelings occurs early in Joseph L. Mankiewicz's Julius Caesar(1953):when Caesar,on his way to celebrate the feast of Lupercal,asks Antony(Marlon Brando)to touch Calpurnia after the foot-race, because she is barren.A glance from Brando,seen in medium close-up,suggests a response of sympathy for the dictator's wife.The staging of the forum scene in the same film makes effective use of the large studio set,with moments when Antony and Brutus are seen against an expanse of steep steps or in juxtaposition with the crowd.But there is little in the direction that seems uniquely cinematic- except,that is,for the glimpses the camera affords of Antony'seyes,and the sense they give of his intentions and feelings.Typically,it is Welles who furnishes the greatest abundance of examples of emotionally charged camera angles and staging.In Chimes at Midnight,for example,Hal's encounters with John Gielgud's starchily morose Bolingbroke take place in what seems to be an empty cathedral,a cold,stony environment with the camera positions emphasising the distance between the two and the elevation of the king.The tavern world inhab- ited by Falstaff is characterised not only by low ceilings,wood furniture and half- timbering,but also by the habitual proximity of one person to another.Laurence Olivier is less dynamic(or disruptive)than Welles in his editing and staging,and more theatrical in the way he stages scenes for the camera.Comparison of the two directors'work suggests the range of techniques available.The stylised mode of Olivier's Richard Ill encompasses not only the frankly artificial studio sets but also the emblematic and quasi-theatrical placing of figures within them,notably in the two coronations.In the first-that of Edward-Olivier stage-manages a cer- emony that constitutes a formal statement of relationships between the three brothers and the rest of the court;in the second,Richard's,the throne is elevated on a high dais and vertiginous camera-angles suggesting the usurper's point of view convey an atmosphere of fear and confusion. The manipulation of the audience's sense of time and place,and the perception 18

Since the 1950s the distance seems to have diminished between the speaking of Shakespeare’s language in the theatre and on screen, if only because few theatre actors make their living by acting Shakespeare in large spaces, and forceful pro￾jection and self-conscious rhetorical mannerisms are consequently less prevalent. Films, however, have their own non-verbal means of denoting transactions between characters. Some have their equivalent in the theatre, such as the con￾struction of spatial relationships between characters. Others are specific to cinema, notably the choice of camera angles and the rhythm of shots in the edited film. Musical emphasis under dialogue is also more common and more readily accepted than it is in the theatre. In the bustling world of Zeffirelli’s Taming of the Shrew the intimacy of the looks they exchange and the moments of silent understanding they share – underlined by the orchestral score – suggest the inev￾itability of eventual union between Kate and Petruchio. A striking example of film’s aptitude for revealing intimate feelings occurs early in Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Julius Caesar (1953): when Caesar, on his way to celebrate the feast of Lupercal, asks Antony (Marlon Brando) to touch Calpurnia after the foot-race, because she is barren. A glance fromBrando, seen in mediumclose-up, suggests a response of sympathy for the dictator’s wife. The staging of the forum scene in the same film makes effective use of the large studio set, with moments when Antony and Brutus are seen against an expanse of steep steps or in juxtaposition with the crowd. But there is little in the direction that seems uniquely cinematic – except, that is, for the glimpses the camera affords of Antony’s eyes, and the sense they give of his intentions and feelings. Typically, it is Welles who furnishes the greatest abundance of examples of emotionally charged camera angles and staging. In Chimes at Midnight, for example, Hal’s encounters with John Gielgud’s starchily morose Bolingbroke take place in what seems to be an empty cathedral, a cold, stony environment with the camera positions emphasising the distance between the two and the elevation of the king. The tavern world inhab￾ited by Falstaff is characterised not only by low ceilings, wood furniture and half￾timbering, but also by the habitual proximity of one person to another. Laurence Olivier is less dynamic (or disruptive) than Welles in his editing and staging, and more theatrical in the way he stages scenes for the camera. Comparison of the two directors’ work suggests the range of techniques available. The stylised mode of Olivier’s Richard III encompasses not only the frankly artificial studio sets but also the emblematic and quasi-theatrical placing of figures within them, notably in the two coronations. In the first – that of Edward – Olivier stage-manages a cer￾emony that constitutes a formal statement of relationships between the three brothers and the rest of the court; in the second, Richard’s, the throne is elevated on a high dais and vertiginous camera-angles suggesting the usurper’s point of view convey an atmosphere of fear and confusion. The manipulation of the audience’s sense of time and place, and the perception russell jackson 18

