Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives (Eds./ Hrsg.) From Page to Screen Modification and Misrepresentation of Female Characters in Audiovisual Media Vom Buch zum Film Veränderung und Verfälschung weiblicher Figuren in den audiovisuellen Medien Popular Fiction Studies 6 From Page to Screen / Vom Buch zum Film Popular Fiction Studies edited by Eva Parra-Membrives and Albrecht Classen volume 6 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives (Eds. / Hrsg.) From Page to Screen Modification and Misrepresentation of Female Characters in Audiovisual Media Vom Buch zum Film Veränderung und Verfälschung weiblicher Figuren in den audiovisuellen Medien © 2020 · Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH + Co. KG Dischingerweg 5 · D-72070 Tübingen Das Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist ohne Zustimmung des Verlages unzulässig und strafbar. Das gilt insbesondere für Vervielfältigungen, Übersetzungen, Mikroverfilmungen und die Einspeicherung und Verarbeitung in elektronischen Systemen. Internet: www.narr.de eMail: info@narr.de CPI books GmbH, Leck ISSN 2197-6392 ISBN 978-3-8233-8367-3 (Print) ISBN 978-3-8233-9367-2 (ePDF) ISBN 978-3-8233-0233-9 (ePub) Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http: / / dnb.dnb.de abrufbar. www.fsc.org MIX Papier aus verantwortungsvollen Quellen FSC ® C083411 ® www.fsc.org MIX Papier aus verantwortungsvollen Quellen FSC ® C083411 ® 9 29 47 73 95 109 129 Contents Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives “I WANT MY MONEY BACK”: Some Considerations on the Dialectics of Texts and Films . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PART 1 CHILDREN’S STORIES FOR ADULTS Lorena Silos Ribas HEIDI GOES KAWAII: The Evolution of Fräulein Rottenmeier in the Animated Versions of Johanna Spyri’s Novels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández AN ENGLISH GIRL IN THE STATES. The Impact of Context and Genre on the Film Adaptation of Roald Dahl’s Matilda . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Yiyi López Gándara GENDER EDUCATION AND INTERMEDIALITY. A Look at the Reimagining of Secondary Female Characters from Book to Blockbuster . . PART 2 THE FANTASTIC: FROM THE PAST AND THE FUTURE Marta Mariño-Mexuto FROM “WIFE OF MY BOSOM” TO “FEMALE THING”: E. A. Poe’s Ligeia and Roger Corman’s The Tomb of Ligeia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Miguel Ayerbe-Linares ÉOWYN VOM BUCH ZUM FILM. Peter Jacksons Verfilmung von Tolkiens Der Herr der Ringe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Christiane Limbach GAME OF THRONES & DAS LIED VON EIS UND FEUER. Untersuchung der Darstellung von Frauen am Beispiel von Missandei . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159 175 191 215 237 261 285 303 315 Pedro Alemany Navarro VERSIONS OF SELF-SEARCH AND SELF-TRANSCENDENCE IN A POSTHUMAN PARADIGM: The Case of Motoko Kusanagi (Ghost in the Shell) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sergio Cobo-Durán/ Irene Raya Bravo WONDER WOMAN. From Page to Screen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PART 3 FOR WOMEN WAR IS NEVER OVER Alberto Lena MGM’S THREE COMRADES: Frank Borzage, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hollywood’s Courageous Weimar Women . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Manuel Almagro-Jiménez “WIE OFT? ” OR LOVE IN TROUBLED TIMES? : The Cinematographic Adaptation of A Woman in Berlin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Leopoldo Domínguez VERFILMUNG VON ERINNERUNGSLITERATUR. Zur Darstellung der Figur Hanna Schmitz aus Bernhard Schlinks Der Vorleser  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . PART 4 DEMANDING THEIR OWN VOICE, STATING THEIR OWN NEEDS Margarita Estévez-Saá “O JAMESY LET ME UP OUT OF THIS”. Molly Bloom in Joseph Strick’s and Sean Walsh’s Films . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas KATHARINA BLUM: OPFER ODER TÄTER? Die weibliche Hauptfigur in Heinrich Böll und in Volker Schlöndorff und Margarethe von Trotta . . . . . Claudia Garnica de Bertona THE FEMALE BODY AS STAGE FOR VIOLENCE. Elfriede Jelinek’s The Pianist and its Film Version by Michael Haneke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Eva Parra-Membrives DIE EWIGE SCHULD DER EVA. Frau und Sünde in Petra Hammesfahrs Die Sünderin und der Netflix-Serie The Sinner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Contents 337 357 375 405 PART 5 (MUSIC IS) A WORLD WITHIN ITSELF Marina Tornero Tarragó THE PORTRAYAL OF THE BAD GIRL CARMEN. Eternal Hybridity of High and Low Entertainment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rocío Cobo-Piñero FROM CIVIL RIGHTS CHRONICLER TO CHANEL Nº 5. Mainstreaming Nina Simone . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jiří Měsíc SHEKHINAH IN THE MUSIC VIDEOS OF LEONARD COHEN . . . . . . . . . . LIST OF AUTHORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Contents 1 It is well known that Steven Spielberg anticipated the success of the saga. He referred to the project as posing no challenge and said it would be “like shooting ducks in a barrel. It’s a slam dunk” (Bridge 2014: 196). 2 The event was covered by the media all over the world. See, for example, Gómez, 2001; Libedinsky, 2001; https: / / edition.cnn.com/ 2001/ SHOWBIZ/ Movies/ 11/ 04/ london.premiere.potter/ index. html (Accessed on 5 May 2020); http: / / news.bbc.co.uk/ 2/ hi/ entertainment/ 1647539.stm (Accessed on 5 May 2020); https: / / www.theguardian.com/ film/ 2001/ sep/ 11/ news.harry potter. (Accessed on 5 May 2020.) “I WANT MY MONEY BACK”: Some Considerations on the Dialectics of Texts and Films Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives In the year 2001 the premiere of the film adaptation of the first volume of the Harry Potter saga took place and, as it was to be expected, it became an event with a great media impact 1 . TV networks were particularly interested in recording the expectations of children attending the movie theatres as they came in to watch for the first time that young man who was the protagonist of so many magical adventures and who had become for some “the most important non-religious global cultural icon in history” (Blake, 2002: 91) 2 . One boy, specifically, while he was being interviewed before entering the theatre, said that actually he had already read the novel but that he came to watch the film because he wanted to know how Harry Potter really was. And, in general, many of the viewers did enjoy the way in which so much money “was spent on making Hogwarts castle look real” (Nel, 2002: 172). Probably this is an attitude that is shared by the readers of other sagas which have become a great success, first in bookshops and then on the screen. One can imagine a similar reaction in the case of the fans of such a popular saga as Twilight, which has enjoyed an enormous success among teenagers (and among 3 Kelly points out that “The Twilight saga is the most successful series of vampire films and one of the most successful movie franchises in the history of Hollywood” (Kelly, 2016: 25). 4 The greater truthfulness of the image versus the mere suggestion of the word is defended by Baines in this way: “If a person wanted to get a sense of the power of a hurricane, one 10-minute film clip would likely communicate it more forcefully than would 100 pages of text” (Baines, 1996: 2013). 5 Critics in general do not share this point of view. Thus, for example, Schneider, talks of “lange Geschichte des Unbehagens gegenüber Literaturverfilmungen” (Schneider, 2014: 1), and also of “aus der Perspektive der Literaturwissensschaft fügt die Literaturverfil‐ mung der Literatur ‘Leid’ zu” (Schneider, 2014 : 13). 6 Cunnigham (2000: 187) mentions the “carelessness and outright tawdriness of many Hollywood renditions of major literary works”. adults, one should add) 3 . Indeed, not only boys and girls of whatever age react in this way. Many adults also tend to believe that what they see on the screen is more faithful, more real, than what you find in the original text, paradoxical as it might seem 4 . Because, as Schober writes about True Blood: So, what is “true” in True Blood? The vampire story focused around Sookie Stackhouse, Charlaine Harris’ Southern Vampire Mystery novels of which this show is a serial adaptation, the additional HBO material, or the fanfiction and computer games that extrapolate the transmedial narrative around the core text of the TV series? A Pragmatist reading of these interacting narratives would argue that they are all “true”, creating a more or less coherent fictional storyworld aimed at enhancing the illusion of reality. (Schober, 2019: 41) There are viewers who often have the impression that a film will offer them a more real version of a story and, thus, when a book is published and becomes successful, many of them prefer to wait, albeit anxiously, for the film, since they also feel that the contemplation of the images is much less demanding than the effort and the time required by the reading of the quite often some-hundred pages of a book. This kind of readers and viewers always presuppose that the adaptation of the book to the screen will not only offer a more real picture of the story, but that, more particularly, in the process of adaptation there will be no significant changes. They may like the movie a great deal or not at all, or feel indifferent, but very rarely will we see them disappointed by the adaptation they have watched and thinking that it was a waste of money 5 . This attitude presents at least two important problems. One has to do with the question of fidelity to the original, or in other words the degree to which an adaptation can deviate from the original text and still be “faithful” to it. Or to say it from the opposite perspective, how can we discern that something has changed to the point of not being what it originally was? 6 The issue may grow 10 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives into a sort of philosophical paradox, eventually impossible to resolve. But to this we must add the obvious fact that we are dealing with very different cultural objects. An interesting way of illustrating this can be done by mentioning the following anecdote concerning Fritz Lang, as recollected by Robert Stam: A filmic adaptation is automatically different and original due to the change of medium. Here we can take as our own Fritz Lang’s response to the Producer Prokosch’s accusation of infidelity to the script: ‘Yes, Jerry, in the script it’s written, in a film it’s a picture… a motion picture it’s called’. (Stam, 2004: 17) This leads us straight into the second problem, which refers to the fact that in the process of adaptation a double dialogue is established. Here we are not dealing simply with the textual version of another previous text, something that is common in the sphere of literature, what we conventionally call intertextuality. Rather, now in this case we would have to speak of intermediality, a general phenomenon which “assumes that social contexts, as well as literacy processes, are connected” (Watts Pailliotet et al., 2000: 213), to the point of reaching what Emig (1983) calls “web of meaning”. In our case we are dealing with two different media, the textual versus the visual, which imply different cognitive processes and different methodologies of experience: it is not the same thing to sit down to read a book (normally alone) than to sit down to watch a film (normally with a group of people in a theatre) or a TV series (at home on your sofa, for example). For the individual having the experience, the context of the two events, that of reading a book or that of watching a film/ TV series, seem very different, although one may have to be cautious when establishing certain comparisons. Thus, Cardwell points out the need to “ignore temporal similarities between the experience of reading and that of viewing” (Cardwell, 2004: 85). But at the same time the transparency that some may presuppose in the adaptation of a literary text to the screen is further revealed as false when one learns about the material circumstances of adaptations in general, that is, the conditions under which they are produced: they can be of all sorts and encompass a great variety of aspects involved in the production of a film or of a TV series, beginning with the very basic axiom that “an adaptation must work as a film and not just as a re-creation of the earlier source” (Neher, 2014: 120). More specifically, Kline alludes to what he calls the “material paradigm”, illustrating this idea with the example of the adaptation of a novel by Brett Easton Ellis: One exception is Mark Fenster’s critique of Less Than Zero, a film adapted from the novel by Bret Easton Ellis. In his analysis, Fenster argues that the film is a failed adaptation, despite the commercial success of the novel, because the novel’s 11 I want my money back 7 In his discussion of the film adaptation of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, Edwards points out that the subtle variations “between a film adaptation and its literary source emerge from motives and economic imperatives specific to the filmmaking corporation“ (Edwards, 2006: 42). specific appeals, including its “distanced narrative voice,” were difficult to adapt to film (32). That difficulty was compounded by the commercial context in which the film was produced, a context that led the scriptwriter to draw upon “recognizable” cinematic conventions, including a “realistic narrative frame” in the rewriting of the screenplay (52). Thus, in this analysis, Fenster opens up new discursive ground in assessing the effectiveness of a film adaptation, moving beyond a strictly intertextual comparison between novel and film to explore the extratextual forces operating within the production process which also shape the film. (Kline, 1996: 74) To this we might add a couple of, fortunately, not common situations that may come up in the process of shooting the film/ series itself: What to do if one of the protagonists dies? Or what to do if one of the actors asks for a higher salary that the producers might find unacceptable? These might seem trivial issues but they are only apparently so, and they are not hypothetical. The history of cinema and of television can provide with plenty of examples. Here we can only mention a couple of them: the death of Oliver Reed, while the shooting of Gladiator was still on, or the scene in the film Tootsie where the protagonist finds out that another character had disappeared from the series they are shooting because he had asked for a raise in his salary. But in a much more subtle way, and perhaps more invisible, there are other interferences which go unnoticed for the reader who only knows the film version but ignores the literary original. At this point we are talking about the reasons behind the changes in an adaptation which could be motivated by a political, historical, moral, economic or commercial rationale 7 . Pérez-Bowie summarizes the whole issue in this way: The territory encompassed by the relationship between cinema and literature is so wide and heterogeneous that is it not limited to the problems derived from the adaptations of literary texts into films. It extends into many other areas. (Pérez-Bowie, 2004: 277. Our translation) Thus, more specifically in our volume, we do not deal only with general ideological issues, but more particularly with questions that have to do with gender and sexual politics. Because, as Casetti indicates, 12 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives 8 It is relevant to mention here the Literature/ Film Association Annual Conference, which takes place since 1989, and which has been cancelled this year due to the Covid-19 pandemic. See http: / / litfilm.org (Accessed on 5 May 2020). Elliot (2014) offers a very interesting analysis of the more relevant publications in this field. See also Albrecht-Crane, 2010; Bruhn, 2013; and Gradner, 1992. 9 One example of this among many is a study by Olney (2010), where we find an analysis of film adaptations from the vantage point of postmodernism. 10 This kind of analysis is not infrequent. See here publications with titles similar to our own: Humbert, 2012; Burns, 1984; Baines, 1996. 11 In this context see the very interesting studies by Raitt, 2012; Weckerle, 2004; and Wesley, 1999. the analysis of adaptations should do more than compare the former with the latter text. It should instead focus in what changes in the passage from one to the other; that is, the frame within which they are located. (Casetti, 2004: 83) However, before anything else, we would also like to underline that our volume is not a contribution to the theory of adaptation. Rather, our purpose is to offer a collection of practical cases. The different aspects of adaptation have already been sufficiently theorized in the so-called Adaptation Studies 8 . Florian in the introduction to his work says that “Das Phänomen der Literaturverfilmung ist so alt wie der Film selbst” (Florian, 2008: 1). Likewise, we could say that there is already a long theoretical tradition that has been inspired by those adaptations, offering numerous and interesting ways of approaching these transmedial rewritings 9 . In our contribution, as said before, we are more interested in presenting practical cases of diverse kinds of adaptations, 10 in different modalities and with various sources, although at the same time trying to escape what has been called the “seemingly endless stream of comparative case-studies of print and screen versions of individual texts” (Murray, 2008: 4). Indeed, the individual essays in our volume are linked by a common element, which we intended to be very specific: the representation and/ or misrepresentation of women in the course of adaptations from the page to the screen. In this sense, ours is not only a contribution to the analysis of interor trans-mediality, but also, from the specific point of view of criticism, it attempts to encompass an area in which, in a transversal fashion, cultural studies, film studies and gender and feminist studies, can find a common ground 11 . Indeed, for a long time now women have struggled, under the mantle of the discourse of feminism or otherwise, for the vindication of their rights, for their relevance in the history of humankind and, as résumé of it all, for their visibility. At first sight this struggle may seem, at least in most Western societies, a story of success, maybe not yet complete and equal for all women, but at least one 13 I want my money back 12 Humbert, in his analysis of one of these cases, talks of the “apparently commercially motivated shift from ordinary but courageous woman to mythical love-empowered heroine” (2012: 119). which, in a firm and continued manner, carries with it the promise of, and hope for, equality for all women. However, a closer look can reveal that in various fields of culture, both elitist and popular, the representation of women, even when it apparently aims at promoting new and greater degrees of visibility, frequently suffers from a manipulation or a mis-representation which makes the image of women lose the strength and intention which it initially attempted. This is particularly true in the case of adaptations of literary texts to visual formats like cinema or television, when the initial literary message is very often changed because of, for example, marketing demands which also finally respond to an ideological stance 12 . Only in a few instances, and this should also be underlined, do we find the opposite case (normally in the more recent film productions), where the literary originals of some characters, apparently indifferent or emasculated, are turned into guardians and/ or apologists of feminine empowerment. The present volume, thus, in its five different sections that will be glossed in the next pages, focuses precisely on the way in which, more often than we may be aware of, both in the fields of elitist and popular culture, the image of women is degraded, metamorphosed or directly falsified, and, with the exceptions already mentioned, rarely enhanced in films and TV series, when compared with the original literary texts on which those representations are based. 1 Children’s Stories for Adults The first section in our collection deals with the adaptation of children’s stories. Very often we forget that what we call children’s literature is not written by children but for children, and that the authors are undoubtedly adults who cannot help writing and composing their texts from a certain social, geographical, political, etc., position. That is, a position that is always already predetermined and that we might consider ultimately as inevitably cultural and therefore ideological. To this we must add the fact that the original children’s story can be manipulated for commercial reasons when we try to turn it into a film that could be enjoyed by not only children but by a larger audience. A case in point is the double reading or viewing that could be made of certain animated cartoons or CGI films based on stories and scripts initially designed to appeal to children 14 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives but which contain a kind of subtext that is meant for the adults who normally go along with the children to the theatre. We can clearly see this in the way that at the end of some of these films, when the list of credits is shown, the viewer is also given a sort of “making of ” with discarded or alternative scenes which, by their comical effect, seem more intended for the enjoyment of the adult than of the child. The film, as it were, includes an extra layer of meanings which appeals to the adult viewer and satisfies his desire for entertainment as he carries out the noble task of caring parent. In this way, the experience of going to the movies and, most importantly, the film itself, becomes a cultural event to be enjoyed not only by the children but by the whole family. Lorena Silos uses, as the starting point for her essay, the widely accepted idea that the adaptation of literary texts into films or TV series serves the very important function of reproducing values and ideologies which may be an essential part of the social fabric. This reproduction is not always a mechanical process, since it is often the case that a new version of an old story is used to reassess that story from the perspective of a new social environment and/ or a new cultural paradigm. Silos uses as case-study the adaptations of Johanna Spyri’s Heidi, and, after reviewing the long history of adaptations of the literary original, she concentrates on discussing more particularly one of the main characters in the story, Fräulein Rottenmeier. By following the evolution in the way this character has been portrayed in several film adaptations as well as the animated versions, Silos tries to explain the political as well as social implications which account for those changes in the representation of this female figure. Bruno Echauri also concentrates on the study of a story in which, again, the protagonist is a young girl. The focus is not, however, as in the previous case, an adult that is close to the young protagonist but on the child herself, Mathilda. For Echauri an important element to be considered is the fact that the author frequently, behind what seems to be a literature written simply for entertainment, manages to hide a subtext of profound social criticism of values and circumstances affecting children. The success of the story, as could be expected, caught the attention of Hollywood’s producers which eventually turned the book into a film. Echauri analyzes the changes in characterization in the film version, connecting them with the material aspects of film production, as well as with the commercial component due to the shift in film genre in the Hollywood version of the story, in a move which eliminates the elements of ambivalence in the original text. 15 I want my money back Finally, Yiyi López-Gándara begins by acknowledging how an unexpected event such as the outbreak of the Covid-19 pandemic has made us all suddenly but fully aware of the importance of all kinds of learning, which become, as she says a “kind of hybrid education experience”. In this context, more precisely, the relevance of films is highlighted for their educational value. López-Gándara focuses her analysis on the way gender is represented in media texts at large, and how children can be affected by stereotypical approaches to gender issues. By focusing both on film versions of children’s stories and the so-called blockbusters, she describes the reimagining of secondary characters as an index to the strategies used by producers and filmmakers to reproduce patriarchal mechanisms in the construction of gender. 