From play-script to screenplay of action in them,is one of the fundamental elements of cinematic narrative.In the cinema,shifts in time can be represented in ways that range from the sublim- inal to the ostentatious.If a character sees a face at a window,then goes to look closer,in continuity editing it is not necessary-or usually desirable-to show the move made across the room to the window.If days,months or years are to pass, the images suggesting that may be compressed into a few seconds of screen time by the use of montage(the crudest means include such devices as inserts of calen- dars with pages torn off).In the texts written for the Elizabethan theatre's unloc- alised and daylit stage,changes of place and time are accomplished by the simplest of means:statements in the dialogue,accompanied if necessary by clear- ance of the stage.It has been customary to regard it as an imperative in film that there should be movement among locations,which involves'opening out'a stage script.A useful comparison can be made with the adaptation of plays written for the realistic,scenic theatre,such as those of Wilde or Shaw.Here the difficulty is more acute,because an organising principle of theoriginal is that as many signifi- cant turns of event as possible should take place in a limited number of locations within a given period of time. Elizabethan dramatic texts invite more latitude,and adapters are more likely not only to abbreviate dialogue,but to use it outside the framework provided by the original.The opening sequences of Welles's Othello exemplify this,as do the opening sequences in Michael Hoffmann's 1999 A Midsummer Night's Dream, in which we are shown several dimensions of Theseus(estate owner,prospective bridegroom and dispenser of the 'Athenian'law)together with different aspects of the domain he presides over.Another instance is the first court scene in Hamlet.Kenneth Branagh's 'full-text'version (1996)shows Claudius's first speech delivered in full to a massed audience of courtiers.Kozintsev(1964)and Zeffirelli(19)both employ a selection of the lines to give a more varied picture of the king's power at work,including (in both films)public and private contexts. The modification of the text of the theatrical original in this way is not so much an unavoidable and regrettable consequence of filming,as an opportunity the director forgoes at his or her peril.The film-maker is able to enjoy greater freedom in showing the words and deeds of characters in relation to the environ- ment created for them.The mise en scene of a film is in fact a vital element of the cinematic experience-in all its definitions and varieties-and in Shakespearean films it retains this importance,rather than becoming a reprehensible competi- tor with the spoken word. The milieu-'production values'vs.'poetry' From its early days,the narrative cinema proclaimed its ability to show a dramatic action's physical surroundings more vividly,spaciously and accurately than the 19

of action in them, is one of the fundamental elements of cinematic narrative. In the cinema, shifts in time can be represented in ways that range from the sublim￾inal to the ostentatious. If a character sees a face at a window, then goes to look closer, in continuity editing it is not necessary – or usually desirable – to show the move made across the room to the window. If days, months or years are to pass, the images suggesting that may be compressed into a few seconds of screen time by the use of montage (the crudest means include such devices as inserts of calen￾dars with pages torn off). In the texts written for the Elizabethan theatre’s unloc￾alised and daylit stage, changes of place and time are accomplished by the simplest of means: statements in the dialogue, accompanied if necessary by clear￾ance of the stage. It has been customary to regard it as an imperative in film that there should be movement among locations, which involves ‘opening out’ a stage script. A useful comparison can be made with the adaptation of plays written for the realistic, scenic theatre, such as those of Wilde or Shaw. Here the difficulty is more acute, because an organising principle of the original is that as many signifi- cant turns of event as possible should take place in a limited number of locations within a given period of time. Elizabethan dramatic texts invite more latitude, and adapters are more likely not only to abbreviate dialogue, but to use it outside the framework provided by the original. The opening sequences of Welles’s Othello exemplify this, as do the opening sequences in Michael Hoffmann’s 1999 A Midsummer Night’s Dream, in which we are shown several dimensions of Theseus (estate owner, prospective bridegroom and dispenser of the ‘Athenian’ law) together with different aspects of the domain he presides over. Another instance is the first court scene in Hamlet. Kenneth Branagh’s ‘full-text’ version (1996) shows Claudius’s first speech delivered in full to a massed audience of courtiers. Kozintsev (1964) and Zeffirelli (1990) both employ a selection of the lines to give a more varied picture of the king’s power at work, including (in both films) public and private contexts. The modification of the text of the theatrical original in this way is not so much an unavoidable and regrettable consequence of filming, as an opportunity the director forgoes at his or her peril. The film-maker is able to enjoy greater freedomin showing the words and deeds of characters in relation to the environ￾ment created for them. The mise en scène of a filmis in fact a vital element of the cinematic experience – in all its definitions and varieties – and in Shakespearean films it retains this importance, rather than becoming a reprehensible competi￾tor with the spoken word. The milieu – ‘production values’ vs. ‘poetry’ From its early days, the narrative cinema proclaimed its ability to show a dramatic action’s physical surroundings more vividly, spaciously and accurately than the From play-script to screenplay 19