2 The Fantastic: From Past to Future In the literature for children, mentioned in the previous section, the element of fantasy was frequently found, but in contrast to certain children’s stories in the so-called fantasy literature we can very often find a vast territory in which to indulge in all kinds of possibilities which our worldly reality does not offer, or which it limits with its strict physical and natural laws. Sometimes, this literature allows us to delve, from the security that the textual distance imposes, into the investigation of our fears and the things that cause us a conscious or unconscious horror. At other times, fantasy literature allows us to explore the limits of that reality which readers and authors inhabit and from which we can escape thanks to the quality of the fabulous elements in those narratives. It is also relevant for our purpose here to mention that brand of fantasy literature which deals with the investigation of alternative worlds in which the laws, both cultural and material, of the societies in which we live simply do not apply. With its sometimes extravagant but always original and creative proposals, this type of fantasy literature allows us to consider that it might be possible for alternative worlds to exist, and that the one that we have created is only one among the many possibilities of which we have no knowledge. It would be something like taking to it utmost limits the simple question: What if? Finally, we should mention two varieties of fantasy literature which have lately become cultural trends. On the one hand, the narratives in which we find historical recreations which amount to alternative versions of what we may have learnt in the more conventional history books. On the other hand, there are those stories which function as maps for all the different versions of possible dystopian societies. These narratives can fill us with horror in anticipation of the dark possibilities of social evolution in the not so distant future, while at the 16 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives same time, albeit in passing, they offer the opportunity to reconsider the ways and mores of contemporary societies, and send implicitly a warning as to the importance of certain values and their fragility in times of uncertainty, Marta Mariño-Mexuto analyzes the adaptation of an E.A. Poe’s story, a well-known writer of fantasy literature, by Roger Corman, an also well-known and rather versatile filmmaker who had also his own place in the tradition of horror movies. After a brief review of the history of horror cinema, Mariño-Mexuto dissects a number of different aspects in Corman’s version of Poe’s story, and more particularly the differences in the representation of the female characters, by explaining the social and ideological circumstances of not only the filmmaker but also of the mentality which Corman believes his target audience may have. Thus, for example, the intelligence of the female character in the original story is toned down in the film version in a clear nod not only to the expectations of the audience in the portrayal of a female character but also as a way of standing in line with the tradition of horror films as a genre. Miguel Ayerbe-Linares’s contribution focuses on J.R.R. Tolkien’s novel The Lord of the Rings, and specifically on the character of Éowyn, who is portrayed as one of the female figures who are concerned with their identity and the meaning of their life. In the third part of The Return of the King two especially significant scenes take place, but, unfortunately, in the film version the dialogue from those scenes has hardly been respected. The first of the scenes has been reduced to Éowyn’s lament for Aragorn’s departure and the awareness that he does not love her, while in the second scene it is a brief and insignificant exchange of words. For Ayerbe-Linares, these two scenes are essential to determine who Éowyn is and who she would like to become, and thus this drastic reduction is difficult to understand, as it profoundly limits the meaning of this character, even more so when the film is usually accorded a great value by critics for its special promotion of female roles. Christiane Limbach’s essay begins by acknowledging the fact that much has already been written about the role of women in Game of Thrones, as they are first portrayed in the original text by George R.R. Martin and as they are represented in the version which we can watch in the TV series. Thus, for example, characters like Cersei Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, and Catelyn Stark, or their daughters Sansa and Arya Stark, have been frequently analyzed. For Limbach, however, there are also other female characters of interest, such as Asha Greyjoy, Brienne of Tarth or Missandei, which should deserve the attention of the reader, viewer and critic. Her study concentrates specifically on Missandei, a character that appears for the first time in the third volume of the series but becomes increasingly more and more important. Limbach’s essay is 17 I want my money back an attempt to thoroughly scrutinize the differences between her representation in the series in contrast to her appearance in the original text. Pedro Alemany-Navarro begins his essay by discussing the Ship of Theseus, the well-known story which from a paradoxical and even metaphysical perspec‐ tive discusses issues of change and identity, and how a given object might remain being what it is in spite of its being subjected to modifications conditioned by time and/ or space. Alemany-Navarro, following Hobbes, considers the pos‐ sibility of the endless substitution of fragments to the point that a perfect replica of the original might be achieved. And at this point we are only a step away from the very contemporary questions raised within the posthuman paradigm by transhumanist doctrines. Against this background, full of paradoxes and issues hard to settle once and for all, Alemany-Navarro focuses on a fictional story, Ghost in the Shell, and its subsequent film versions, in order to speculate on the mutability of the notion of identity, particularly human identity, and to consider the way in which subsequent changes in the fragments or pieces of the human hardware will eventually bring about changes in the way we look upon the concepts of change and identity which come under scrutiny in the Ship of Theseus paradox. In the last contribution of this section, Sergio Cobo-Durán and Irene Raya Bravo concentrate in their essay on the character of Wonder Woman, an ambivalent figure which has been widely criticized in her capacity to become a role model, and who, on the contrary, has been praised as a representation of the process of the empowerment of women, even to the point of being adopted as an icon of feminism. Cobo-Durán and Raya Bravo trace the legacy of Wonder Woman in terms of the social impact which this character has produced in many different areas of popular culture, from the world of comics to TV series, not to mention the controversial decision of nominating her as honorary ambassador to the United Nations, a move that had the opportunity to merge the world of politics with the politics of gender, but which was criticized by many as inconsistent, because of its individualism, with women’s long collective struggle for their rights. In their analysis, Cobo-Durán and Raya Bravo follow the different stages (comic-books, TV series, and finally its reinvention for the big screen) in the journey of this superheroine. 3 For Women War is Never Over In a conventional and simplistic view, it would seem that women are not directly affected by war, because war, traditionally, as we are used to seeing in novels, movies and history books, is something that only men experience. It is men 18 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives who are part of the armies, who go to fight other men, who wait in terror in the trenches for the assault of the enemy, or leave them to kill their equally terrified enemies, or ride their horses in the mad frenzy of a cavalry charge, or are shot down from their planes during a bombardment by an anti-aircraft battery manned also by other men. If we think of the many stories of war in any format that we have been told, and with very few exceptions such as the presence of women in the Red Army in World War II, we will only remember the presence of men and their heroic deeds, their cowardice, misery, bravery, etc., alone or in a group with other men. But, undoubtedly, this is a version that clearly falsifies the reality of things. Because if History is, so to speak, a huge canvas, what is shown in those stories is only a part of that canvas, and, in that sense, it is true that there are no women in that section of the image. But if only we shift our gaze a little towards the margins of the canvas, or towards less illuminated parts of the canvas, then we will begin to perceive that indeed women have been there all along, and that the problem was not that they were not there but that we were simply incapable of seeing them. Or even worse, we didn’t want to see them. Or even worse than that, we weren’t allowed to see them. Frequently, the writing of History works the way science does, with a strategy of trial and error, so that we could also say that History, at least serious History, is a story that far from attempting to write and define once and for all what happened in the past, it struggles to rewrite itself, precisely because of its bad conscience, that is, because it is (unconsciously) aware that its writing generates dark areas, because telling implies being silent, because emitting is omitting. Inevitably. And when those dark areas are illuminated then we can see how women also have a close relationship with war. The women who in modern times occupy the factories and maintain the machinery of war in substitution of the men who had to march to the front, and the women who also participate, in one way or another, in the various aspects of war, an activity that does not restrict itself to the battlefield or the fight at the decisive moment. And also, like other segments of the population, the women who are frequently collateral victims of the consequences of war, both because they have to suffer the shortage of resources in the rearguard and/ or because they are often victims themselves of the violence that any war generates, not the least of that violence being the more than frequent possibility of ending up as a plunder of war, in the usual form of a sexual assault, or as a trophy within the reach of a victorious soldier. In this section of our collection we include three essays which only by chance happen to coincide in their focus and in the chronological order of their analysis: the situation of women in the period from the end of the First World War to 19 I want my money back the end of World War II. The first of these essays, by Alberto Lena, deals with the film version of a novel written by Erich Maria Remarque (Drei Kameraden, 1938) and its film version, Three Comrades, a Hollywood production directed by Frank Borzage in 1938. Initially planned as a woman’s drama, the film veers its course to become an indictment of the political situation and the violence which could be witnessed in Germany after, and because of, the First World War. Lena describes how, in the process of adaptation, the film becomes first an exploration of the social and economic context in which Adolf Hitler rose to power, and then also a vehicle for the representation of a German woman as a heroic subject. Manuel Almagro-Jiménez concentrates his analysis on a climactic moment in the history of Germany, only a few years after Hitler’s rise to power. The fall of Berlin in 1945 at the hands of the Red Army led to the “inevitable” rape of around one hundred thousand women in that city. An anonymous woman captured the story of a number of them, registering their painful experience in her diary without any form of embellishment. The publication of that diary in 1959 was initially met with the rejection of a German society that refused to accept the reality of those facts. The later filmic adaptation could have vindicated the denouncement of the original text, but only served to aggravate the situation, as the tragic experiences of those women were buried under the typical language of melodrama. Almagro-Jiménez analyzes the film version of the diary in detail and highlights the additions found in that version creating a clearly melodramatic tone; at the same time Almagro-Jiménez draws attention to issues that are present in the diary but do not acquire sufficient relevance in the film, perpetuating the silencing of the true nature of these women’s experiences. The last essay in this section, by Leopoldo Domínguez, concentrates on certain events that took place in the post-war period in Germany, and more specifically after the German reunification, also known as “Wende” (change). By means of the so-called memory literature, there took place an important re-evaluation of the most recent past, concerning issues such as victimhood and aggression, especially during the period of National Socialism. Domínguez by focusing on a specific text, Bernhard Schlink’s Der Vorleser, describes how this type of literature brings out repressed stories or traumas from the collective past for the first time. In contrasting the original novel with the film version, Domínguez discusses the difficulties involved in the adaptation of the novel and how in the film some of the most relevant issues are simply left out, as there is a preference for leading its narration towards the construction of a love story of sorts. 20 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives 4 Demanding Their Own Voice, Stating Their Own Needs In the previous section, we have discussed the violence that women can suffer because of war. Fortunately for women, and for everyone, war is not something that is always and continuously present in a society, at war with another country, for example. But this does not mean that, even in those periods in which a given society is not immersed in a conventional war, there is not a violence that has its origin in economic, cultural, religious or ideological conditions and values, and that finally ends up being reflected in the life of women, and somehow sets limits to their existence in various ways. In an attempt to face this situation, on numerous occasions the voices of many women have been raised, in an organized way or not, to stand up to what we could call the structural violence that can be observed in the way all kinds of relationships are established, for example between men and women. But appealing only to the purely biological element would prove to be a rather reductionist analysis, since it cannot be denied also that this structural violence is a compound, as said before, of all sorts of other variables, such as race, ethnicity, social class or religious education. And here we are not referring to the social practices in ancestral and past societies, something that the progress inspired by Western societies has supposedly overcome: we are also talking about the circumstances in the Western societies of today, in which progress suffers from an unfinished agenda. Thus, it is clear that in order to accomplish the promise of freedom implicit in the narrative of progress, women have to start by discovering a voice of their own with which to express not the needs of others but their own needs, a voice that will also make it possible for women to become aware of their own situation. This leads to a process, again here and now, of deconstruction of the given, particularly the masculine world, that is, a revelation of its already cultural character; a world that has been created, constructed, but which is not necessarily definitive and, in that sense, perfectly susceptible to change and even substitution for another model of relationships. In the first essay of this section Margarita Estévez-Saá deals with one of the most powerful and complex representations of a woman in fiction, Molly Bloom, the female protagonist in Ulysses, by James Joyce. To the initial difficulty of taking a novel like this one to the screen it must be added the controversy concerning the approppriateness and faithfulness of Joyce’s portrayal of the psychology of a woman. Estévez-Saá reviews the opposing views in this respect, and then goes on to provide a detailed analysis of the way in which the character of Molly Bloom has been staged on two occasions, tracing the differences 21 I want my money back between the two film versions to distinct aspects like, among others, the diverse performances of the female protagonist in both films, or the contrasting target audiences intended by both filmakers or the different moments in the history of Ireland in which the filmings took place. In her essay Monserrat Bascoy discusses Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum oder: Wie Gewalt entstehen und wohin sie führen kann, a novel by Heinrich Böll which was published in 1974. With this text the author achieved a significant amount of success which soon caught the attention of the German film industry, and, therefore, was brought to the screen shortly afterwards under the direction of Volker Schlöndorff and Margarethe von Trotta. In his work Böll denounces how the notion of “freedom of the press” can be abused, and the social violence that can be generated and supported by such abuse. Bascoy argues that both the original text and the film version can be considered typical of a period in German recent history when cinema and literature began to position themselves politically, an attitude for which both Böll and Schlöndorff ended up as victims of attacks by the press, even though the film has been frequently criticized for not knowing how to transmit the strength and force of the female protagonist. Claudia Garnica’s essay is an analysis contrasting similarities and differences between Elfriede Jelinek’s novel, The Pianist, and its film version by Michael Haneke. After placing Jelinek’s novel in the context of other novels by the Austrian writer, Garnica goes on to dissect the basic frame of reference in the novel so that the reader of her essay can fully grasp the play of coincidences and dissonances between the novel and the film. Although Haneke does a great job translating faithfully the words on the page into images on the screen, there are moment in which he deviates from that rule of absolute faithfulness. Garnica’s contention is that those deviations are choices that Haneke consciously make, and, in that sense, they are clearly intentional on the part of the filmmaker, and respond to variations through which the director can emphasize certain relevant topics in the text. The last essay in this section, by Eva Parra-Membrives, deals with the Netflix series The Sinner, which has frequently been critically praised not only for the originality of the plot, but for using the structure of the detective novel to denounce various aspects of an American middle-class life based on falsehood and deception. The series is a version of a novel by Petra Hammesfahr, a German novelist not really interested in the American way of life, but rather, as Parra-Membrives argues, in denouncing the universality of the social repression of female sexuality, a much more subtle type of violence, which leads women to reject sexual desire and thus perpetuate a conventional view of the idea of 22 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives sin. According to Parra-Membrives, by narrowing the case presented down to a very specific context, and ignoring the nonfulfillment of desire as the ultimate source of violence, the series trivializes the sexual repression that women have always suffered and contributes to silencing the important denouncement in Hammesfahr’s text. 5 (Music is) a World Within Itself Finally, in this volume, we include three essays that dissect aspects of the presence of women or the feminine from three very different perspectives. We have chosen for this section the title “(Music is) a world within itself ”, one which the knowledgeable reader will have easily identified as part of the first verse of a song by Stevie Wonder (“Sir Duke”), for it is true that music is, like other areas of culture, a world within itself, with its own language and its own codes, its frames of reference of all kinds, which provide almost infinite intertextual games, and local and not so local genealogies and traditions. But at the same time, and this is the question we want to raise here, music is not oblivious to the avatars and influences of ideological tendencies of all kinds affecting all areas of culture and also, naturally, the field of music. This is particularly true when we look at the representation of the female figure in popular music songs, but also in music considered more elitist, such as opera. Add to this the authorship component, that is, the question of whether we are dealing with a male author or a with female author, which allows us to add another level of analysis, concerning the way in which the female artist presents herself to the public, that is to say, the way in which her image is marketed. Let us not forget that in popular music there is a double product that is put on the market: the music itself, the songs, but also the figure, the image, of the artist. And the synergy that occurs between these two “products” can generate all kinds of variations and a great amount of interpretative possibilities from the field of cultural studies in general, or from a feminist perspective in particular. Marina Tornero Tarragó’s essay is an attempt to chart the different ways in which the figure of Carmen, originally from the eponymous novel by Prosper Merimée, has become an important symbol of the representation of a certain kind of woman. Of course, as Tornero Tarragó describes, this is a rather tricky issue, beginning with the stereotypical setting which pervades the original work of Merimée, and coming down through the cultural history of the nineteenthand twentieth-century, and into the latest versions of this character already in the twenty-first century. After a survey of the main types of representations of this female character, Tornero Tarragó focuses on its, until now, latest version, 23 I want my money back that of Beyoncé’s take on this iconic woman and, as some sort of turn of the screw for the coming together of high and low cultures, her participation in the campaign “The Joy of Pepsi”. Beyoncé is not the only popular singer that has participated in an advertising campaign for some commercial firm. As Rocío Cobo-Piñero shows in her study of Nina Simone, the Afro-American jazz singer also found herself involved in such a commercial event, although this time not as a real presence but through one of her songs, which eventually became the song by which most people know Simone. As Cobo argues, the use of this song implied the reconstruction of Simone’s image in a fashion that had very little to do with the image which the singer has struggled all her life to project, that of the Civil Rights campaigner and of the artist that underlines her political commitment in relation to a number of important issues in the society of her time. For Cobo-Piñero, the chronicle of the Civil Rights Movement that one can discern seems to end up eclipsed by the apparent glamour of a commercial advertising a very expensive perfume, Chanel Nº 5. In the last essay of this collection, Jiří Měsíc analyses the way in which musical videos should be considered an intrinsic element in our critical approach to the musical work of Leonard Cohen. Given the vast production of songs by the Canadian singer and poet, Měsíc provides a rather extensive chronological survey of the different periods of such production and the way it has been given a visual representation. But apart from describing the evolution of that relationship between the song and the musical video, Měsíc is also interested in establishing a connecting link that runs through the work of Cohen, which is also present in the visual versions of it. Měsíc refers to this link as the Shekhinah, a term which he takes from Judaism to refer to some sort of feminine aspect of G-d. Having identified this feminine presence, Měsíc uses it as a kind of leitmotif that runs through the whole work of Cohen and which sheds a new light on heretofore apparently trivial or worldly themes. And now one for the road: this volume arises from friendship, from the relationship between two friends who periodically meet to share their ideas about the movies or series they watch, or the novels they read, making mutual recommendations for their entertainment, their fun, and frequently to illustrate their classes. And all this while sharing a cup of coffee. This volume is, therefore, an invitation to this hypothetical hypocrite lecteur to bring up a chair and join the conversation, with or without a cup of coffee, to consider and perhaps also share the opinions and ideas of the authors collected in this volume. It is a welcome to a friendly dialogue, especially in times of turmoil like those we live 24 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives in as we write this. It is also an invitation to that kind of relationship that allows us to share the best of ourselves. Bibliographical References Albrecht-Crane, C., Cutchins, D. R. (Eds.). (2010). Adaptation Studies: New Approaches. Fairleigh Dickinson University Press. Baines, L. (1996). “From page to screen: When a novel is interpreted for film, what gets lost in the translation? ”Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 39(8), 612-622. Blake, A. (2002). The irresistible rise of Harry Potter. London: Verso. Bridge, D. “The Greatest Epic of the Twenty-first Century? ” In A. Elliot (Ed.). (2015). Return of the Epic Film: Genre, Aesthetics and History in the 21st Century. (188-200). Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Bruhn, J. (2013). Adaptation studies: New challenges, new directions. London: A&C Black. Burns, D. E. (1984). “Pistols and Cherry Pies: Lolita From Page to Screen”. Literature/ Film Quarterly, 12(4), 245-250. Cardwell, S. (2003). “About Time: Theorizing Adaptation Temporality, and Tense”. Literature/ Film Quarterly, 31(2), 82-92. Casetti, F (2004). “Adaptation and Mis-adaptations”. A companion to literature and film, 20, 81-97. Edwards, K. D. (2006). “Brand-Name Literature: Film Adaptation and Selznick Inter‐ national Pictures Rebecca”. Cinema Journal, 32-58. Elliott, K. (2014). “Rethinking formal-cultural and textual-contextual divides in Adapta‐ tion Studies”. Literature/ Film Quarterly, 42(4), 576-593. Emig, J. (1983). The web of meaning. Upper Montclair, NJ: Boynton/ Cook. Florian, K. (2008). Die Verfilmung zweier Bestseller - Das Parfum und Schlafes Bruder (Doctoral dissertation, uniwien). Gardner, P. S. (1992). “Literature and Film: An Annotated Bibliography of Resources”. Literature/ Film Quarterly, 20(2), 156-165. Gómez, L. (4 November 2001). “Harry Potter se estrena en Europa”. El País. https: / / elpais.com/ diario/ 2001/ 11/ 04/ espectaculos/ 1004828402_850215.html (Accessed on 1 May 2020.) http: / / litfilm.org http: / / news.bbc.co.uk/ 2/ hi/ entertainment/ 1647539.stm (Accessed on 5 May 2020.) https: / / edition.cnn.com/ 2001/ SHOWBIZ/ Movies/ 11/ 04/ london.premiere.potter/ index.html (Accessed on 5 May 2020.) www.theguardian.com/ film/ 2001/ sep/ 11/ news.harrypotter (Accessed on 5 May 2020.) Humbert, B. E. (2012). “Lucie Aubrac: A Resistance Heroine from Page to Screen”. Literature/ Film Quarterly, 40(2), 109-126. 25 I want my money back Kelly, C. R. (2016). Abstinence cinema: Virginity and the rhetoric of sexual purity in contemporary film. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Kline, K. E. (1996). “The Accidental Tourist On Page and On Screen: Interrogating Normative Theories About Film Adaptation”. Literature / Film Quarterly, 24(1), 70-83. Libedinsky, J. (8 November 2001). “Un bestseller en constante crecimiento”. La Nación. https: / / www.lanacion.com.ar/ cul‐ tura/ el-cine-reaviva-el-furor-por-harry-potter-nid349582/ (Accessed on 1 May 2020.) Murray, S. (2008). “Materializing adaptation theory: The adaptation industry”. Litera‐ ture/ Film Quarterly, 36(1), 4-20. Neher, E. (2014). “The Perils of Adaptation”. The Hudson Review, 67(1), 119-126. Nel, P. (2002). “Bewitched, bothered, and bored: Harry Potter, the movie. (Media Lit‐ eracy)”. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 46(2), 172-176. Olney, I. (2010). “Texts, technologies, and intertextualities: Film adaptation in a post‐ modern world”. Literature/ Film Quarterly, 38(3), 166-170. Pailliotet, A. W., Semali, L., Rodenberg, R. K., Giles, J. K., Macaul, S. L. (2000). “Interme‐ diality: Bridge to critical media literacy”. The Reading Teacher, 54(2), 208-219. Pérez Bowie, J.A. (2004). “La adaptación cinematográfica a la luz de algunas aportaciones teóricas recientes”. http: / / e-spacio.uned.es/ fez/ eserv/ bibliuned: signa-2004-13-40150/ Documento.pdf Raitt, G. (2012). “Lost in Austen: Screen Adaptation in a Post-Feminist World”. Litera‐ ture/ Film Quarterly, 40(2), 127-141. Schober, R. (2019). “Adaptation as connection: A network theoretical approach to convergence, participation, and co-production”. Transmedia, 6, 31-54. Schneider, I. (2014). Der verwandelte Text: Wege zu einer Theorie der Literaturverfilmung (Vol. 4). Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Stam, R., Raengo, A. (Eds.). (2004). Literature and film: a guide to the theory and practice of film adaptation. Hoboken: Wiley-Blackwell. Weckerle, L. (2004). “Taming the Transgressive: A Feminist Analysis of the Film Adap‐ tation of The Old Maid”. Edith Wharton Review, 20(1), 12-19. Wesley, M. C. (1999). “Reverence, rape, resistance: Joyce Carol Oates and feminist film theory”. Mosaic: A Journal for the Interdisciplinary Study of Literature, 75-85. 26 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez / Eva Parra-Membrives PART 1 CHILDREN’S STORIES FOR ADULTS 1 Kawaii, a term that means ‘cute’ in modern Japanese and that in the last few decades has defined numerous pop-cultural products imported from Japan, is used here to refer to the process of softening that is experienced by several of the characters in Heidi when transferred to animated television series. HEIDI GOES KAWAII 1 : The Evolution of Fräulein Rottenmeier in the Animated Versions of Johanna Spyri’s Novels Lorena Silos Ribas At its best an adaptation on screen can re-envision a well-worn narrative for a new audience inhabiting a very different cultural environment (Cartmell/ Whelehan, 2010: 23) 1 Introduction Film and television adaptations of literary texts play a crucial role in the reproduction of socio-cultural values and ideologies, and they also provide a rich resource for examining how such values and ideological agendas are transmitted generation after generation (see McCallum, 2018). Indeed, as Stam points out (2000: 57), “the greater the lapse in time, the less reverence toward the source text”, and the more likely it is that the latter will be reinterpreted through the values of the present. Thus, adaptations may not only perpetuate cultural values and assumptions related to the original text, but also offer a means by which to re-interpret that text in a new sociocultural environment and reveal both the concerns of the original and those of contemporary audiences. Nonetheless, despite all alterations, an adaptation can be considered to remain faithful as long as it maintains the main ideas and values conveyed in the original adapted product (Stam, Raengo, 2005: 6), with which it is in permanent conversation. 2 Fidelity refers here to “the extent to which a given aesthetic object - traditionally, in adaptation studies, a film - reflects a faithful understanding of its source - traditionally, a literary text, especially a novel, play, or short story” ( Johnson, 2017: 88). 3 Indeed, Spyri, by calling the first part of her Heidi-narrative Heidi's Lehr- und Wan‐ derjahre, is making an explicit reference to the major example of the genre of the Entwicklungsroman, namely J.W. Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister, which consists of two novels respectively entitled Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre and Wilhelm Meisters Wander‐ Of interest for this volume is McCallum’s claim that adaptations of children’s literary texts usually involve “a triple shift: from book to film obviously, but also sometimes from ‘high’ literary culture to ‘popular’ (film/ TV) culture (in the case of ‘classic’ texts), and often from child or adult text to ‘family’ film” (McCallum, 2018: 14). The shift from “high” to “popular” may also be the reason why until roughly the 1990s research within the sphere of adaptation studies had deemed filmic versions to be of a lesser quality than their literary predecessors, with the focus mainly on finding the voids left in the process of rewriting for the screen and on foregrounding the question of (in)fidelity 2 . In the field of children’s literature, however, such transformations have been traditionally warmly received with abridged and censored editions being “the norm rather than the exception” (Lefebvre, 2013: 22). Indeed, within the field of literature for children, filmic versions traditionally tend to transfigure plots and ideas, and, by so doing, simplify the otherwise more intricate and socio-culturally challenging literary storylines, as is the case, for example, in the majority of classic texts adapted by Disney, which sanitize existing texts to make them palatable for family audiences, be it for financial, artistic, or ideological motivations (see, for instance, Cartmell, 2007; Lefebvre, 2013). Since the advent of cinema, Johanna Spyri’s Heidi has been adapted for the screen numerous times, with the first of these dating back to 1920 in the form of a silent movie. In most cases, these adaptations have remained faithful to the novel and been in line with Spyri’s intention of showing the healing power of nature and the harms of authoritative education. None of them, however, have included the central religious theme that is present in the Heidi novels (see Hale, 2006), in which Heidi learns to rely on God and then helps her own grandfather to regain his faith too. Nonetheless, all adaptations preserve the moral and social implications of Spyri’s writings, albeit contextualizing them for their audiences, either by expanding their plots or else developing existing characters or by introducing new figures. Heidi first appeared in print in the late nineteenth century when Swiss author Johanna Spyri wrote two novels recounting the story of a young orphan girl living in the Alps. Heidis Lehr- und Wanderjahre (1880) 3 and Heidi kann brauchen, 30 Lorena Silos Ribas jahre (1795/ 1796). In Goethe’s narrative, the main character, after a number of false starts and wrong choices, follows the path that reconciles him with himself and society. 4 The most prominent titles being Emile, or On Education (Rousseau, 1762) and Leonard and Gertrude (Pestalozzi, 1781-1787). was es gelernt hat (1881) could be categorized as “convert and reform novels” (Usrey, 1985: 232), but they are also heirs to the Swiss pedagogical tradition, particularly to the theories of J. J. Rousseau and J. H. Pestalozzi. The central role of nature in the development of the individual is seminal in Rousseau’s writings, which depict the child as a free spirit, whose mind should be left undisturbed. And just like Spyri does in Heidi, both Rousseau and Pestalozzi chose literary representations of childhood as instruments by which to metaphorically develop an idea or theory in their writings 4 . Johanna Spyri’s novels tell the story of 5-year-old Heidi. She is left to live with her grandfather in the Swiss Alps after her Aunt Dete, who has been responsible for her since the death of both Heidi’s parents, finds a good position in Frankfurt, and so she is not able to have the child under her protection anymore. Like many Swiss workers and peasants at the time, Dete has to emigrate to make a living, since poverty and hunger were widespread in 19 th century Switzerland. Due to unknown circumstances and his sorrow at having lost his son, Heidi’s grandfather, known by the rest of the villagers as Alm-Öhi, has isolated himself from society and lives by himself in a hut in the mountain. Surprisingly enough - but in accordance with Spyri’s intention to show the benefits of nature for human beings - the girl easily adapts to this new environment: she likes her grandfather and soon becomes friends with a young goatherd named Peter and grows attached to his family, most particularly to his blind grandmother. However, three years later, Dete returns and forces Heidi to join her in Frankfurt, where she is to become the companion of Clara, the daughter of the wealthy Sesemann family. Clara had lost her mother and is confined to a wheelchair. Although she is soon enthralled by Heidi’s innocence and joyful personality and her feelings are shared by her father and her grandmother, Fräulein Rottenmeier, the governess of the house, dislikes the Swiss girl and believes she cannot be a good influence on Clara. Indeed, Rottenmeier is the counterpart to Heidi: while the young protagonist supports her companion and gives her the courage and the desire to walk, to grow and to flourish, Rottenmeier figuratively cripples Clara and hinders her from improving her condition, effectively binding her to her immobility. The pedagogical component of the novels is evident from the very title of the works, whose primary objective is to educate young readers in values and attitudes through Heidi’s adventures. As mentioned before, nature has a pivotal role: the purity of life in the mountains shows the Alps as an idyllic 31 Heidi goes Kawaii place in contrast to Frankfurt, the city, which destroys the individual rather than sheltering him or her, with Clara in her wheelchair as a metaphor for the damage caused by supposed progress and repressive education. The purpose of this essay is to examine how the character of Fräulein Rottenmeier has evolved in the various film adaptations of Johanna Spyri’s novels - more specifically, in the animated versions - and to make an attempt to understand the socio-political implications of such an evolution and of the alterations in the depiction of this female figure. 2 From Page to Screen: The Girl of the Alps Becomes a Moving Image Among those theories by those who distance themselves from Fidelity Criticism and rather endorse the belief that adapted texts and adaptations engage in a sort of intertextual, intergenerational conversation, one finds the transtextual model as established by Gerard Genette in his The Architext. The author takes inspiration from Bakhtin (dialogism) and Kristeva (intertextuality) to develop his ideas on transtextuality, which he defines as the “textual transcendence of the text, all that sets the text in a relationship, whether obvious or concealed, with other texts” (Genette, 1992: 83). Genette talks about five different types of transtextuality, although hypertextuality deserves the most attention, and is also the focus of this analysis. Hypertextuality examines the relations between a text - the hypertext - and its predecessor - the hypotext -, which the hypertext modifies, re-elaborates or amplifies. According to Genette, hypertextuality involves “any relationship uniting a text B (hypertext) to an earlier text A (hypotext), upon which it is grafted in a manner that is not that of commentary” (Genette, 1997: 5). Thus, hypertextuality represents the relation between a text and a text on which it is based but which it transforms, modifies, elaborates or extends. Spyri’s Heidi has no doubt also been the inspiration of many other literary and filmic products and, as a hypotext, it also includes an archetypical figure - the innocent child-figure who is able to change the lives and attitudes of others and whose goodness is often portrayed in relation to nature. Heidi-like figures include Pollyanna, the protagonist of the homonymous novel by Eleanor H. Porter (1913), Anne Shirley, the main character in Anne of Green Gables (Montgomery, 1907) or Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden (Burnett, 1911). Most of the cinematic adaptations of Spyri’s novels evidently do not intend to deviate greatly from the hypotext. Such is the case of Luigi Comencini’s Heidi (1952), the first Swiss film adaptation; Delbert Mann’s Heidi (1968), starring Jean Simmons as Fräulein Rottenmeier; or the more recent live-action film versions 32 Lorena Silos Ribas of the novel released in 1993 and 2015. The former, a three-hour television mini-series with ambitions to become the family entertainment of the year, is a Hollywoodish Walt Disney production, directed by Michael Rhodes, with British actress Jane Seymour playing an unconventionally attractive Fräulein Rottenmeier, and containing all the elements that audiences expect in a feel-good movie for children or family audiences. In contrast, the most recent Swiss version of Heidi (2015) - directed by Alain Gsponer and starring national treasure Bruno Ganz as Heidi’s grandfather and Hannelore Hoger as Frau Sesemann, Clara’s grandmother - does not spare the viewer the sordid elements of the story - poverty and cruelty towards children -, yet shows a joyful, innocent and pure Heidi (Anuk Steffen), just as Spyri might have imagined her in 1880. However, some film adaptations have transformed or extended the hypotext, in order to retell Heidi’s story in different contexts or for different audiences. For instance, in the famous Hollywood version from 1937, directed by Allan Dwan and starring Shirley Temple in the role of Heidi, the plot is radically altered to become a sort of film noir - a genre that was in vogue at the time - in which good battles evil and in which Fräulein Rottenmeier displays criminal tendencies in a bid not to lose her power inside the Sesemann’s household. The moral element is indeed present but bears no relation to nature; instead it is linked to the presence of innate human features. Likewise, a more recent Heidi (Markus Imboden, 2001) portrays an orphan who is taken to Berlin by her aunt Dete, a successful fashion designer, to become the companion of her very own daughter, Clara, an emotionally deprived teenager, who has no interest in becoming friends with her younger cousin or letting her steal the little attention she receives from her own mother. As in its hypotext, Heidi longs to return to the mountains to be with her grandfather and her friend Peter and manages to do so by the end of the movie. The film leaves out the Sesemann household completely, and Heidi’s good nature is juxtaposed on this occasion with her overindulged and far from empathetic cousin. As it is an appropriate story for family audiences and for children, in particular, Spyri’s work has also been transformed several times into animated versions. In spite of a tendency to consider animated versions of classical literary works “unholy” (Wells, 2007: 199), the fact is that Heidi’s cartoons have become cult viewing for more than one generation of audiences. The most celebrated animated version of Heidi is, without a doubt, the renowned 1974 TV series Arupusu no Shôjo Haiji, Japanese for Heidi, Girl of the Alps, which marked the beginning of the ‘anime-boom’ in Japan (Fornasari, 2018: 365). The series, which was produced by Zuiyo Enterprises and directed by Isao Takahata, faithfully transferred the adventures of the Swiss character onto the screen in 52 33 Heidi goes Kawaii episodes. As Fornasari (2018: 367) points out, its popularity helped to establish the unmistakable appearance of the characters - drawn by Oscar-winner Hayao Miyazaki - in the popular imagination: Heidi as a dark-haired, rosy-cheeked girl, Clara as a pale, blonde girl dressed in blue sitting in a wheelchair and Fräulein Rottenmeier as the strictest and most hardhearted woman in the history of television, with her tight bun and her pince-nez. The anime also included one of the most iconic characters, namely the dog Josef, which never appeared in the novel, but was created by the Japanese authors to add some comic and charming episodes to the story. In 1982, the powerful producers Hanna-Barbera Cartoons developed another animated version of Spyri’s creation. In the form of a musical, Heidi’s Song deviates greatly from its hypotext, both in terms of content and in the values it aims to convey. When Heidi is in Frankfurt, Peter and the country animals come to rescue her. Together with Clara, the three escape back to the mountains. When Clara’s father returns to Frankfurt, however, he is angered to see that his daughter has disappeared and immediately leaves for Switzerland to bring her back. Meanwhile, Rottenmeier and the butler Sebastian, who in this version plays an equally evil character, take the opportunity to flee. Up on the mountain, Clara is attacked by a hawk and, when she crawls out of her wheelchair to use a stick to fight it off, she discovers that she is able to stand. In keeping with the spirit of the novel, the film portrays the fears and longings of its two main characters, namely Heidi and Clara, in their process of growing up: on the one hand, it depicts Clara’s coming of age and her yearning for romantic love; on the other, it shows Heidi’s fears which are condensed in a few scenes and are those of every child (darkness, the unknown, being lost or losing loved ones). This interpretation of Spyri’s works is meant to please the palates of American audiences, as it embraces the most American of film genres, namely the musical, and includes a hint of romance in the story. Indeed, this merging of reality and imagination in the depiction of characters, together with the presence of musical numbers have become typical features of animated movies, particularly those by Walt Disney. In 2015, Heidi 3D, a Franco-Australian co-production of a total of thirty-nine episodes, marked the fortieth anniversary of the anime Heidi, the Girl of the Alps. Even if this CGI-animation remake also draws inspiration from the original novel, it mainly models itself on the Japanese animation series. The physical resemblance of the main characters in the two series is very obvious, even if the most recent adaptation offers more colorful and detailed versions of their anime predecessors. Despite the series being considerably shorter, as a hypertext, it manages both to expand the plot and to develop the characters by being far 34 Lorena Silos Ribas 5 Other examples include Anne of Green Gables (Montgomery, 1908), The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (Twain, 1876-1878) or Three Thousand Leagues in Search of Mother (loosely based on Heart, by Edmondo de Amicis, 1886), all of which were also directed by Isao Takahata. Nippon Studio and BRB International, a Spanish animation studio, were also responsible for the adaptation of other classics such as Around the World with Willy Fog (based on Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days, 1872), Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds (based on Alexander Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, 1844) or Maya the Bee, 1912 (based on the eponymous book authored by Waldemar Bonsels). more interpretive. It even allows the viewer to empathize with one of the main protagonists, the ever-loathed Rottenmeier and depicts her as a more vulnerable and sympathetic figure. In general, all the characters are re-examined and given individual story arcs: from Peter, who finds out he can be good at school, to the grandfather, whose past is gradually revealed, as well as Clara or her grandmother. The series is thus able to develop and somewhat re-invent the original characters, allowing them to leave behind the two-dimensional figures of the first animated version and to provide new insights into their personalities and backgrounds, which were concealed or only implied in the hypotext. 3 Analysis As mentioned in the introduction, and according to Cartmell and Whelehan (2007: 34), adaptations of literary works for television, unlike their cinematic counterparts, have often been excluded from the realm of adaptation studies, despite their popularity from the 1970s onwards, and have been - more often than not - subject to pejorative judgments from scholars and critics, one of the most common being that they reflect television’s tendency towards “conservative programming in contrast with the more innovative proposals of cinema” (Cardwell, 2007: 183). Spyri’s Heidi was one of the many works of literature which was turned into an animated television series 5 in the 1970s and early 1980s, as part of a surge of adaptations of classical works of literature aimed for the small screen which made their way into most Western households. The first Heidi animated TV series partly fits into the definition of transpo‐ sition as established by Wagner “in which a novel is directly given on the screen, with the minimum of apparent interference” and in which the film is frequently “envisaged as a book illustration” (Wagner, 1975: 222). Transpositions re-tell in a different platform or genre the content of the story, but nonetheless preserve characterization of figures and the chronotope of the original text (cf. McCallum, 2018: 38). In this regard, the first twenty-five episodes of Takahata’s version closely follow both the plot and even parts of the dialogues of Spyri’s original and also retain the voice of a female narrator, who, as if she were Johanna Spyri 35 Heidi goes Kawaii 6 The reference to the so-called “Verdingkinder” is subtle, but clear. In Switzerland, “Verdingkinder” were orphans, children born into poor families or out of wedlock who were given to other families who needed cheap labour to work on farms or in factories. herself, sides with the character of Heidi. Nonetheless, from the appearance of Clara’s grandmother in chapter 27, the animated version deviates remarkably from its hypotext: as mentioned before, the religious message conveyed by Clara’s grandmother is silenced and this female character is more intensely profiled in order to forge an educational counterpart to Rottenmeier and, most importantly for my research, the figure of Rottenmeier herself is granted more of a central role than in the novel, as will be shown in the analysis. The more recent 3D version Heidi rather conforms to the idea of reversion, in which a film may seek to interrogate the values portrayed in the source text, and potentially update it or its adaptations (cf. McCallum, 2018: 20). In this regard, the dialogical (Bakhtin) dimension of the second animated series is thus far more evident. Heidi 3D, as noted above, enables a deeper exploration of the characters. The plot gains in importance, while several storylines aim to strengthen the bonds between the characters. Among the child figures, for instance, Peter and Heidi are also confronted with a group of children in the village, in order to underline the goodness of those living higher up in the mountains - again strengthening the dichotomy between society and nature. Indeed, even if these children are depicted as selfish and as bullies, Peter and Heidi do not hesitate to offer help whenever they need it. With regard to Heidi’s grandfather, while the anime is very vague about his past, the 3D version - just like the original novel - more clearly addresses the presence of a “past”, from which he would like to escape: he feels guilty for the death of his only son, Heidi’s father, who died in an accident when they were working together. The 3D series also creates a completely new subplot with the love story between Aunt Dete - who in this version works as a maid and cook at the Sesemann’s house - and Sebastian, the butler, who not only keeps the vis comica he has in the novel and in the first animated version, but is also granted a more endearing character. All female figures are explored in more detail in the most recent series. The character of Aunt Dete, for example, is developed in a completely different way than in the anime or the novel, in which she appears to be a negative character, rough and selfish, who does not really care about Heidi’s needs but rather about her own financial survival, and is willing to let her fall victim to whatever destiny awaits her: “(W)enn Ihr’s nicht haben könnt, so macht mit ihm, was Ihr wollt, dann habt Ihr’s zu verantworten, wenn’s verdirbt, und Ihr werdet wohl nicht nötig haben, noch etwas aufzuladen” (Spyri, 1978: 11) 6 . Furthermore, both in the novel and the first animated version, she finds an 36 Lorena Silos Ribas Indeed, towards the end of the second novel (Heidi kann brauchen, was es gelernt hat), Mr. Sesemann reassures Heidi’s grandfather that nothing will ever happen to Heidi, when he dies: “Ich verspreche Ihnen; nie in seinem Leben soll dieses Kind hinaus, um unter fremden Menschen sein Brot zu verdienen; dafür will ich sorgen, auch über meine Lebenszeit hinaus.” (Spyri, 1978: 192) 7 The religious element is present in the first animated series (1974) in episode 46, in which Clara reads the psalms for Peter’s blind grandmother. It is an important moment in the series, because Clara suddenly feels less “disabled”, as she is able to help others and be useful in the community. However, the content of the psalm does not appear to be relevant for the evolution of the characters or the plot. excuse not to have to travel back to Switzerland with Heidi, when the child falls ill and the doctor advises her to return to the mountains (Spyri, 1978: 102). In contrast, her 3D version regrets having left her in the mountains, cares about the feelings of the child and always tries to act in her best interest. Although she still retains some of the original’s flaws, she is more far more caring and has lost the roughness in manners and behavior which define her anime predecessor. And, in the final episode, she is able to apologize to Heidi’s grandfather for having taken Heidi away from him (Nakajima, Takahata, 1974: episode 39). As regards Frau Sesemann, Clara’s grandmother, she would deserve a chapter of her own, since her transformation from the page to the screen is very revealing and ideologically loaded: in Spyri’s novels, she is, as has been noted before, the person responsible for “converting” Heidi by teaching her how to pray. In both animated versions, the religious content is silenced 7 , but Frau Sesemann is still a mentor for Heidi, since she not only teaches her how to read but also inspires in the child a love of reading and learning and thus becomes Rottenmeier’s pedagogical counterpart. 3.1 Characterization of the figure of Fräulein Rottenmeier in Spyri’s novels The analysis of the figure of Rottenmeier will be conducted on the basis of both (a) linguistic and (b) audiovisual features. The literary characterization of Fräulein Rottenmeier in Spyri’s text will be examined by observing stylistic markers on three levels (as in Culpeper, 2001): what the narrator says about her, what other characters say or how they react around her, and her own utterances and behaviors. The first description we read of this figure in Spyri’s novel, portrays her as a weighty and solemn being: Die letztere saß sehr aufrecht an einem kleinen Arbeitstisch und stickte. Sie hatte eine geheimnisvolle Hülle um sich, einen großen Kragen oder Halbmantel, welcher der Persönlichkeit einen feierlichen Anstrich verlieh, der noch erhöht wurde durch 37 Heidi goes Kawaii eine Art von hochgebauter Kuppel, die sie auf dem Kopfe trug. Fräulein Rottenmeier war schon seit mehreren Jahren, seitdem die Dame des Hauses gestorben war, im Hause Sesemann, führte die Wirtschaft und hatte die Oberaufsicht über das ganze Dienstpersonal. (my italics, Spyri, 1978: 47-48) This description of Rottenmeier as an imposing figure, who observes others from a distance with a good deal of arrogance and superiority is underlined not only in the narrative descriptions, but also through the utterances by Rottenmeier herself and by the characters who surround her. Her positioning on a higher plane, which reflects both her haughtiness and her lack of empathy, is evident from the first encounter: to present themselves for the first time to Rottenmeier, Dete and Heidi must climb a flight of stairs (Spyri, 1978: 48) and the lady’s immediate reactions to the girl are proof of her coldness and authoritarian attitude: “forschend das Kind ansehend” (Spyri, 1978: 48) or “sich langsam erhebend” (Spyri, 1978: 48). In the narrative, Rottenmeier rules over the domestic space of the Sesemann house and also sets the timetable in the home. She, thus, controls time and space and hence other people’s actions. Indeed, on more than one occasion, she becomes the obstacle that prevents other characters from moving within the space, whether leaving or entering the house or moving freely around its rooms (Spyri, 1978: 71, 73 and 126). She is essentially a repressive figure, who hinders any sign of development in the two children under her tutelage. She confines Clara to the idea of womanhood which she herself believes in and does not allow her to expand her interests or to behave like a child of her age. Bound as she is to her wheelchair, Clara is also tied to Fräulein Rottenmeier’s very peculiar understanding of childhood. On the other hand, Heidi, who is likewise exposed to Rottenmeier’s suppressive manner, tries to shield herself from the latter’s attempts to mold her: not only does the governess try to prevent Heidi from reading when she sees that books trigger in the child very vivid emotions (Spyri, 1978: 89), but neither does she allow her to show any happiness or sorrow: as Heidi herself admits to Herr Sesemann, “[weinen] darf man nicht, Fräulein Rottenmeier hat es verboten” (Spyri, 1978: 99). It seems as though Fräulein Rottenmeier, in all her bleakness and severity, cannot let others experience joy or sadness. The gravity of the character stands in contrast to her almost neurotic reac‐ tions at the most insignificant details, which are also supported by a behavior that reveals her need to control herself and to suppress her own emotions: Jetzt kam Fräulein Rottenmeier wieder ins Zimmer zurück; sie hatte die Dete nicht mehr zurückrufen können und war sichtlich aufgeregt darüber, denn sie hatte dieser eigentlich gar nicht einlässlich sagen können, was alles nicht nach Abrede sei bei dem 38 Lorena Silos Ribas Kinde, und da sie nicht wusste, was nun zu tun sei, um ihren Schritt rückgängig zu machen, war sie um so aufgeregter, denn sie selbst hatte die ganze Sache angestiftet. Sie lief nun von Studierzimmer ins Esszimmer hinüber, und von da wieder zurück, und kehrte dann unmittelbar wieder um und fuhr hier den Sebastian an, den seine runden Augen eben nachdenklich über den gedeckten Tisch gleiten ließ, um zu sehen, ob sein Werk keinen Mangel habe […] Mit diesen Worten fuhr Fräulein Rottenmeier an Sebastian vorbei und rief nach der Tinette, mit so wenig einladendem Ton, dass die Jungfer Tinette noch mit viel kleineren Schritten herantrippelte als sonst gewöhnlich und sich mit so spöttischen Gesicht hinstellte, dass selbst Fräulein Rottenmeier nicht wagte, sie anzufahren; um so mehr schlug ihr die Aufregung nach innen. “Das Zimmer der Angekommenen ist in Ordnung zu bringen, Tinette”, sagte die Dame mit schwer errungener Ruhe; “es liegt alles bereit, nehmen Sie noch den Staub von den Möbeln weg.“ (Spyri, 1978: 53) Similar descriptions follow (“mit strengem Gesicht … mit tiefem Seufzer … im grossen Ärger rufend” [Spyri, 1978: 55]) and they all contribute to outlining the portrait of this figure: stern, uptight and emotionally repressed. Such uptightness is also revealed in the description of her non-verbal communication, with Rottenmeier perpetually wringing her hands and clenching her fists (Spyri, 1978: 59, 71). Besides those gestures, other traits help define the repressed personality of this character, above all her incapacity to express her own feelings or let others express theirs: “‘Es ist genug’, wollte Fräulein Rottenmeier rufen; aber vor Aufregung tönte ihre Stimme gar nicht mehr” (Spyri, 1978: 65) and immediately after “Fräulein Rottenmeier saß weiß vor Entrüstung da und konnte erst keine Worte für ihre Empfindungen finden” (Spyri, 1978: 69). As mentioned above, through their utterances and gestures, the rest of the characters in the novel also support this definition of Rottenmeier’s personality. Sebastian, the butler, for instance, often refers to her using irony (Spyri, 1978: 60) or direct criticism. He describes her as being ready to explode “Fräulein Rottenmeier sieht aus wie eine geladene Kanone” (Spyri, 1978: 65) or refers to her as “die furchtsame Dame” and goes on laughing (Spyri, 1978: 1978: 66): “Sebastian ging gleich an die Arbeit und kicherte beständig vor sich hin, den er dachte: ‘Das wird noch was absetzen! ‘ und der Sebastian sah es nicht ungern, wenn Fräulein Rottenmeier ein wenig in Aufregung geriet” (Spyri, 1978: 66). Sebastian’s perception of Rottenmeier is strengthened by Clara’s father, who is clearly aware of the animosity between his two employees: “Es war Herr Sesemann nicht entgangen, dass Sebastian und Fräulein Rottenmeier sich nicht eben mit Zuneigung betrachteten” (Spyri, 1978: 94). One of the most memorable episodes in the first novel involves the appear‐ ance of a “ghost” in the Sesemann house. During a couple of nights, the whole 39 Heidi goes Kawaii 8 “Zweitens wird das Kind vom Heimweh verzehrt, so dass es schon fast zum Geripplein abgemagert ist und es noch völlig werden würde […]” (Spyri, 1978: 98-99). household is in search of whatever or whoever may be the cause of noises that are heard during the night: The source of the racket turns out to be Heidi’s sleep-walking, but Rottenmeier is positively convinced that an ancestor of the Sesemann family has come back to his home in search of something and her irrationality causes amusement among the servants and Herr Sesemann. This contrast in her personality - her being so strict and her belief in the imaginary - make her appear unreliable and fickle and underline the negative perception of the figure. At the end of the first novel (Heidis Lehr- und Wanderjahre), Heidi needs to return to Switzerland. She suffers from a depression that is leading to anorexia 8 and Doctor Classen, the family doctor, orders that she immediately returns to her grandfather and breathes the “heimatliche Bergluft” (Spyri, 1978: 99) again. Rottenmeier is happy to see Heidi go back to her mountain and her own narrative in the story finishes when the child leaves Frankfurt. She does not even consider the idea of accompanying Clara to the Alps when the latter starts to plan her trip to visit Heidi together with her father and her doctor. Although Rottenmeier claims that she does not want to impose, in the letter that Clara writes to Heidi to let her know about their arrival, she explains that Rottenmeier “shuddered” (Spyri, 1978: 157) after Sebastian’s descriptions of the heights and precipices in the Alps. Again, by trying to hide her own emotions, Rottenmeier comes across as a somewhat deceitful person, someone who is unable to come to terms with her own fears and shortcomings. In the novel, Rottenmeier is not mentioned again after that, not even after Clara succeeds in walking again. The character disappears abruptly, and the narrative concentrates instead on Clara’s healing in the mountains and on the religious and social conversion of Heidi’s grandfather. It is precisely the trip to the mountains that presents the main transformation in the character of Rottenmeier from the novel to the screen, since in both of the animated series the governess does accompany Clara to Switzerland to visit Heidi and this journey triggers a clear conversion in her and in her relationship to her environment, most particularly in the most recent version. 3.2 From anime to CGI: Rottenmeier’s evolution in the world of animation As mentioned above, the character of Fräulein Rottenmeier in Takahata’s version essentially replicates her literary predecessor in her attitudes and utterances, particularly in the first half of the series. As in the novel, the series 40 Lorena Silos Ribas makes use of visual aids to convey the same traits to the character. Dete and Heidi need to climb a flight of stairs on their arrival at the Sesemann’s house to present themselves to Rottenmeier (Nakajima, Takahata, 1974: episode 20, 02: 33), she occupies the head position at the table (Nakajima, Takahata, 1974: episode 20, 05: 14) as symbol of her authority in the domestic realm, and her neurosis and sternness are also an engrained part of her character. However, in episode 32, Clara starts re-defining both the character of her governess and her own personality by blaming Rottenmeier directly for Heidi’s sickness and labeling her as “inhuman” (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 34, 21: 39) because she tries to suppress Heidi’s emotions, for instance by not letting the child remember the mountains or speak about them (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 34, 12: 58). In spite of everything, particularly despite Clara’s refusal, Rottenmeier is the one to travel with the child to the Alps to visit her friend, once Heidi is advised to leave Germany and return to her grandfather. Once up in the mountains, the governess is unable to adapt to rural life; more than that, she aims to reproduce her timetable and behaviors from Frankfurt in Switzerland and tries to enforce her habits in the world of Grandfather’s cabin - and obviously fails to do so. Nonetheless, her rigidity wanes slightly when it comes to protecting Clara from what she believes could threaten her and she dares to go out in the middle of a storm together with Heidi’s grandfather to find the children, who are out on an excursion (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 46). In order to do so, she puts on a pair of trousers, transgressing in doing so all her self-imposed norms and causing Clara to admit to her grandmother, who has come to visit her granddaughter in Switzerland, that Rottenmeier has changed a good deal (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 47, 09: 45). However, seeing that the governess finds it very difficult to cope with life in the Alps, Frau Sesemann orders her to travel back to Frankfurt. This forced distancing from her beloved Clara clearly upsets her and, in tears, she confesses to Frau Sesemann that she will miss the child (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 48, 04: 34). These are, however, minor transformations that do not alter the perception of the character as a whole: Rottenmeier is still stern and harsh, most particularly in contrast with the other characters, and the narrative of the series also contributes to portraying her in a negative light, for only after Rottenmeier’s return to Frankfurt is Clara able to walk again. As in the novel, this first series makes Rottenmeier disappear in the last episodes, those in which Clara thrives in nature and the friendship and purity of the mountains make her succeed in walking again. Although Rottenmeier does reappear in the final episode, instead of showing joy at Clara’s overcoming her disability, she is depicted as forcing 41 Heidi goes Kawaii her to make more of an effort and is once again portrayed as being strict and not very empathetic. In contrast, the 3D series offers, on the whole, a more lovable portrait of the character and attempts to find an explanation for Rottenmeier’s somewhat irrational and extreme behaviors. It is obvious that the character of the stern governess cannot be drastically mellowed and, in the chapters after her first appearance, Rottenmeier is still severe, little empathetic and her body language reminds viewers of the previous depictions, with her mouth tightening and her fists clenching time and again. However, her uptightness and arrogance gradually decline. She is introduced in episode 14, as Aunt Dete and Heidi arrive in Frankfurt. When they get to the Sesemann’s big house, Dete grabs the lion-shaped knocker on the door. The knocker then visually merges into Rottenmeier’s face, but this first close-up, despite the animalistic comparison, reveals clear differences with her anime predecessor: Rottenmeier’s face is rounder, her eyes are blue instead of grey and her nose and cheeks are speckled with freckles, which provide her with a more youthful and happier appearance. She also has hints of ornamentation on her outfit and her gown is of a light tone of purplish blue in contrast to that of her forerunner, who wore black or dark blue. Her whole figure is plumper, and more matronly in comparison to her gaunt and more stiff anime model. All these new traits contribute to the rounding of the edges of this character, both literally and figuratively. After their first encounter, Rottenmeier does not seem to be keen on Heidi; however, she is generous enough to give her an opportunity and let her stay, whereas in both the anime and the novel, she is forced to keep the child in the house, because Dete leaves her behind to return to her job. As mentioned before, Rottenmeier’s positioning in the domestic space is very relevant to the analysis, since it underlines her domineering and authoritarian attitude. However, in the 3D series, Dete and Heidi do not need to climb any stairs to meet the governess, and in the dining room Rottenmeier does not sit at the head of the table anymore, but occupies a seat on one of the sides and in front of the children, as if they were all equal to one another (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 15, 13: 28). She is also more compassionate and understanding towards Heidi; soon enough, she realizes that Clara’s mood has improved since the arrival of the Swiss girl (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 16, 11: 59). She half regrets having to be hard on Heidi (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 16, 07: 03), is able to congratulate her warmly when she starts reading (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 20, 03: 59) and rejoices at the friendship between the two girls, instead of trying to keep them apart. 42 Lorena Silos Ribas Rottenmeier’s attitude towards education is also overtly more modern than in her previous depictions. In this respect, the figure of the male preceptor, who is responsible for Clara’s education at home, also plays a very significant role. Whereas in the novel and the first animated series, he appears to be a well-balanced man, who is able to see the merits and virtues in Heidi (Spyri, 1978: 78 and Nakajima, Takahata, 1974: episode 25, 21: 39), the 3D series depicts him in a far less flattering manner. He is slimy, extremely severe and implements draconian methods in his teaching, such as having Heidi kneel down and hold heavy books in her hands until she reads a sentence correctly (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 19, 18: 44). The scene in which the preceptor is dismissed on account of his cruel approach to teaching is also relevant for the analysis: when the three adult female characters - Clara’s grandmother, Fräulein Rottenmeier and Dete - witness his brutality towards Heidi behind a closed door, they do not have a single qualm about confronting the ‘knowledgeable man’ to protect Heidi. The series clearly mocks and demonizes this character and, as a result, places Rottenmeier in a more positive light. Little by little, the second animated series aims to unstiffen Rottenmeier’s personality and attempts to explain the motivations behind her actions. For instance, while in the novel and in the anime she loathes cats for no apparent reason and behaves with extreme violence towards them when Heidi brings some kittens from the street, the 3D series reveals that she suffers from an allergy to all furry creatures (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 16, 05: 31). Most importantly, as will be shown subsequently, the series attempts to clarify the origin of her bitter personality. Episode 22 establishes a turning point in the evolution of Fräulein Rotten‐ meier. First of all, the viewer learns that she has a sister (in the previous depictions of the character nothing was known about her private life or her life prior to her working for the Sesemanns); a sister who has fallen ill and who is in need of care. Rottenmeier travels to look after her and, on her return, announces that she will leave the Sesemann’s household and accept a new position where her sister works, since Clara has found a new companion in Heidi. This causes quite an upheaval for both Heidi and Clara, who is terribly upset. When Heidi decides to leave the house to grant Rottenmeier the space she had next to Clara, Rottenmeier realizes how much she is needed. The affection she receives from the children has an effect on her: she is able to position herself both physically (she kneels down) and emotionally (hugs them) at the children’s level (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 22, 21: 30). Nonetheless, the main transformation of the character takes place - as expected - in the mountains. Rottenmeier accompanies Clara on her trip to the 43 Heidi goes Kawaii Alps to visit Heidi, once the young child leaves Frankfurt after falling ill with homesickness. Even if the governess finds it difficult to come to terms with the sparseness of the cabin and the roughness of mountain life, she is able to overcome all sorts of “complications” and even shows herself willing to adapt to this new environment and to incorporate new manners and habits. She, as a city dweller, is nonetheless able to predict the arrival of a storm, even before the grandfather does (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 34, 04: 30). It is precisely the storm episode that portrays Fräulein Rottenmeier in a new light, since she shows her courage when she goes up to the mountain on her own to find the children and the grandfather, who, she believes, are in danger, and she is even able to impress both Heidi and her grandfather with her ability to relate to the wild surroundings, finding a refuge and lighting a fire on her own (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 34, 19: 54). As suggested above, Rottenmeier’s past is also retrieved in the series through the appearance of an old friend of hers, Friedrich, who shows up at the mountain cabin looking for work. Although he is able to recognize her, she initially refuses to acknowledge her past or their friendship and threatens to leave the cabin and return to Frankfurt with Clara. Later, we learn that as a young woman Vera Rottenmeier, whose first name is mentioned here for the first time, had left her village, as she wanted to lead a better, more sophisticated life in the city. But, as she herself admits, she had left her heart in that small town. The mention of “heart” here could allude to a loving relationship with this “dear friend”, Friedrich, but also shed light on Rottenmeier’s bitterness and uptightness. In this respect, it is also remarkable that, as the two children try to escape and Clara hurts herself when Rottenmeier decides to leave for Frankfurt, she kneels down once again at the child’s level and exclaims: “It is all my fault” (Gonnard, Mouscadet, 2015: episode 36, 19: 03). One is left wondering if this “fault” and the regret linked to it refers to the whole course of her life and the void left by the denial of her feelings in favor of her goals. This reading would somehow challenge the more feministic approach of the series with relation to, for instance, the transformations in the characters of Clara’s grandmother or Dete, but would, however, fit into the (still) dominant perception of women as individuals subjected to the sphere of emotions, who unnaturally enter the realm of ambition, on the one hand, and authority, on the other hand, traditionally associated with masculinity. This gendered approach still defines contemporary television for children nowadays (see, among other studies, Martin, 2017) and, in spite of the attempts mentioned above, Heidi 3D is not an exception. 44 Lorena Silos Ribas Besides this consideration of gendered categories, the evolution of Fräulein Rottenmeier through the centuries also reflects certain developments within the field of pedagogy and education, which have witnessed the displacement of more authoritarian methodologies in favor of approaches that place the child in the center of the learning process, question the use of punishment and obligation and grant children more scope for their own development. Parallel to the evolution of teaching practices, interactions between children and adults also changed drastically throughout the twentieth century, and nowadays attitudes and manners towards children, such as the ones shown by the original Rottenmeier would be frowned upon and condemned by society. The evolution of this character is thus the result of both historical changes in the realm of education and also of a subtle form of censorship which has shaped audiovisual products for young children in recent years. In accordance with a tacit understanding between society and media, young viewers are meant to believe that the world is an idyllic place in which adults - above all, parents or guardians - would never be unkind to them. In this respect, unlike its hypotext(s), which showed the existence of threatening characters in the private realm, Heidi 3D is yet another example of a process of sugar-coating adult-child relationships in media for children and grants healthy interpersonal relationships the healing power that Spyri had attributed to nature in the 1880s. Bibliographical References Cartmell, D., Whelehan, I. (2007). The Cambridge Companion to Literature on the Screen. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cartmell, D., Whelehan, I. (2010). Screen Adaptations: Impure Cinema. Basingstoke: Palgrave McMillan. Cardwell, S. (2007). “Literature on the small screen: television adaptations”. In D. Cartmell, I. Whelehan (Eds.). The Cambridge Companion to Literature on the Screen. (181-197). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Culpeper J. (2001). Language and Characterisation: People in Plays and Other Texts. London: Routledge. Fornasari, E. (2018). “Adapting children’s literature for animated TV series: The case of Heidi”. Journal of Screenwriting Genette, G. (1992). The Architext: An Introduction. Berkeley: University of California Press. Genette, G. (1997). Palimpsests: Literature in the Second Degree. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Gonnard, C., Mouscadet, J. (2015). Heidi. France: Studio 100 Animation. 45 Heidi goes Kawaii Johnson, D. (2017). “Fidelity and Adaptation” In T. Leitch (Ed.). The Oxford Handbook of Adaptation Studies. (87-100). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hale, F. (2006). “The gospel of reconciliation and healing in the Alps: Johanna Spyri’s Heidi reconsidered”. Koers, 71, 519−34. Lefebvre, B. (2013). Textual Transformations in Children’s Literature: Adaptations, Trans‐ lations, Reconsiderations. New York: Routledge. Leitch, T. (2017). The Oxford Handbook of Adaptation Studies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Martin, R. (2017). “Gender and Emotion Stereotypes in Children's Television”. Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media, 61 (3), 499-517. McCallum, R. (2018). Screen Adaptations and the Politics of Childhood. London: Palgrave McMillan. Nakajima, J., Takahata, I. (1974). Heidi, Girl of the Alps. Japan: Zuyo, Fuji Television Network. Spyri, J. (1978). Heidi Lehr- und Wanderjahre / Heidi kann brauchen, was es gelernt hat. Hanau: Dausien. Stam, R (2000). “Beyond Fidelity: The Dialogics of Adaptation”. In J. Naremore (Ed.). Film Adaptation. (54-76). London: The Athlone Press. Stam, R. & Raengo, A. (2005). Literature and Film. A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Film Adaptation. Oxford: Blackwell. Usrey, M. (1985). “Johanna Spyri’s Heidi: The Conversion of a Byronic Hero”. In P. Nodelman (Ed.). Touchstones: Reflections on the Best in Children's Literature (232-242). West Lafayette: Children’s Literature Association. Wagner, G. (1975). The Novel and the Cinema. Farleigh Dickinson Press. Wells, P. (2007). “Classic literature and animation: all adaptations are equal, but some are more equal than others”. In D. Cartmell, I. Whelehan (Eds.). The Cambridge Companion to Literature on the Screen. (199-211). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 46 Lorena Silos Ribas AN ENGLISH GIRL IN THE STATES. The Impact of Context and Genre on the Film Adaptation of Roald Dahl’s Matilda Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández 1 Introduction Despite his remarkable forays in adult literature and autobiography with works like Boy, Going Solo, Tales of the Unexpected or Kiss Kiss, Roald Dahl will probably be remembered as one of the most salient authors of children’s literature of the second half of the 20 th century. His extensive bibliography includes titles like The Twits, James and the Giant Peach, The Witches, The BFG, or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, among many others. The global success of these stories has not, obviously, gone unnoticed by the film industry, and many of them have been adapted to the screen in the last decades. From Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (Margulies, Wolper, Stuart, 1971) to The BFG (Spielberg et al., Spielberg, 2016) through James and the Giant Peach (Burton, Di Novi, Selick, 1996) or Fantastic Mr. Fox (Anderson et al., Anderson, 2009), Dahl’s work has been recurrently enlivened with varying success. One of the most significant difficulties one must face when braving the endeavor of adapting these books is the complex backstory most of them share. Hidden behind the appearance of innocuous plots and light entertainment, Dahl’s narrative conceals a deep social critique that addresses myriad problems related to children, parenthood, education, and other core aspects of the past and present social fabric. In this regard, Matilda (Dahl, 1988; 2016) is not an exception. Matilda tells the story of a five-year-old girl. She is extremely intelligent and loves books. She lives with her parents, the Wormwoods, and her brother in England, but she is ignored by them. Her parents only pay her some attention to command her to stop reading and watch TV, which is what they always do, or to tell her that she is an ignorant, a cheat or a liar. At one point, she gets fed up with the situation and decides to teach her father a lesson; from that moment on, whenever he insults or mistreats her, Matilda takes revenge by playing different pranks on Mr. Wormwood, like putting superglue on his hat or hiding a speaking parrot in the chimney to scare him. When she goes to school, she finds another bully adult, the headmistress Miss Trunchbull, who hates children and abuses them verbally and physically. However, Matilda will develop an extraordinary magical power which will help her get rid of the tyrant Trunchbull. This apparently simple and children-oriented plot conceals quite serious topics such as the importance of educational methods, mistreatment, or adults’ totalitarian practices and lack of ethics (Mr. Wormwood’s illegal business with stolen cars being a good case in point), among others, which are quite relevant for the development of the story. Since its publication in 1988, more than 17 million copies of the book have been sold all over the world. Such literary success and impact inevitably grabbed Hollywood’s attention, and Matilda was finally turned into a film in 1996 under the direction of Danny DeVito. However, to what extent did the transition between two different media affected the original product? Which role did the Hollywood machinery play in this process? The present paper seeks to explore these and other questions as it builds on the assumption that the context of production/ reception together with the constraints of a given film genre play a major role in the decisions made when adapting a book into a film. On these bases, the following pages seek to meet the following objectives: - To analyze the impact of the aforementioned items on the film adaptation of Matilda (DeVito et al., De Vito, 1996). - To explore the extent of those changes in the characterization of the protagonist. - To determine whether the ambivalence of the character (a heroine for some, a villain for others) is maintained in DeVito’s movie. 2 Theoretical Framework Albeit it may seem a recent breakthrough in adaptation studies, the cultural/ con‐ textual angle has been part of the field for decades. According to Elliott (2014: 577), during the 50s, scholars like Asheim already pointed out the relevance of culture and contextual factors such as the industry and the audience in the eventual shape of film adaptations. Although the 70s, the 80s and part of the 90s were dominated by formalist theories, the mid-90s witnessed adaptation studies veer again towards context and its implications; in this vein, the research conducted by Cartmell, Whelehan, or McFarlane were paramount to cement the bond between the discipline and cultural and contextual theories (Elliott, 2014: 577-578). 48 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández Even if their approaches may differ in some tenets, scholars like Casetti or Hutcheon continued to intertwine the analysis of film adaptations and the myriad of elements forming their production backdrop (Elliott, 2014: 580-582). Theirs and other studies helped consolidate and expand the bibliography that turned the traditional balance of forces around in order to foreground the impact of cultural and contextual approaches, as formal aspects were backgrounded and embedded under the umbrella of the aforementioned perspectives. As Elliot (2004: 238-239) demonstrates by dissecting a number of adaptations from Victorian novels, the time of production, ideology, and cultural conceptions among other factors influence even those films that “pursue a hyperfidelity” to the original material. Therefore, adaptation could be defined as “a phenomenon of recontextualisation of a text, or, even better, of reformulation of its commu‐ nicative situation” (Casetti, 2004: 83), which is why attention should be shifted to the dialogue between text and context, an element that could be branched into the context of production and the prospective context of reception. The importance of these two items pinpoints a crucial and necessary compo‐ nent already underscored in previous passages: the film industry. In the case at hand, this agent is embodied by Hollywood and its influence in the final product. To some extent, Hollywood’s approach to literary adaptations tallies with French auterists’ tenets: film adaptation is a way to democratize literature and a means to make it reach a wider audience (DeBona, 2010: 4). According to DeBona (2010: 5), the mainstream American film industry, either consciously or unconsciously, resumes Bazin’s seminal concept of “mixed cinema” together with some of its pillars. In like vein, Hollywood tends to craft a digest of the original that galvanizes its acceptability by watering down some of the aesthetic complexities included in the source text. This florid description hides but a commercializing strategy that seeks to widen the potential scope of the product, oftentimes supplemented with the ancillary changes that might be made depending on the specifics of the prospective audience. This is where film genre plays, in our view, a major role. It is not within the purposes of this chapter to delve into the heated debate triggered by potential definitions of film and literary genre, nor to advocate a particular position in this unrelenting discussion. To explore such issues, we recommend readers to turn to the way more substantive works by scholars like Altman (1984), Bennet (1990) or Browne (1998), among others. Even at risk of being criticized for its apparent simplicity, the present paper will rely on Grant’s (2007) ideas to craft a straightforward definition of film genre. Thus, the following pages will conceptualize “genre” as a group of films that shares a number of common elements, addresses spectators in a particular manner and intends to offer a 49 An English girl in the States specific range of experiences and emotions to the audience (Grant, 2007: 4). The significance of the prospective receivers posited by this definition dovetails with some of the ideas in the previous passages and with the particular genre in which Matilda is going to be framed: family films. In accordance to the definition of genre introduced before, Brown (2013: 2) portrays the “family film” as “a feature-length production explicitly designed for the joint consumption of adults and children, and received as such”. Even if family films encompass very different subgenres (musicals, action films, comedies, animation), they can still be understood as an overarching category that embraces diversity as it charts a map where structural, ideological, and emotional commonalities can be pinpointed (Brown, 2012: 11). According to Brown (2013: 2-4), the concept “family film” stems from Hollywood’s decision (compelled by the adoption and entry into force of the Motion Picture Produc‐ tion Code) of limiting and dimming adult content as they started targeting family audiences previously overlooked by the topics and tone that permeated most movies in the first breaths of the post-sound era. From that moment onwards, family films have evolved in several ways, but most of these transformations were guided by an identical purpose: welcoming and appealing to an extensive audience formed by different generations and age ranges. The inclusive and constantly expansive nature of this genre, together with the need to keep pace with social changes and communal tastes, makes it take myriad forms, especially from the early 80s onwards (Brown, 2012: 165). Thus, family films oscillate between the kindness, humor, and suburban trifles portrayed in Mrs. Doubtfire (Garces Williams et al., Columbus, 1993), the antics and mischief of a horde of little monsters named Gremlins (Finnell, 1984) and the impressive, high-on-special effects fratricidal battles between robots in Transformers (Di Bonaventura et al., Bay, 2007). Despite this transparent variety, Brown’s (2012) research on the genre proves that family films are prone to merge, not necessarily at once, certain customary features: a very limited (or total absence of) gore and sexual content, recurrence of humor and love, pedagogical bottom lines, happy and optimistic endings, fast-paced narrations, reliance on emotion and sensorial appeal, or the presence of fantastic and magical elements to name only a few. In addition, Brown (2012: passim) underscores that they also tend to share a series of underlying messages (the importance of family and friendship, good clearly overcoming evil, love as a driving force of human behavior) and purposes (fostering family unity, having a good time, relaxing, and escaping from daily routine).These and other traits can be slightly different depending on a decisive factor to understand the history and shape of family films: age rating. 50 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández The relationship between the film industry and these labels has changed over the years. For instance, Brown (2012: 193-194) affirms that in the 60s-80s period, the R rating (no children under 17 allowed without supervision) was positively perceived both by producers and consumers, so several films were written and shot to fit in this category. However, the content conveyed in these movies limited the breadth of the prospective audience; consequently, the 90s and the turn of the century witnessed an aim of growing standardization in the (low) levels of harshness and explicitness displayed by family films. Against this backdrop, age rates like PG (parental guidance is advisable) and PG-13 (parents strongly cautioned; inappropriate content for children under 13) gained traction while R-rated films became progressively less important in most-watched movies lists (Brown, 2012: 193). The result has been an even more encompassing notion of “family entertainment” that has rocketed the potential addressees and economic gains of any product presented under a family-friendly light (Brown, 2012: 193-194). Since most regular moviegoers are teenagers and young adults (Williams, 2012: 220), age rating seldom becomes a serious problem. However, scandals like those triggered by the allegedly tolerant rating of films like Gremlins or Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, led Hollywood to draw a thick line between pre-teen spectators and older audiences in order to strengthen the protection of young children (Antunes, 2017: 2-4). In this vein, films that were considered rather innocuous in the 80s would now immediately qualify for a PG or even a PG-13 rating. In addition, we shall not forget that the current context of reception of these types of films has torn down continental and transoceanic borders. American productions are now consumed globally and in consequence, the all-inclusive nature of the genre should be achieved with a kaleidoscope of preferences and inclinations in mind. As Brown (2012: 3) describes, one of the main objectives of family films is to reach global audiences by delivering products that blur differences beyond ages and generations to overcome other divisive labels like race, gender, or religion as well. This implies a careful consideration of the acceptability patterns that apply not only in the context of production, but also in a variety of potential contexts of reception worldwide. Consequently, age rating overprotective tendency is also informed by global distribution and commercial expectations overseas. Both in the origins of the family film and in its most contemporary versions, literary adaptations have been an essential piece to build the backbone of the genre. From Little Women to the Harry Potter saga, The Lord of the Rings, or The Chronicles of Narnia (Brown, 2012) several productions have attempted (sometimes for good, sometimes for ill) to take stories from the page to a 51 An English girl in the States screen most families worldwide can comfortably sit in front of. As stated in the introduction, Dahl’s writing has recurrently drawn the attention of film directors and screenwriters, and Matilda, one of his most acclaimed and influential works, could not be an exception. However, the film is in fact “exceptional” in several ways, including its inception. As it will be argued in upcoming sections, Matilda has indeed passed through the sieve of Hollywood’s apparatus in order to become a more commercial product that triggers the emotions spectators will expect to find in this sort of production. The film was age rated as PG, which basically implies that it should be accessible to unaccompanied children of any age, albeit parents should keep in mind some scenes may trouble younger or more sensitive infants. Consequently, we can see that some of the features and edges of the book outlined in the introduction have been either adapted or smoothed to craft a more palatable film for the audience it intends to reach. Nevertheless, some aspects that, considering the current state of affairs in this regard may not match the standards of a PG family film, have been included in DeVito’s adaptation of the book. Albeit he eventually crafted a toned-down version of Dahl’s story, this did not prevent Mara Wilson, the protagonist, from feeling a little scared when she first read the script or mothers from leaving the theatre with their children before the film was over during its first screenings (Vilas-Boas, 2016). This apparent challenge of conventions and assumptions illustrates a tug of war between the studio and the will of Dahl’s relatives. As Swicord (Vilas-Boas, 2016), one of the screenwriters of the film, states in an interview, after the release of movies like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971) or The Witches (1990), Dahl did not want another of his works to be adapted. Some of the changes made in the original stories upset the Welsh author, and he was extremely reluctant to let characters like Matilda “go on screen” (Pirnia, 2015). Any attempt to make an adaptation of Matilda should therefore meet two requirements: maintain the essence of the original and have the approval of the author’s family, something Swicord and Kazan got after working for free on the script for a whole summer (Vilas-Boas, 2016). The film was eventually shot, but this story transcended the category of an anecdote and operated as a constraint that partly shaped the final product. As our subsequent analysis will show, Matilda flouts some generic and rating maxims in order to achieve a delicate balance between commercial aspirations, specific genre features, and a compulsory fidelity to the source funneled through the decisions of the screenwriters, which were in turn strongly determined by the expectations of the author’s next of kin. 52 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández The clash between the studio and Dahl’s family regarding the level of faithfulness the film should show helps bring up another controversial concept that has underpinned adaptation studies since its first steps as a nascent discipline: fidelity. Grosso modo, fidelity could be defined as “the extent to which a given aesthetic object - traditionally, in adaptation studies, a film - reflects a faithful understanding of its source - traditionally, a literary text, especially a novel, play or short story” ( Johnson, 2017: 87). Rarely has a concept so central in the forge and discussions of a discipline arisen such a heated rejection by many of the scholars working inside its margins. One of the foundations of the criticism against fidelity studies can be found in Bluestone’s pivotal work Novels into Film (1957: 4-5) where he challenges old truisms (like the apparently indispensable replication of the spirit of the text in the motion picture, or the assessment of the quality of the film according to its parallelisms with the book) in order to address adaptation as a process of mutation conducted in a media that follows different narrative patterns than those of literary works. Subsequent scholars like Naremore and Murray (as cited in Johnson, 2017: 91-92) built on Bluestone’s ideas, seeking to escape the anchor of fidelity to explore new horizons that include points of focus like the roles and influence of the film industry, the commercial apparatus, or the prospective target audience among others. But either as a pervasive point of return or as the elephant asking for more popcorn in our living room, fidelity has hovered over a vast quantity of the research historically conducted on film adaptation. In fact, albeit some scholars consider it a long gone controversy, fidelity is still a topical issue some academic circles have revisited and used as a platform for current research. Relatively recent works such as Kranz’s and Mellerski’s (2008) or MacCabe’s, Murray’s, and Warner’s (2011) compendiums of essays evince this fact, even if contributions advocate for a nuanced approach that welcomes and encompasses several aspects beyond faithfulness. That said, the present paper does not revolve around the dual construct created by “faithful” or “unfaithful films”. On the contrary, it understands an adaptation as a product in its own right that “replicates but does not repeat” (Casetti, 2004: 83), that mutates and is shaped by the influence exerted by the macro and micro-agents that may be involved in the process: the new media of representation and its constraints, the film industry, the context of production and reception, ideology and culture, directors, screenwriters, or spectators, among others. In like vein, building our analysis on a comparison between the two products does not imply aligning our work with fidelity studies: our purpose is not to present (in)fidelity as something necessarily positive or negative, but rather to analyze modifications both in contextual features, the main topics 53 An English girl in the States addressed, and in Matilda’s characterization according to those parameters extensively discussed throughout this theoretical framework. 3 Methodology In order to explore the impact that factors like the context and genre have had on the film adaptation of Matilda at large and on the characterization of the little girl in particular, the following section will be divided as follows. Firstly, a comparative analysis between the novel and the film will be conducted. In this vein and in the first place, some major changes regarding contextual aspects will be underscored and explained according to the decisions made by the film industry with an eye on generic features and the intended audience. Secondly, several core topics of the novel will be examined so as to determine their relevance and role in the motion picture. “In order of appearance”, the paper will delve into issues like the place of literature and education, adults’ abuses and school mistreatment, and children’s − especially Matilda’s − uprising against the despotic attitudes of their elders. Finally, similarities and differences in the characterization of Matilda will be pinpointed. It is expected that this step fulfills a twofold purpose: on the one hand, to determine the extent to which context and genre have influenced the final shape of Matilda’s film incarnation. On the other, to explore whether this persona maintains the quirks that made the original Matilda as lovely as she can be hateful depending on the eye of the beholder. In order to explore the latter points on solid grounds, some explanations on the main topics of the book centralized on and triggered by the protagonist will be required. 4 Analysis 4.1 Setting: A trip from the UK to the US The plot of DeVito’s Matilda is quite faithful to Dahl’s novel and thus, rather similar to the description provided in section 1. The first and probably most obvious difference between the book and the motion picture is that, whereas the former is set in the United Kingdom, the plot of the latter unfolds in the United States. Therefore, some aspects from the book have been changed so that the story fits within the American setting where the action in the movie takes place. Even though these changes will not be relevant for the development of the main plot and characters, they will help to better adapt the story to the US and the Hollywood industry. For instance, the book pictures Matilda living in a small village in England, in a “quite nice a house with three bedrooms upstairs, 54 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández while on the ground floor there was a dining-room and a living-room and a kitchen” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 16). The film, on the other hand, portrays a modern, one-story house in the suburbs of an American town. There are some more details that help adapt the story to the US setting, like prices being given in dollars or children eating sweets like M&Ms, the American brand, instead of regular licorice in the book. Important as they may be, these are not the only changes worth mentioning. For instance, the book Matilda’s father tears to pieces in the novel and the presence of the FBI in the motion picture are two additional aspects that deserve due attention. The significance of both elements is highlighted not only for the Americanness they add to the film, but also because they resonate with two crucial points of this analysis: political (in)correctness and the role of magic as a reaction against adults’ misbehavior. In the first case, Mr. Wormwood arrives home quite angry from work. In the book, he notices Matilda is reading a book and he takes it from her hands. Matilda explains it is The Red Pony, and she tells her father: “It’s by John Steinbeck, an American writer”. “‘Filth’, Mr. Wormwood said. ‘If it’s by an American it’s certain to be filth. That’s all they write about’” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 34), and he tears the book to pieces. Mr. Wormwood’s reaction to this information is not represented in the same way in the movie. In this case, characters do not mention anything related to what book Matilda is reading, and the father does not treat the book as roughly; he just throws it on the floor, for destroying a literary work could be considered as an unethical and unacceptable example for those children watching the movie. Besides, these decisions help veil a clear aggression against the culture of both the country of production and one of the main target groups the film seeks to attract: American spectators. The second change brings the FBI to the story. Instead of talking about the police, the FBI is introduced in the film in order to tailor the production to a North American environment. Their presence is more relevant in the film than the police is in the book. While there are only scarce references to the police in the novel, the FBI’s investigation of Mr. Wormwood’s illegal business with pieces of stolen cars plays a bigger role in the film. This FBI presence is not only relevant for the context, but also because Matilda will use her magic powers in order to punish yet another reprehensible action from adults, as the FBI agents are registering the Wormwood’s garage without a legal order. Despite this, her encounter with the FBI is just one more example of Matilda’s power, and it does not imply any major change in the story or in the construction of the main character. Therefore, and considering the changes included in the film, it can be said that these differences are most of the times introduced to emphasize the 55 An English girl in the States 1 For instance, “Matilda was all of these things, but above all she was brilliant. Her mind was so nimble and she was so quick to learn that her ability should have been obvious even to the most half-witted of parents” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 4). 2 Some examples can be seen on pages 7, 27, 47 or 72 among others (Dahl, 1988; 2016). Americanness of the movie in contrast with the English context of the book. Among other considerations, the global projection of the film together with the meaning and expectations triggered by the concept “family film” may help us understand these modifications. According to Brown (2012: 191), the term “family film” does not exist in many countries, where people use labels such as “children’s film”, “action film” or even “American film” to refer to the different branches this extremely overarching genre encompasses. With that in mind, the latter designation may partly explain some of the modifications underscored hitherto. Films with some of the features displayed by Matilda are globally and almost intrinsically related to Hollywood and the American cultural machinery. The strength and range of this apparatus has also helped spread North American idiosyncrasies, getting to embed most of them in the collective imagination of people worldwide. In this vein, highlighting the “Americanness” of the film can be a way to meet the audience’s expectations whilst it also cements their identification with the events described on the screen. In the case of Matilda, none of the alterations mentioned above entails significant differences in terms of plot or characterization, but their introduction can be interpreted as a way to foreground the connection between the film and the Hollywood industry and favor a more global identification with the setting and cultural references. 4.2 Matilda: A character in letters, a character in motion and pictures 4.2.1 Literature and education Some of the main features that shaped the original Matilda are inextricably related to the core topics addressed by Dahl. Consequently, in this section we intend to explore the book’s and the film’s characterization of the little girl (and that of other characters that determine Matilda’s traits) through some of the central themes tackled throughout the pages of Dahl’s novel. If there is a prevailing feature defining Matilda’s character that is undoubtedly her passion for literature. It is not a coincidence, for example, that the book opens with a chapter titled “The Reader of Books”. Similarly, this connection is emphasized throughout the book via the light under which Matilda is described 1 , the myriad situations in which literature frames her actions (Matilda visiting the library, reading at home, etc.) or even the numerous illustrations crafted by Quentin Blake 2 that portray the little girl reading or with a book in her hands. 56 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández In the film, literature does also play an important role in Matilda’s life. Matilda is presented to the spectator as a very intelligent girl neglected by her family, whose parents would not take to school and with no friends, but despite this, books are her main help and consolation. The narrator underscores this fact when he says “these books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: you are not alone” (DeVito et al., De Vito, 1996: 07: 10). While the narrator is telling this, we can see the image of parents having fun with children at a park while Matilda sat alone under a tree with a pile of books. This unswerving bond between the protagonist and literature is not only a way to underline the importance of the latter, but also a gateway to one of the pivotal issues addressed in the book: education. Throughout the story, Dahl approaches several aspects linked to this field as, for example, the (in)appro‐ priateness of different methodologies, the impact the agents involved (family, instructors) in the teaching-learning process may have on children’s education, or the relevance of galvanizing reading promotion plans (Quiles Cerrillo, 2016: 150-158). The position the author holds with regards to these issues is easily inferable from, for instance, the portrait of some characters that represent the two poles of a continuum that connects negative and positive educational habits. On the former side we can include characters such as Mrs. and Mr. Wormwood or Miss Trunchbull, characterized in the book as simpletons, brutes, and even physically disgusting. The film maintains this tone when it comes to describe them. Whenever we see the Wormwoods on screen, they are either in front of the TV, yelling, or performing bad actions such as Mr. Wormwood’s cheating with car selling, or Mrs. Wormwood going to play bingo and leaving her little daughter home alone. The case of Miss Trunchbull is similar: the film presents a giant lady whose only purpose in life seems to be to scare, threaten and physically punish the children in the school she manages. If we are to look more in depth to Matilda’s parents, it must be said they are the opposite to her daughter. While Matilda loves books, there are no books at the Wormwood’s house, just a few magazines (and a cookery book mentioned in Dahl’s pages, not in the film). They prefer watching television instead and cannot work out why Matilda would rather read a book. In addition, while Matilda craves knowledge, her parents seem to give little importance to the girl’s intellectual development. The scene described in section 4.1 in which Matilda’s father destroys the book may be a good case in point: as he cannot understand the pleasure and enlightenment that stem from reading, he tears the book apart, thus severing one of the ties of her daughter to the joy and instruction she does not get at home. 57 An English girl in the States Besides and because of their inattention, Matilda starts school late. In the book, we are told that she starts half a year later than the rest of the children because her parents forget to make the arrangements. In the movie, they do not take her to school until she asks them to, which in both cases pinpoints how little they were worried about their daughter’s education. This is emphasized in the film in the scene when Matilda gets home after her first day of school: she finds her mother lying on the sofa and talking on the phone; when Matilda enters the house, her mother asks her how school was, but she does not stop chatting on the phone and ignores and even reprimands Matilda when she starts telling her about her new school. There are several passages in the book which are mirrored in the film and reflect the negative educational habits embodied by the aforementioned characters. A case in point occurs when Miss Honey visits Matilda’s parents to talk about how brilliant the little girl is. Mr. Wormwood would not let her go into the house when Miss Honey tells him she is Matilda’s teacher. In the book, he tells her that Matilda “is your responsibility from now on. You’ll have to deal with her” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 86) and in the film Miss Honey gets a similar response: “whatever it is, it’s your problem now” (DeVito et al., De Vito, 1996: 34: 25). When finally Miss Honey gets to talk to the parents, they confirm that there are no books at home “We don’t hold with book reading (…) we don’t keep them in the house” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 90), and the mother tells Miss Honey that “a girl should think about making herself look attractive so she can get a good husband later on. Looks is more important than books, Miss Hunky” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 91) or “a girl does not get a man by being brainy” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 92), which again shows the Wormwoods’ mentality towards education. If in Dahl’s story the Wormwoods are presented as careless parents who only pay attention to Matilda in order to reprimand her and consider her as a burden rather than a blessing, the case of Miss Trunchbull and the values she fosters and tries to instill also resonate with bad educational habits. Miss Trunchbull is the headmistress of the school, but she literally hates children and uses fear and threats as the basic means to educate them. In a similar way, the film depicts her as a “gigantic holy terror” and as a “fierce tyrannical monster”. What is more, when Dahl’s pages describe her, we learn Miss Trunchbull does not have any of the required qualities to be a headmistress. As the narrator tells us: “most headmasters (…) understand children and they have children’s best interests at heart. They are sympathetic. They are fair and they are deeply interested in education. Miss Trunchbull possessed none of these qualities and how she ever got her present job was a mystery” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 76). 58 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández As we can see, she is not entitled by studies or abilities to deal with children, and their instruction is of no interest to her. On the contrary, she is cruel, thinks all children are bad and describes girls as “nasty little things” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 80). Both in the book and in the film, she does not pay any attention to Miss Honey when she tries to convince her that Matilda is a genius and should be moved to a more advanced class, and attributes this suggestion to Miss Honey not being able to control the girl. In addition, her rule is that “all children remain in their own age groups regardless of ability (…) Whoever heard of such a thing! ” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 82-83). With this, it is shown how Trunchbull could not care less about Matilda’s education, for she does not see how a 5-year-old girl who knows how to read can be called a genius. By maintaining this adamant position and neglecting Matilda’s abilities she is also denying the girl the possibility of taping her full potential and dooming her to attend a group in which lessons could easily become boring and unchallenging for her. Hence, it could be concluded that these adults’ behavior regarding literature and education could be damaging for Matilda’s future, a frame of mind conveyed both in the book and in the film. The motion picture also conveys Miss Trunchbull’s dangerous attitude towards Matilda’s schooling and her parents’ questionable teachings that include praising the benefits of watching TV as opposed to those that stem from reading books, or not letting her go to school when the time came because it was more important that she stayed at home to pick up any parcel that could arrive. All things considered, a more pliable infant could have finally been convinced that reading habits and education in general would not bring anything good to her life. Fortunately, this does not happen, since there is an opposite end of the spectrum that encircles characters like Miss Honey (or Matilda herself) and counterbalances the aforementioned approach. In contrast to Miss Trunchbull, Miss Honey is presented both in the novel and in the film, as a young teacher who cares about her students, and helps them learn with motivating and creative techniques. Dahl defines Miss Honey as “lovely and fragile” and a polite young woman “adored by every small child under her care” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 60-61). She is an understanding teacher who cares for her students and treats them with love and respect. As opposed to Trunchbull, Miss Honey has studied to be a teacher at a Teachers’ Training College. In the chapter “Miss Honey’s Story”, the book reveals how she could not study a university degree because her aunt, Miss Trunchbull, did not allow her to enroll. In addition, Dahl describes here how Miss Trunchbull managed to take everything Miss Honey should have inherited when her father died and she became her legal tutor. The Trunchbull treated 59 An English girl in the States Miss Honey as a servant, she probably beat her, and therefore she lived in fear and felt like a slave when she was a girl. Because of the cruelty of the story, Miss Honey’s life is portrayed in a different manner on the screen. The way Dahl describes the teacher’s way of life and her past can be considered quite harsh for the audience of a family film. Through Dahl’s account, we learn Miss Honey lives in absolute poverty. Even though she works at the school, almost all her wages go directly to her aunt as, according to Miss Trunchbull, she owed her for having fed her all those years. She only gives Miss Honey one pound per week; therefore, she has to live in a farm-laborer’s cottage with no running water, electricity or furniture. She has no money for food, just for tea and some bread, while her aunt lives comfortably in Miss Honey’s house. All this might be (extremely) appalling for the intended audience of the motion picture and, for that reason, in the film adaptation Miss Honey’s life is not as hard. She has gone to college and become a teacher, she lives in a modest house but has everything she needs, and when she tells Matilda that Miss Trunchbull is her aunt, most of the details in the book about her life as a child are omitted or reduced to facts like Miss Trunchbull being strict, hiding his father’s portrait or not letting her eat her favorite chocolates. Either way, Miss Honey is presented in both accounts as the counterpart of Miss Trunchbull and, consequently, she represents a good influence for children regarding good educational habits. As opposed to Trunchbull’s disrespectful and abusive methods, Miss Honey treats her students with respect, and she applies motivating techniques which help them acquire new knowledge, as learning through poetry, having posters and the children’s work on the walls, working in groups, and creating a good classroom atmosphere so that students feel comfortable and willing to learn. As for the brilliant and extraordinary little girl that appears on screen, she shares several similarities with her literary counterpart. In this vein, both in the book and in the film, Matilda shows her love for books and teaches herself to read, write and do mathematics. She takes care of herself and becomes an independent little girl because her parents do not pay any attention to her, and when they do, it is just to criticize her behavior. In the same manner, Matilda is in both cases presented as a polite, determined and articulate character with an adamant attraction towards learning and going to school. Her passion for books and studies makes her admire Miss Honey and consequently criticize her parents and Trunchbull, and it is precisely her hate of the injustices that stem from the prejudicial educational models certain adults seek to impose what leads her to try to counteract them. 60 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández 4.2.2 Adult’s abuses and school mistreatment The previous description epitomizes another pillar of Dahl’s social criticism: adults’ abuse of power and school mistreatment. This is something suffered by other characters apart from Matilda, so this section will describe some relevant examples regarding adults’ misbehavior towards children and how the impact of such conduct leads the main character of the book and her cinematic alter ego to react against them. In both products, the two issues introduced in the heading are once again embodied by Matilda’s parents and Miss Trunchbull. Mr. and Mrs. Wormwood’s behavior towards Matilda is unbearable for her. She is constantly yelled at and told that she is a liar, an ignorant or a stupid girl when she says something intelligent or when she criticizes her father’s dark business. Regarding Miss Trunchbull, she is the other example of adults’ misbehavior towards children. Actually, Matilda’s parents and Trunchbull have several common aspects in how they treat our protagonist and it is even more emphasized in the film. For instance, at some point the film when her father is angry, he tells Matilda the following words to show her inferiority “I’m smart, you’re dumb. I’m big, you’re little. I’m right, you’re wrong and there is nothing you can do about it” (DeVito et al., De Vito, 1996: 16: 16). Similarly, and to make more noticeable for children that they are the antagonists, Miss Trunchbull uses almost the same exact words when she is reprimanding Matilda: “I’m big and you’re small and I’m right and you’re wrong and there is nothing you can do about it” (DeVito et al., De Vito, 1996: 50: 18). As Matilda’s parents, Miss Trunchbull also yells instead of speaking, uses abusive language and acts cruelly with those who contradict her, or just stand in her way. Both in the film and in the book Trunchbull is the protagonist of several passages in which she verbally and physically abuses the children in the school. The most notable examples in the novel are the day when Trunchbull throws a student through the window because he is eating licorice, the day she takes a little girl, Amanda, from her plaits because she does not like them and throws her with such a strength that the girl is sent out over the fence and out of the school premises, or when she lifts another student from his ears because he has given a wrong answer to a question. But maybe the most shocking one is the episode with Bruce Bogtrotter and the chocolate cake. The boy has apparently eaten a piece of cake which was Trunchbull’s. Now, she makes him eat an entire huge chocolate cake in front of all the children in the school. The kids’ reaction and the final outcome of this episode is of paramount importance in the story, and it is further discussed in section 4.2.3. Even though the film reproduces some of these episodes, Miss Trunchbull’s physical violence against children is slightly modified in some cases or omitted 61 An English girl in the States in others in what could be seen as an attempt to adjust the tone of the movie to its potential target audience. An example of the former would be the case of “flying Amanda”, which in the film has a more sugar-coated ending: after she is thrown by Miss Trunchbull, the child lands softly in a flower field. While she is sliding on the flowers, she takes a bunch of them which she lifts up to show her partners that she is fine. As for the omissions mentioned before, the book describes more violent scenes that were not included in the film due to their brutality, a decision that helps prevent the shock numerous aggressions against children could cause in an audience watching a PG rated movie. There are two clear examples that were overlooked in the film that can be found in Dahl’s account when Miss Trunchbull visits Matilda’s classroom. Firstly, she lifts a boy by his hair until he gives the correct answer to a maths question and then lets him go so that he ends up hitting the floor. In the second instance, Miss Trunchbull takes another student and holds him aloft by his ears until he is able to spell a word correctly. Regardless of whether they affect her or some of her classmates, Matilda’s reaction against the outrages committed by her parents or Miss Trunchbull is always the same. Both in the book and in the film, these abuses spark one of the protagonist’s most distinctive features: her role as an avenger who seeks to punish adults’ misbehavior. 4.2.3 Rebellion against power: Children strike back The previous list of events triggers another pivotal issue in Roald Dahl’s story: kids’ rebellion against adults’ attitudes and grievances. In this section, we will focus on analyzing how Matilda fights back adults’ misbehavior towards her and other children. As the following paragraphs will show, the little girl uses different strategies to fight her parents, especially her father, and Miss Trunchbull. This combative spirit is a central trait of the protagonist’s characterization and is conveyed - with minor differences - both in the book and in the movie, In the former, the actions Matilda performs to punish her father always come after one of his outbursts towards her. In the book, the reader is presented with the following events: the first time Matilda decides to have her own little victory over her father was when she asked him to have dinner in her bedroom so that she could read a book instead of watching TV. He denies her the possibility and it is then when Matilda first gets tired of being insulted and discredited. So, she puts some superglue on her father’s hat so that it sticks to his hair. When he arrives home, he cannot take it out and the next morning, her mother has to cut his hair to let the hat go. 62 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández The second punishment comes when Mr. Wormwood tears off a book from the library that Matilda is reading. Instead of crying, she remembers a boy who has a parrot that can speak. She borrows the parrot, takes it home and hides it in the chimney where no one could see it. In the evening, when they were having dinner, the parrot starts talking and making noise. The family notices a presence but cannot see anything or anybody, so they get so scared they run away from the house. The last of these actions against her father occurs when Mr. Wormwood is talking with his son about his earnings that day and makes him do some calculations on a piece of paper. Matilda is able to calculate in her head as her father is dictating the numbers to her brother and she immediately tells the result. First, his father tells her to shut up but then he looks at his paper and checks that Matilda’s answer is correct. Instead of congratulating her, he calls her a cheat and tells her she must have seen his paper before as it is impossible for her to have done those calculations on her own. Again, Matilda takes action and puts some of her mother’s platinum blonde hair dye in his father’s hair lotion, so the next morning her father’s hair is blonde. The film mirrors these scenes with some differences. Only the episodes of the superglue on the hat and the hair dye are presented, but the one involving the parrot is not included. The hat and the superglue scene takes place at Mr. Wormwood garage. He is there with his son and daughter explaining his dark deeds to sell more cars. Matilda considers these practices to be wrong and that is why she puts some glue she finds in the garage in his father’s hat. In a subsequent scene at a restaurant where the family is celebrating the mother’s earnings in the bingo, Mr. Wormwood tries, pathetically and unsuccessfully, to take it out making a fool of himself in front of his relatives and the other customers. The second prank Matilda plays on her father in the film is the hair dying after the calculations sequence; in this case, the events in the movie are rather similar to those narrated in the book. The last teaching that Matilda gives her parents as a rebellion against their bad actions is her refusal to go with them when they are leaving the country. At the same time this helps to show once again how little Matilda’s parents cared for her. In the book, Matilda tells them she wants to stay with Miss Honey. Mrs. Wormwood’s reaction is “It’ll be one less to look after”, to what the father replies that if she wants to stay: “It’s fine with me” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 232). In the film, this scene is treated in a slightly different way, probably as a means to pave the way for the less gloomy ending we will describe later. Matilda’s parents go to Miss Honey’s to pick Matilda up and they tell her they are leaving the country. Matilda asks Miss Honey to adopt her, and she takes the adoption 63 An English girl in the States papers from her schoolbag —she had them ready just in case something like this might happen— and makes her parents sign them. The adoption is therefore legally made, and we can even see a more emotional reaction on Matilda’s mother: “You’re the only daughter I’ve ever had, Matilda, and I never understood you, not one little bit”, but, as the narrator comments, this was maybe “the first decent thing they ever did for her daughter, the Wormwoods signed the adoption papers” (DeVito et al., De Vito, 1996: 1: 30: 25). As for her fight against Trunchbull, Matilda takes action not only as a response to direct attacks towards her but to other children in the book. For instance, in the event described before with Bruce and the chocolate cake, when the child ends up eating the entire cake, all his schoolmates cheer him and this is seen as a victory of all of them over Trunchbull, who gets even more enraged. Even though the scene is repeated in the film, there are small details that are presented differently in the movie. In this particular case, the film shows us Bruce suffering at some points, although in the book he never shows “sign of flagging or giving up” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 123). When we see the boy feeling he cannot stand it anymore, Matilda stands up and cheers him, which gives him the strength to go on. In the book, this happens when he has almost finished eating, and the narrator refers to “someone”, not Matilda in particular, who encourages him to make it. The ending and the consequences of this event are also slightly different: in the film, Bruce finishes eating the whole cake and when he does, there is cheering and clapping coming from the rest of the students. Trunchbull’s reaction in the book is taking the empty plate and crashing it on top of Bruce’s head. In the film, it is him who takes the empty plate and raises it up as a trophy, albeit Miss Trunchbull also ends up crashing the plate on his head. In addition, all students are compelled to spend five more hours at school copying the dictionary as a retribution for this collective offence. In addition, Matilda also takes action against Trunchbull due to her wicked behavior towards Miss Honey in the past. Miss Honey is Miss Trunchbull’s niece, but when her father died, Trunchbull kept Miss Honey’s inheritance and threw her out of her own house. The method to make Miss Trunchbull pay for her bad behavior is different from the strategies Matilda used against her father. This time, she would react against adults’ abuse of power through magic. This element plays a key role in Dahl’s story. A superheroine with the power of telekinesis which she uses only to face the adults’ mischievous actions is quite attractive for children, and at the same time it acts as the element for the final catharsis. Children’s stories and fairy tales have this as one of their main traits. As Sendak (1989: 151) proposed, “it is through fantasy that children achieve catharsis. It is the best means they have for taming the wild things”. In Matilda, 64 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández it is through the use of magic that readers get catharsis, especially when Matilda finally reestablishes order at the end of the story by using her magical power to get rid of “the wild thing” epitomized by Miss Trunchbull. At this point, it is worth mentioning that the use and treatment of the magic element is one of the most salient differences between the book and the film adaptation. Indeed, magic and its effects are more emphasized in the film, probably to adapt better to the expectations of family film spectators. Magic (at least the kind of magic that permeates Matilda) tends to imply “action”, and action is a mechanism to fast-track the pace of the events happening on the screen. Matilda’s magical element is thus a potential center of attraction and entertainment for the audience, especially for children, which is probably the reason why it has been fostered in the motion picture. By contrasting the book and the film, we can clearly see the latter includes more scenes concerning magic than the former. If we delve into the use of supernatural powers in the book, we can observe it is the rage that Matilda feels after seeing an injustice or being treated unfairly what gives her the power of telekinesis. Her magic only appears as a source of power to defeat the adults that are attacking her or other disempowered characters such as Miss Honey or other children, but she never uses it to attack her parents or for any other purpose. The reader’s first encounter with magic happens in the chapter entitled “The First Miracle” when Lavender, a girl in Matilda’s class, puts a newt in Miss Trunchbull’s glass of water. In order to frighten the headmistress, Matilda tumbles the glass with the power of her eyes and the newt jumps into Miss Trunchbull’s clothes. There is a “second miracle” when Matilda is able to show Miss Honey the power she has in her eyes, and a third one when she moves a chalk with her power and writes a message on the board for Miss Trunchbull. In this case, Matilda wants Miss Trunchbull to believe that the one who is writing is the ghost of Miss Honey’s father, and that he will come to haunt her if she does not do as he says. Because of the content of the message, Miss Trunchbull believes it is him, so she gets terribly scared and flees. It is in this way that she is finally defeated: Miss Trunchbull never comes back to school and Miss Honey gets back the inheritance her aunt unabashedly took from her. For its part, the film also features the scenes in which Matilda uses her supernatural abilities on the glass of water with the newt and the flying chalk that writes the message on the blackboard, but there are more episodes where magic becomes the protagonist. Actually, the first time we encounter Matilda’s magic powers in the film is early in the story, when her father forces her to watch TV. Being books Matilda’s main source of happiness, it is when her father 65 An English girl in the States gets angry because he sees her reading instead of watching TV that we get the first hint of Matilda’s magical powers. As she enrages because of her father’s act of keeping her head towards the television, the TV explodes. It is through the narrator that the connection between Matilda’s rage and the use of magic powers is introduced: “Was it magic or coincidence? She didn’t know. It is said that we humans use only a tiny portion of our brains. Matilda might never have discovered her own great strength of mind [zoom to Matilda’s eyes] were it not for the events that began the very next day” (DeVito et al., De Vito, 1996: 21: 37). Additionally, the last scene in the class is longer in the film and, with the help of magic, Matilda not only writes the message on the board but also throws the board rubbers to Miss Trunchbull, and makes her fly all over the classroom and out to the corridors so that the other children can throw food at her and see she has been defeated. What is more, Matilda also uses magic against the Trunchbull to scare her when she breaks into her house and changes objects from their places and takes things out of the house like some chocolates or Miss Honey’s doll. Contrary to what happens in the book, Matilda also uses her telekinetic power against characters other than Trunchbull. There are two clear examples that can help illustrate this point. The first is the scene where Matilda’s brother is throwing things at her and making fun of it. At that moment, Matilda looks directly at a carrot and sends it flying directly to his brother’s mouth. The second is related with the incident with the FBI agents who are registering the garage with no court order. When Matilda tells them what they are doing is illegal, they ignore her and so she stares at their car and makes it go down the street. Apart from foregrounding the role of magic, these decisions also add new touches of humor to the movie, something probably aimed at attuning it to the expectations of a family audience. But not only does Matilda use her power to react against adults’ misdeeds. In the film, magic is, in a way, part of Matilda’s daily habits. As any other child would do with a regular toy, we can see her playing and having fun with magic when she is on her own at home as in the scene where she moves the objects in the living room all around with her eyes while dancing. Similarly, she uses it to make her life easier, as when she moves her school bag with her eyes from a cupboard to her hand or draws the curtains from the sofa. Therefore, there is a clear bond between humor, joy and magic in the movie whereas in the book, it is presented only as a tool to fight against the oppression of the powerful adults who cannot be defeated otherwise. This fact resonates with the presence of the magic element at the end of the story. In the book, magic disappears when everything is settled. Once Miss 66 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández Trunchbull is defeated, Matilda feels safe and she is happy at school and visiting Miss Honey after her daily lessons; that is why, some weeks later, she tries to move something and realizes that she has lost her power. However, in the film, her magic does not disappear: in the last scene, we are told that “she didn’t have to use her powers again. Well, almost never” (DeVito et al., De Vito, 1996: 32: 06) while we see Matilda moving a book from the shelf from bed. In addition to foregrounding the relevance of magic, this detail - in conjunction with the scene of the adoption papers - helps build a more promising and brighter ending than the one in the book, with the little girl and Miss Honey standing in the middle of the road as Matilda’s family disappears in the distance in their car. Even if the end of the story is a happy one in both cases, this made-in-Hollywood finale veils the slight melancholy and bitterness of Dahl’s description as it seeks to leave a good taste in the audience’s mouth, a decision that probably fits in better with the type of ending we expect from a family film. 4.2.4 Matilda: A heroine or a villain? Matilda’s outstanding features (both magical and mundane) and intellect, together with her adamant stand against adults’ oppression have turned her into one of Dahl’s greatest heroines (West, 1992: 90). However, this apparently obvious assertion has been challenged by scholars like Petzold (1992: 185-191), who states that Dahl’s unconditional siding with children seems to foster their most harmful instincts as it undermines natural parental authority, or Hunt (2001: 57), who claims that the driving forces behind most of Dahl’s protagonists (including Matilda) are hate, violence, and a taste for callousness. Under this light, their fair fight would be overshadowed by a relentless and sometimes gratuitous thirst for revenge. If we were to accept this train of thought, certain passages and attitudes in the book could be interpreted as examples of unnecessary and blatant cruelty. In this respect, some of the punishments Matilda inflicts on adults could be understood as excessive and her revenge considered far more violent than the actions that provoked it. This could be the case, for instance, of the episode in which she hides the parrot in the chimney. This happens as a reaction to the negative answer of Matilda’s father when he denies her the possibility of having dinner alone in her bedroom so that she could read her book. It is true that his manners are objectionable and far from the regular treatment children deserve, but the action is not that serious for him to receive such a punishment. What is more, by hiding the parrot, Matilda eventually terrifies her whole family, not only the person responsible for the affront. In a similar way, it could be considered that the pain and humiliation his father had to endure when the hat with the superglue 67 An English girl in the States was stuck to his head is disproportionate and especially degrading for someone whose image is important for his job. Likewise, according to Hunt’s tenets, the punishment inflicted on adults and the protagonist’s behavior in this short list of events would depict Matilda gloating over others’ humiliations, an assumption that would add “sadism” to her inventory of attributes. In line with the above, it can also be said that Matilda’s actions lead others to perform wicked vengeful acts and therefore, our protagonist may also be considered as a pernicious influence for other children. There is a clear instance in the book that proves this point. Placing the newt in the water is not Matilda’s idea even though it is her who moves the glass so that the newt goes into Trunchbull’s clothes. It is another child, Lavender, who comes up with the plan. Lavender’s wish to be a heroine like Matilda makes her catch the newt and premeditatedly put it into the jug: “She [Lavender] longed to do something heroic. (…) It was her turn to become a heroine if only she could come up with a brilliant plot” (Dahl, 1988; 2016: 130). It is then when she goes and catches a newt from the pond near her house and decides to put it into the jug the following day. The aforementioned and other examples helped build the already-cited ambivalence of a character that apparently assumes the role of undisputable heroine whereas, at the same time, reveals a dark side that somehow qualifies her notable and laudable attributes. Conveying a clear portrait of this facet in the film would be a decision that may flout audience expectations of morality and innocuousness, thus jeopardizing the production’s global reception. In spite of the risk, the film decides to maintain these traits of ambivalence in Matilda’s character, albeit this feature is shown through different examples from those included in the book. Even though the newt scene is here portrayed as an on-the-spot decision that Lavender takes instinctively and without much thinking, or despite the fact that her father is just punished twice as the event with the parrot is omitted, the dark side of Matilda’s character and the negative influence she could exert on other children can be appreciated in the movie through other scenes that are not present in the book. As described in previous sections, it is Matilda the one who first and relentlessly encourages Bruce to eat all the cake, regardless of the boy’s obvious signs of distress and of what may happen to him if he goes on. Another example comes at the end of the film, when Matilda takes Miss Trunchbull to the school corridor so that the other children can throw food at her, being again the leader of the revolution against the tyrant. Consequently, as opposed to what happened to the treatment of violence against children, punishment on adult characters becomes even more obvious 68 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández in the film. This factor may make the result less politically incorrect, but it definitely helps perpetuate the debate about whether the protagonist should be considered a knight in shining armor or a little bully with an angelical face. The purpose of this paper is not to side with either one or the other standpoint, but to underscore a decision that, in our view and to a certain extent, clashes with the traditional parameters of the family film. As stated in previous sections, this genre tends to convey a very clear distinction between good and evil, and Matilda, the motion picture, blurs this line by featuring a protagonist that, at some points, mirrors the behavior of the villains she is allegedly trying to fight. 5 Conclusions Since section 2 illustrated the struggle between the film industry and the will of the author and his family regarding the approach that Matilda, the motion picture, should follow, it may be interesting to conclude this paper by listing the points each party scored in this competition. At one end, Hollywood’s hand can be seen in decisions regarding the setting of the story, the abridged, less Dickensian past of Miss Honey, a brighter and less wistful ending, or in the fact that physical violence against children is somewhat backgrounded as the film foregrounds punishment on adult characters like Miss Trunchbull. As for the protagonist, the different use and relevance of her magic powers together with the addition of a short list of funny episodes triggered by her actions stand out as the main concessions to the film industry standards. Nevertheless, team Dahl also got numerous victories in the movie-making process and the final product. At some points, the film is so close to the book that dialogues and narration practically overlap, and the characterization of main and peripheral characters has been profoundly respected. Besides, the core topics Dahl’s novel addresses are still there to be seen and analyzed by insightful spectators, and so is, even to a greater extent, the questionable behavior of the protagonist in certain scenes. All things considered, our initial assumption has been only partly confirmed. The context of production and the multifarious contexts of reception have probably been decisive for choosing the setting and the introduction of Amer‐ ican cultural references instead of British ones. In like vein, certain decisions (the increased relevance of magic or the modifications in the ending of the story being perfect cases in point) have helped tailor the motion picture to a more familial audience and to the age rating label which the producers were probably pursuing. However, other traits present in the movie somehow flout the parameters the audience may expect a family film to follow. Hard scenes (at 69 An English girl in the States least for a PG-rated motion picture) are maintained and most of the protagonist’s controversial actions are there for viewers to judge. All in all, Matilda may have moved to the United States, but she took heavy luggage with her and left few things behind. Bibliographical References Altman, R. (1984). “A Semantic/ Syntactic Approach to Film Genre”. Cinema Journal, 23(3), 6-18. Anderson, W., Abbate, A., Rudin, S., Dawson, J. (Producers) & Anderson, W. (Director). (2009). Fantastic Mr. Fox. United States: 20 th Century Fox. Antunes, F. (2017). “Rethinking PG-13: Ratings and the Boundaries of Childhood and Horror”. Journal of Film and Video, 69 (1), 27-43. Bennett, T. (1990). Outside Literature. London, New York: Routledge. Bluestone, G. (1957). Novels into Films. Berkeley: University of California Press. Brown, N. (2012). The Hollywood Family Film: A History from Shirley Temple to Harry Potter. New York: I.B. Tauris. Brown, N. (2013). “‘A New Movie-Going Public’: 1930s Hollywood and the Emergence of the ‘Family Film’”. Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television, 33(1), 1-23. Browne, N. (1998). Refiguring American Film Genres: Theory and History. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press. Burton, T., Di Novi, D. (Producers) & Selick, H. (Director). (1996). James and the Giant Peach. United States, United Kingdom: Walt Disney Pictures. Allied Filmmakers. Skellington Productions. Casetti, F. (2004). “Adaptation and Mis-adaptations: Film, Literature and Social Dis‐ courses”. In R. Stam and A. Raengo (Eds.). A Companion to Literature and Film. (81-91). Oxford: Blackwell. Garces Williams, M., Williams, R., Radcliffe, M. (Producers) & Columbus, C. (Director). (1993). Mrs. Doubtfire. United States: 20 th Century Fox. Blue Wolf Productions. Dahl, R. (2016). Matilda. London: Puffin Books. First published 1988. Finnell, M. (Producer) & Dante, J. (Director). (1984). Gremlins. United States: Amblin Entertainment. DeBona, G. (2010). Film Adaptation in the Hollywood Studio Era. Urbana, Chicago, Springfield: University of Illinois Press. DeVito, D., Shamberg, M., Sher, S., Dahl, L. (Producers) & DeVito, D. (Director). (1996). Matilda. United States: Columbia Pictures. Di Bonaventura, L., DeSanto, T., Murphy, D., Bryce, I. (Producers) & Bay, M. (Director). (2007). Transformers. United States: Dreamworks, di Bonaventura Pictures, Hasbro Platinum Dunes. 70 Bruno Echauri Galván / Silvia García Hernández Elliott, K. (2004). “Literary Film Adaptation and the Form/ Content Dilemma”. In M. L. Ryan (Ed). Narrative Across Media: The Languages of Storytelling. (220-243). London / Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Elliott, K. (2014). “Rethinking Formal-Cultural and Textual-Contextual Divides in Adap‐ tation Studies”. Literature/ Film Quarterly, 42(4), 576-593. Grant, B.K. (2007). Film Genre: From Iconography to Ideology. London: Wallflower. Hunt, P. (2001). Children’s Literature. Oxford: Blackwell. Johnson, D. T. (2017). “Adaptation and Fidelity”. In T. Leitch (Ed.). The Oxford Handbook of Adaptation Studies. (87-100). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kranz, D. L.; Mellerski, N. C. (2008). In/ Fidelity: Essays on Film Adaptation. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. MacCabe, C.; Murray, K., Warner, R. (2011). True to the Spirit: Film Adaptation and the Question of Fidelity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Margulies, S., Wolper, D. L. (Producers) & Stuart, M. (Director). (1971). Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. United States, United Kingdom, Germany: Paramount pictures. Pirnia, G. (2015). “11 Spellbinding Facts about The Witches”. www.mentalfloss.com/ article/ 70916/ 11-spellbinding-facts-about-witches. (Accessed on 20 December 2019.) Petzold, D. (1992). “Wish-Fulfillment and Subversion: Roald Dahl's Dickensian Fantasy Matilda”. Children's Literature in Education, 23(4), 185-93. Quiles Cerrillo, J. (2016). “Procesos de enseñanza-aprendizaje en la literatura de Roald Dahl”. ED ETANIA 49, 147-162. Sendak, M. (1989). Caldecott & Co. Notes on Books & Pictures. London: Reinhardt Books. Spielberg, S., Marshall, F., Frank, M. (Producers) & Spielberg, S. (Director). (2016). The BFG. United States: Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures. Vilas-Boas, E. (2016). “Mara Wilson and More Reveal 13 Things You Never Knew About Matilda”. www.thrillist.com/ entertainment/ nation/ mara-wilson-matilda-movie-oralhistory. (Accessed on 20 December 2019.) West, M. (1992). Roald Dahl. New York: Twayne. Williams, J. (2012). Hollywood Myths: The Shocking Truths Behind Film's Most Incredible Secrets and Scandals. Minnesota: Voyageur Press. 71 An English girl in the States 1 https: / / en.unesco.org/ covid19/ educationresponse. (Accessed on 1 March 2020.) GENDER EDUCATION AND INTERMEDIALITY. A Look at the Reimagining of Secondary Female Characters from Book to Blockbuster Yiyi López Gándara 1 Introduction I write this introduction in the midst of a world pandemic that has forced millions of people worldwide to #stayathome under lockdowns in dozens of countries. In many of these countries schools have closed and for the first time in peacetime in modern history children and teenagers the world over are, in the luckiest cases, learning from home. According to UNESCO, nationwide school closures have impacted over 91 % of the world’s student population so far 1 . In this scenario, educational buzzwords, such as “e-learning” (Cross, 2004) “seamless learning” (Wong, Chai, Aw, 2017) or “hidden curriculum” ( Jackson, 1968) are finally making some sense in Western countries. Both formal and informal learning, official and unofficial curricula, are merging in the kind of hybrid educational experiences that are taking place in the home, where not only books and textbooks, but also videoconferences, virtual presentations, educational apps and streaming services, among others, are being used. The educational value of films has long been acknowledged (Swain, 2013) and it is that value that lies at the core of many family features (Metcalf 2016: 117). It then comes as no surprise that subscriptions to streaming services have skyrocketed during the COVID-19 lockdowns, with Netflix and Disney+ becoming strong competitors worldwide (Sweney, 2020). The effects of stereotypical gender representations in media texts on children is a major concern for both educational and media studies researchers (Goulds et al., 2019; Steyer, 2014; Ward & Aubrey, 2017). At a time when family features are being consumed on a mass scale worldwide, and when it has become easier and cheaper to stream whole film franchises than to get a book through the post, it seems necessary to analyse the kind of gendered messages that young audiences are receiving at the intersections of formal and informal education under lockdown. In order to do so, this chapter examines the reimagining of secondary female characters in their transition from book to film, revealing the, for the most part, patriarchal mechanisms for gender construction of mainstream narratives (Gledhill, 2006: 113). These mechanisms, which can be classified into four main categories (purging, downgrading, cosmetic upgrading and earnest upgrading), do not respond to the needs (technical, aesthetic or otherwise) of the new medium, but rather to more or less conscious ideological motivations, betraying filmmakers’ definite political standpoint. Furthermore, they are shared by many book-based family features covering a period of nearly seventy years, including Peter Pan (1953, 2002), Mary Poppins (1964, 2018), The Jungle Book (1967, 2016), Willy Wonka (1971, 2005), The Little Mermaid (1989), Beauty and the Beast (1991, 2017), Jurassic Park (1993) and Jumanji (1995). This reimagining of female characters has become the backdrop for the gender education of whole generations of viewers, including the COVID-19 generation. 2 Secondary Female Characters from Film to Blockbuster Secondary characters do not abound in books and films targeted at young audiences, and there are cognitive, experiential and pedagogical reasons for this: children find it difficult to distinguish between characters; they have limited experiences (they do not know many people); only one adult suffices to perform the social and pedagogical role of guide or teacher (Nikolajeva, 2004: 172). In addition to this, it is widely acknowledged that women are extensively underrepresented in both children’s books and films (Giaccardi et al., 2019; McCabe et al., 2011; Smith et al., 2018) and, although the trend seems to be shifting (Heldman et al., 2020), there is still a long way to achieve equal representation, both from a quantitative and a qualitative standpoint. If this is so regarding women protagonists (Lauzen, 2019), the issue becomes especially compelling when it comes to secondary characters, whose importance in the shaping of a collective consciousness about women and their role in society has often been overlooked in the criticism. In books, secondary female characters are often key for the creation of a diverse, feminised background against which the main action develops. This also generally reflects the vast majority of children’s experiences in Western societies, where women are still the primary caregivers. As opposed to this, book-based family films and blockbusters exhibit a conspicuous absence of secondary female characters, and there is no underlying cognitive, experiential, 74 Yiyi López Gándara 2 https: / / www.imdb.com/ title/ tt0058331/ ? ref_=nv_sr_srsg_3. (Accessed on 1 March 2020.) pedagogical or technical reason for it. In a recent review of book-to-film adaptations, Meg Miller (2016) concludes that women characters in books are represented as more complex, nuanced and defiant of social rules than in film; she also states that the advent of blockbusters somehow redefined female roles to make them fit more stereotypical depictions. In the passage from book to blockbuster, those secondary plots and background stories, rich with female characters that help construct a more realistic narrative, are abandoned in favour of a grand (masculine) narrative. The effect of such dominant narratives on actual audiences has been both attested to (Goulds et al., 2019; Steyer, 2014; Ward & Aubrey, 2017) and contested. In this regard, Christine Gledhill has argued that audiences do not just passively receive, but rather interact with, media products (Gledhill, 2006: 114) and that that interaction necessarily eludes the adoption of pre-established “fixed posi‐ tions” (Gledhill, 2006: 118). It is true that viewers (even very young ones) bring into the act of watching their own set of references, beliefs, experiences and motivations that may support, thwart, counter or even cancel out filmmakers’ intentions, and that films (even blockbusters) may open up gaps for meaning negotiation. However, in the specific case of young audiences, a combination of semiotic and mimetic approaches must be adopted as children often fail “to acknowledge fictionality as a literary convention, including the fictional status of characters” (Nikolajeva, 2004: 172). This effect might even be increased by the materiality that the screen affords these characters. In this scenario, intermedial analysis offers the possibility of observing mech‐ anisms to which audiences do not generally have access: these are conscious mechanisms that, through operations of selection, reduction, deletion, addition, adaptation, rewriting and emphasis, are precisely intended to fix meaning. In this way, intermedial analysis reveals the worldviews and intentions behind filmmakers’, screenwriters’ and producers’ decisions when adapting a text. So, even if the experience of the film itself opens up new possibilities for viewers, it certainly, and deliberately, closes others offered in the book. This reduces considerably the possibilities for feminist meaning negotiation. 3 Mary Poppins Written for the screen by Bill Walsh and Don Da Gradi and directed by Robert Stevenson, Mary Poppins (Disney, Stevenson, 1964) was the most expensive film to that date and remains nowadays one of the most profitable films of the 1960s 2 . 75 Gender education 3 The 1964 book is the main source and serves as the narrative frame for the film, even if some details are drawn from other books in the series (Lawson, 2013: 251). 4 While the book, a rather dark satire on Edwardian standards, was not originally intended for younger audiences, the film was. This may account for some of the ellipses in the film, which avoided the darker episodes, such as the birthday party at the zoo. However, it does not account for the purge of female characters and total disappearance of the book’s feminine universe. The story behind Walt Disney’s long courting of author P. L. Travers for the rights to adapt her book series is already well known and has been recounted in both Valerie Lawson’s biography of Travers (2013) and Disney’s Saving Mr. Banks (Owen, Collie, Steuer, Hancock, 2013). In spite of the success of the film, Travers was deeply unsatisfied with the end result (Lawson, 2013: 276). To begin with, she disliked the way her beloved nanny had been dulcified and made much kinder and merrier, less conceited and arrogant, than the character in the book. Behind this process of dulcification, one can see the male gaze (Mulvey, 1999) at work, reproducing an unattainable ideal of female perfection. Moreover, in the film, Mary Poppins’s lack of bonds and close relationships with other women prevents her from becoming a catalyst for sorority. As it was said of another all-too-perfect female hero, Catwoman, Mary Poppins “may forge a space for herself within the discourse of the film, but she denies that space to other women” (Walton, 1997: 101). Mary Poppins is, then, the perfect patriarchal construction. Regarding secondary characters, a key aspect of this analysis is precisely that secondary female characters, which abound in the 1934 book, are conspicuously absent from the film 3 . While it is true that, from a technical point of view, it would be challenging to fit all the adventures that take place in the book into one single feature film, it seems relevant that the film boasts an overbearing presence of male characters 4 . Such is the case of the fox-hunting scene and the horse race (freely expanded from the chapter “The Day Out”), the tea party at Uncle Albert’s (based on “Laughing Gas,” from which Miss Persimmon is aptly erased), the scenes at the bank (partially based on “The Bird Woman,” where the title character plays a much more fundamental role), and the chimney adventure (inspired by the chimney sweep book character), all of which are dominated by male characters. As opposed to these, the book presents several chapters in which female characters are on a par with male ones (“Bad Tuesday” and “John and Barbara’s Story”) or even central to the stories (“Miss Lark’s Andrew,” “The Dancing Cow,” “Mrs Corry” and “Christmas Shopping”). When some of these characters do make it to the film, they are not even given speaking roles: Mrs Corry and 76 Yiyi López Gándara her two daughters are only shown to be enchanted by Bert’s rhymes; the Bird Woman is only allowed her famous “Tuppence a bag” line; and Mrs Lark, whom Mary Poppins intends to visit but never does, is only present via her dog, which does make an appearance at several points throughout the film. Downgrading and, in some cases, doing away altogether with these secondary female characters destroys the rather prominent female presence in the book and the feminine atmosphere that serves as the background to many of Mary Poppins’s adventures. Mr Banks’s words when stating that it is a good idea to take the children out of the “sugary, female thinking they get around here all day long” (Disney, Stevenson, 1964: 1: 19: 40) may serve as a meta-commentary on the very process underlying the production of the film. What is more, two main features of these secondary female characters in the book are their creativeness and freedom, two qualities that are historically men’s prerogative (Proudfoot, Kay, Koval, 2015): the Red Cow leaves her comfortable life in search of the happiness that dancing grants her (Travers, 2018: 61); the Bird Woman has a very special connection with birds (Travers, 2018: 86); Mrs Corry, Fannie and Annie go out at night on magical errands (Travers, 2018: 102-103); and Maia is a free-spirited and generous girl who goes around wearing “practically no clothes” (Travers, 2018: 143). Also, these characters are diverse in their appearance and qualities, which counters the patriarchally constructed perfection of Mary Poppins. Their absence from the film deprives viewers of diverse models to identify with and prevents them from enjoying the sisterly relations between Mary Poppins and those other women: the cow was “a great friend of my Mother’s” (Travers, 2018: 51); Mary Poppins is good friends with Mrs Corry and talks to her “with most surprising courtesy” (Travers, 2018: 93), joins her and her daughters in their night-time errands (Travers, 2018: 102-103) and, when they say goodbye, “it seemed as if some secret had passed between them” (Travers, 2018: 98); Maia gets thoughtful Christmas presents for her six sisters (Travers, 2018: 146-147) and, when Jane shows her concern about Maia not getting any, Mary Poppins gives her her own brand new gloves (Travers, 2018: 149). All these stories contribute to creating a poetics of the female quotidian or, as Travers herself put it, the “miracle” of everyday life (Lawson, 2013: 254), that is deliberately elided in the film, leaving both female characters and women spectators without a net of female references and role models. Something similar occurs, for example, in The Little Mermaid. In Hans Christian Andersen’s tale (1837), the mermaid’s grandmother and sisters hold strong bonds with the protagonist and are key to the story: the grandmother gives her wise advice, and the sisters, portrayed in a rather individualised way with their 77 Gender education own peculiar tastes and quirks, use the birthday ritual to pass on knowledge of the human world from one another. This not only creates a sense of family routine and everydayness but also reinforces the complicity among the sisters. In Disney’s 1989 film (Musker, Ashman, Clements, Musker, 1989) though, the sisters’ appearance is made merely anecdotal in favour of Ariel’s friendship with Flounder (a male fish), and the grandmother is purged. Very similarly, in Disney’s Mary Poppins, Jane holds no meaningful relation‐ ship with any other female character (except for Mary Poppins), but is clearly attached to both her brother and her father. In contrast, the book portrays a girl interested in other women’s lives and stories. The end of the “Mrs Corry” chapter is enlightening in this sense: while Michael is visibly upset by Mrs Corry, Fannie, Annie and Mary Poppins taking their paper stars to put them up in the sky (Travers, 2018: 102, 103), Jane finds the whole event quite edifying. In her appreciation that, in order to understand what had happened that night, she would need “somebody very much wiser than Michael” (Travers, 2018: 104), the implications are that that person ought to be a woman. In this very brief comment, the book gives readers a glimpse into an unknown tradition of women astronomers that can explain the origins of the universe to her. In this way, the book bypasses “the problems of the alignment of woman with nature when devoid of feminist agency” (Walton, 1997: 100) and avoids drawing “upon essentialist constructions of femininity - as they have been patriarchally defined” (Walter, 1997: 101). It also draws on the figure of the Triple Goddess (Gimbutas, 2001), which represents and connects the ages of woman in Neopaganism: daughter and mother, maiden and crone (Gimbutas, 2001: 42). In a 1965 interview, Travers herself stated: “we [women] have to become wise old crones, carrying the traditions we’ve learned” (Lawson, 2013: 283). All these insights into Jane’s connections with other women and her partaking of this female lineage is also lost in the Disney production. The disconnection between Jane and the other female characters is best exemplified in the film by the non-existent relationship between her and her mother. Indeed, Mrs Banks epitomises the absent mother figure, such a common trope in Disney films (Worthington, 2009). Interestingly enough, she is the only character in the film who does have meaningful connections with other women: her attendants, Ellen and Mrs Brill, and her group of suffragist friends. However, while the relationship with the former is not sufficiently developed, her relationship with the suffragettes is only shown via her absence, both from the film and her family life, as she is always busy tending to her political duties. Disney’s reimagining of this character from loving and caring mother to suffragette is problematic at best and, although several explanations (including 78 Yiyi López Gándara personal, historical and narrative ones) have been provided to explain Disney’s long tradition of absent mothers (Åmström, 2017: 1-5), none of them accounts for the explicit political overtones added in the film. In the book, Mrs Banks is not only present at several points but also performs typically motherly functions, in accordance with Edwardian standards: she is in charge of arranging childcare (Travers, 2018: 4-7, 159); scolds the children (Travers, 2018: 7, 65, 66, 158-159); shows concern for their wellbeing (Travers, 2018: 66); makes the decisions regarding the children’s outings (Travers, 2018: 81-82); soothes and comforts the babies (Travers, 2018: 111-113); and deals with the overall running of the house and knows where things are (Travers, 2018: 13, 153, 158). In the film, however, she is downgraded and ridiculed, portrayed as not only absent, but useless: her hiring of previous nannies has been a series of “unqualified disasters” and Mr Banks’s comment that choosing a nanny requires “insight, balance, judgement and an ability to read character” (Disney, Stevenson, 1964: 16: 42) implies that Mrs Banks has none; she is too sentimental and lacks authority; she tries to avoid the very serious meeting between Mr Banks and Mary Poppins and has to be urged by Mr Banks to stay; her interventions tend to be reduced to talking about her activism (when her husband is not present) or to compliment or agree with her husband (when he is present); she is always about to leave for some rally or demonstration, especially at times when she is needed to perform motherly functions (she tries to avoid staying with the kids when Bert brings them back home and asks him - a stranger to her - to take care of them); at times it seems that she is not even useful to the suffragist cause, or that her role in it is rather petty (while her friends are in prison, her role is reduced to singing and supporting from a distance). So, the reimagining of this secondary female character from caring mother to absent mother and vociferous suffragette further accentuates the distance between the book and the film. The political and ideological stance adopted by the film through this very conscious and unnecessary reconfiguration of the character becomes clear as feminist ideas are made to clash with the standards of parenthood that the film, purportedly about American values and family reconciliation (Lawson, 2013: 244), upholds. In this regard, Mrs Banks’s use of her “Votes for women” band as the tail of the children’s kite at the end of the film symbolises her abandonment of the feminist cause and her embracing of true, wholesome motherhood. As has been shown, the poetics of care and non-patriarchal femininity that pervades the book is redacted and substituted for by the all-too-cheerful adventures of a “superwoman” of sorts (Mary Poppins) that take place in 79 Gender education 5 https: / / www.imdb.com/ title/ tt0107290/ ? ref_=fn_al_tt_1 (Accessed on 1 March 2020) an otherwise man’s world. The feminine world of the book is replaced by a masculine one in which the men do things and the women are either absent, their role is insignificant or dependent upon male figures, or they are, as in the case of Mary Poppins herself, perfect according to patriarchal standards. 4 Jurassic Park Based on Michael Crichton’s 1990 novel of the same title, Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993) was written for the screen by Crichton and David Koepp and produced by Universal Pictures. It is one of the very few pre-2000 films ranking in the top fifty highest-grossing films of all time 5 and has been described as “a feminist masterpiece” (Fisher, 2014: 206) on account of the active and powerful roles played by its only two female characters, Dr Ellie Sattler and Lex Murphy. Indeed, the reimagining of these characters is one of the most complex transitions to take place in a 20 th -century book-based family feature, as both downgrading and upgrading strategies are at work. As in the case of Mary Poppins, there are plot simplifications, some of which are due to technical reasons, as it would be difficult to fit all the adventures that take place in a four-hundred-odd-page book into one single family feature. Some others are not so easy to account for. For example, the novel initially recreates a rather feminised atmosphere, with a series of female characters playing essential roles in smaller background plots: Dr Roberta Carter and the midwife Elena Morales, used to introduce the narrative framework of raptors’ attacks outside the island; Tina Bowman, the girl who tells the doctors about the bird-like creature that bit her - a main feature of the dinosaurs both in the book and in the film; Alice Levin, the technician who identifies Tina’s drawing as that of a dinosaur, contesting Dr Stone’s interpretation; and Dr Ellie Sattler, whose role is rather important in the first half of the book. With the exception of Tina (who is the basis for a much less significant character in the 1997 sequel) and Ellie (who is also key in the 1993 production), these female characters do not appear in the film. In this way, the initially feminised atmosphere of the book is substituted for by a masculine narrative framework in the film that places the focus on the men working in the park and the men working in the mine. This is, nevertheless, counteracted in the film by its complex treatment of Ellie and Lex. As stated above, Ellie plays a central role in the first half of the book. Furthermore, her relevance in the story is not relational: she is introduced as a paleobotanist whose relation to male characters is exclusively professional. 80 Yiyi López Gándara In fact, male characters who patronise or objectify her are disparaged: Bob Morris, the lawyer from the Environmental Protection Office who “gapes” at her (Crichton, 1990: 38); Donald Gennaro, the lawyer who makes the sexist assumption that Dr Sattler is a man (Crichton, 1990: 73) and then shows an interest in her (Crichton, 1990: 195); Dr Ian Malcolm, the mathematician who makes a patently inappropriate comment about her looks (Crichton, 1990: 83); and Tim, John Hammond’s grandson, who is distracted by her legs (Crichton, 1991: 108,109). Also, Ellie is introduced as a strong and independent character (Crichton, 1990: 38), and she is shown to be a hard-working, intelligent and valued professional working side by side with Dr Alan Grant (Crichton, 1990: 48, 55, 61-62, 66, 72-73, 97, 99, 102, 183), knowledgeable about her field and articulate (Crichton, 1990: 38-39, 48, 50-51, 52, 100, 139, 180-183), and inquisi‐ tive (Crichton, 1990: 51, 132, 133, 135, 194). However, as the novel progresses, the character is reduced, both quantitatively and qualitatively, to very few interventions and a caring role (Crichton, 1990: 267-268, 279, 281, 351-352, 360); she becomes less knowledgeable (Crichton, 1990: 233); her suggestion to follow the compys in the middle of the storm seems careless (Crichton, 1990: 235); her skills are reduced to being able to decipher crackly messages on the radiophone (Crichton, 1990: 252); it is emphasised that she is Alan’s student (Crichton, 1990: 271), which contrasts the academic and professional status she is given in the first half of the novel; although she is good at distracting the raptors (Crichton, 1990: 369-370, 372-374, 375), she ends up being tricked by them (Crichton, 1990: 385-386); and she is ignored by Tim (Crichton, 1990: 428). In sum, in spite of very few epiphanic moments, such as her guessing of where the raptors’ nest is (Crichton, 1990: 431), she becomes dispensable in the second half of the book. In the film, Ellie undergoes some downgrading. For example, her relevance for the story is made to depend on her romantic relationship with Alan. This is an important aspect of the film’s hidden agenda precisely because their romantic relationship is not even the focus of the main plot: it is, as in the case of other hinted heterosexual romances (Mary Poppins, Jumanji) a given that serves as the backdrop of the main storyline. Moreover, this romantic relationship is made explicit from the very first scene (in which Ellie puts a bandana around Alan’s neck and he subtly feels her bum) and at several points throughout the film, from beginning (Ellie is shown to be very keen to have children and insists on making Alan more receptive to the idea; there is a slight rivalry between Alan and Ian as the latter flirts with her) to end (the way Ellie looks at Alan next to the children in the helicopter). Making female characters relational is a common strategy in blockbusters. In Jurassic Park, this transformation is uncalled for and perpetuates the idea that the reason why women are present in the story and 81 Gender education their relevance in it depend on the kind of relationship they hold with men, and that heteronormativity is the dominant, assumed and natural realm of family films (Martin, Kazyak, 2009). At the same time, Ellie’s character is also upgraded in the film. To begin with, unlike in the novel, she is not Alan’s student, although his academic and professional status is clearly above hers (this is made clear by the differences in their interventions and their body language both at the excavation site and in their first meeting with John Hammond). Also, she is not only knowledgeable, articulate and a valued professional ( John states she and Alan are “the top minds” in their field), but she is also a much more active, empowered and independent character in the film. When hell breaks loose in the park, she does not stay in the lodge to take care of Ian, but rather she goes out to do things: she becomes a doer, a problem-solver and a dinosaur-fighter, all of which are male prerogatives in the novel. Indeed, in the film she does the things Donald Gennaro does in the novel: she is the one to venture out with Robert Muldoon to look for the kids and, later on, to get the park’s power back on. And she is the one who actually restores the power in the park. Not coincidentally, the character has been described as “a pioneer for female characters in monster/ action/ adventure blockbusters. She handles herself in the face of the dinosaurs better than most of the male characters, and does so as a brilliant, strong and confident super-woman” (Fisher, 2014: 206). Her depiction in the film though is far from perfect patriarchal constructions such as Mary Poppins or Catwoman, coming closer to a feminist reinterpretation of the character. Hers are also the film’s famous feminist lines, which are not in the novel: “Dinosaurs eat man… Woman inherits the earth” and “We can discuss sexism in survival situations when I get back” (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993: 45: 15, 1: 37: 25). Finally, she is the one to openly confront John Hammond about his crazy venture. Here there is an interesting swap. In the book, it is Ian that mansplains scientific discovery to Ellie, doing a sort of ecofeminist critique of scientific advancement, equating scientific discovery and rape, and confronting Ellie as a representative of this: “you don’t restore the land after you dig? ” (Crichton, 1990: 329). This leaves her dumbfounded and not very articulate: “There’s no money, I guess…; ” “Well, we’re just working in the Badlands…; ” “Ellie said nothing; ” “You want to turn back the clock? ” (Crichton, 1990: 329). In the film, Ellie becomes a much more aware character, closer to Ian’s position but making use of a more composed tone and cogent arguments when confronting John: “The question is, how can you know anything about an extinct ecosystem? And, therefore, how could you ever assume that you can control it? ” (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993: 37: 00). The issue about the poisonous plants in the park 82 Yiyi López Gándara disturbs Ellie in both the book and the film; however, only in the film does she dare tell John about it: “You have plants in this building that are poisonous. You picked them because they look good” (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993: 37: 05). Finally, she acts as an eye-opener for him: “You’ve never had control. That’s the illusion. I was overwhelmed by the power of this place, but I made a mistake too. I didn’t have enough respect for that power, and it’s out now” (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993: 1: 27: 35). Regarding Lex, in the novel she is a truly obnoxious whiny eight-year-old child whose actions often put her and others in danger. In the film, however, she takes on some of her brother Tim’s traits: she is between 12 and 14 and the oldest of the two siblings, and she is also a computer geek. Her combination of features throughout the film is somewhat startling though. In spite of her being the oldest of the two, she is also clumsier and more fainthearted than her brother: she thinks the big wooden doors to the park will not open (“Are we gonna hit that? ”) (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993: 41: 33); she is fearful of and disgusted by the prospect of the tyrannosaur eating a goat (“He’s gonna eat the goat! ? ”) (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993: 45: 53); she falls over and has to be picked up by Alan; she is traumatised by the lawyer leaving the vehicle (she keeps repeating “He left us, he left us”) (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993: 1: 14: 52); she flashes the torch at the tyrannosaur and cannot turn it off after Tim asks her to, causing the attack; her competitive attitude when climbing first a tree and then a fence seems petty, considering the age difference between them; in a rather childish way, she calls the brachiosaurs “monsters” (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993: 1: 23: 05) and Tim has to explain to her what a herbivore is; she is rather inarticulate (the only name she can find for carnivores is “the other kind” and “meat-osauruses”) (Kennedy, Molen, Spielberg, 1993: 1: 23: 15, 1: 34: 36); when she finally gathers the courage to stroke the brachiosaur, she ends up covered in snot from the dinosaur’s sneeze, which serves to further ridicule her; and, even when she takes the lead in the kitchen and tries to save her brother, it is Tim who manages to lock one of the raptors up in the freezer. It is only towards the end of the film that Lex is characterised in a more positive light, as she is the only one with the necessary computing skills to reboot the system, making it possible to set up the security system again and call for help (it is Tim who does that in the novel). In spite of this, and unlike in the case of Ellie, the combination of downgrading and upgrading strategies does not seem to work very well for Lex: she is presented throughout as an annoying, frightened and clumsy character whose redemption at the end is more a token gesture than a genuine attempt at upgrading the character and giving her a nobler role in the film. 83 Gender education 6 This contrasts with Travers’s feuds with Disney over Mary Poppins. As has been shown, combining both downgrading and upgrading mecha‐ nisms, Jurassic Park offers a complex analysis of secondary female characters in their passage from book to film. This is uncommon in blockbusters and family films, often characterised by plot simplification, a smaller number of secondary characters and the use of downgrading strategies for female characters. This is possibly due to two factors: on the one hand, Jurassic Park is one of the very few examples in which both the book and the screenplay were written by the same author 6 , and in which there is a woman screenwriter, Malia Scotch Marmo, who has been said to be responsible for making Ellie and the kids “more assertive” (McBride, 2011: 418). On the other hand, the book’s and the film’s releases were closer in time. This is also true of, for example, Big Fish (book 1998; film 2003), where secondary female characters also fare a bit better in the film than in the book. In a way that may seem contradictory, the need to modernise and update the gender politics of a story seems to be felt as more pressing the closer the dates of the releases. As the following section shows, the use of an older text brings about issues of fidelity and the opportunity to perpetuate anachronistic gender politics. 5 The Jungle Book Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book (1894) and Disney’s 1967 homonymous animated film (Disney, Reitherman, 1967) serve as the basis for the 2016 Disney production (Favreau, Taylor, Favreau, 2016). Written for the screen by Justin Marks and directed by Jon Favreau, the 2016 family feature makes use of both computer-generated imagery (CGI) and live action to revive the old classic and make it more appealing to younger audiences. It has been contended that the film strives to shake off the rather dubious imperial, racial and gender politics of the 1967 version while purportedly getting closer to the book (Keegan, 2016), a claim that seems contradictory at best. Regarding gender, what the film actually does is lazily gloss over the most salient controversies of the 1967 version (the almost total absence of female characters from both the main story and the background plots and the cringeworthy final scene in which an overtly sexualised girl entices Mowgli into the human village, cancelling out his rational judgement and willpower) while leaving Kipling’s (and Disney’s) problematically gendered narrative unchallenged. Commodity feminism as an appropriation of feminist ideology to work within Western patriarchal models (Goldman, Heath, Smith, 1991: 136) seems to be 84 Yiyi López Gándara 7 Curiously enough, most of these films do not feature the protagonist’s name in the title. Critics have seen here a strategy to reach wider audiences, as boys will not consume female-driven narratives (Flood, 2011). Disney’s marketing strategy in recent years, which have seen an upsurge of films featuring strong female heroes (Tangled in 2010, Brave in 2012, Frozen in 2013, Moana in 2016 7 ) together with the resurrection of old masculine tales (The Jungle Book in 2016, The Lion King in 2019, Peter Pan is on the way). In this way, Disney attempts to “capitalise on female consumers” (Koushik, Reed, 2019: 128) while asserting the place that age-old patriarchal narratives occupy in the history of cinematic storytelling. Furthermore, this is done in a way that resembles neo-sexism’s movement from overt to covert sexism (Martínez et al., 2010). Using the neo-sexist logic, it is easy to condone patriarchal products like the new Jungle Book because: it is more faithful to the book; modern standards cannot be applied to a different historical time; there are films with female heroes now; and Disney films are made for children and, therefore, “apolitical” (Bell, Haas, Sells, 1995: 4). This movement from the overt sexism of Kipling’s book (and the 1967 animated film) to the covert sexism of the 2016 adaptation happens through a series of mechanisms concerning the masculine atmosphere that serves as the background to Mowgli’s adventures and the reimagining of two secondary female characters: Raksha (Mother Wolf), who is given a relevant role as the leader of the wolf pack when Akela dies; and Kaa (the python), who is turned from male helper into female antagonist. The masculine atmosphere of the book is maintained and even reinforced in the film. While it is true that the book is very heavily dominated by male characters, there are several secondary female characters, such as Messua (Mowgli’s caring adoptive mother in the village), Matkah (the white seal’s sage mother) or Nagaina (a female cobra and Nag’s cunning wife), who, even if only as mothers or carers, are central to some of the stories, contributing to a more heterogeneous background to Mowgli’s adventures than the film affords. As in the case of Mary Poppins, The Jungle Book does away with all these characters and their stories. The absence of female voices and references is so pervasive in the film that it becomes a screaming feature: for example, when the wolves recite the Law of the Jungle, only one female voice can be discerned, and the same happens when all the animals gather around the Peace Rock during the Water Truce. The film also blatantly and unashamedly maintains all the male-as-norm references that crop up in the book: “man-cub”, “man village”, “man’s creation”, “man’s life”, “man’s red flower” and Bagheera’s very controversial “Fight him like a man” (Favreau, Taylor, Favreau, 2016: 1: 23: 38). In all of these, “man” is used in opposition to “animal” and, therefore, “human” would sound more apt 85 Gender education 8 The only time the word “human” is uttered in the film is for scanning reasons in the “I Wanna Be Like You” song. to today’s viewers 8 . In this very masculine atmosphere that the film recreates there are only two female characters: Raksha and Kaa. In neither the book nor the film does Raksha have her own storyline. In both, she only appears in relation to male characters. In the book, for example, she is presented as the protagonist’s mother and all the references to her, her actions and interventions are mediated by this maternal role. At the same time, she is portrayed as a strong secondary character: she is a creator with the power to give names to other creatures (Kipling, 2013: 6, 10); she is enlightened and has deep knowledge of the jungle (Kipling, 2013: 7); she is intuitive and can feel when something is wrong (Kipling, 2013: 8, 17); she confronts Shere Khan (Kipling, 2013: 9) and is ready to confront the wolf pack (Kipling, 2013: 11); she makes decisions - keeping Mowgli - that are key for the development of the story (Kipling, 2013: 9); she prophesises that Mowgli will kill Shere Khan (Kipling, 2013: 10, 14); and she shows some woman-to-woman solidarity (Kipling, 2013: 178). In the film, however, she is downgraded, presented as far less charismatic and less central: she is made the partner of the wolf pack leader, Akela (also Mowgli’s wolf father in the film), which further accentuates her subaltern role in the patriarchal system. At the same time, she is never on her own, but always followed by her cubs, and quite removed from everything else that happens in the wolf pack: for example, she remains silent while the pack (including Mowgli) recite the Law of the Jungle at the beginning of the film. Although she does confront Shere Khan at the Peace Rock (“What do you know about law”) (Favreau, Taylor, Favreau, 2016: 11: 12) and the wolf pack at the Council (“We raised him as one of our own! ”) (Favreau, Taylor, Favreau, 2016: 14: 50), she does so less fiercely than in the book, where Kipling dwells on Raksha’s awe-inspiring demeanour: “she ran in the Pack and was not called The Demon for compliment’s sake. Shere Khan might have faced Father Wolf, but he could not stand up against Mother Wolf, for he knew that where he was she had all the advantage of the ground, and would fight to the death” (Kipling, 2013: 9). Towards the end of the film, Raksha is shown to be the new wolf pack leader, an addition with great potential for female empowerment and role modelling. However, this happens only after Akela has been killed (an indication that her leadership might be the result of her status as Akela’s partner, rather than her own merit) and is shown only indirectly (when she orders the pack to attack Shere Khan) and in the aftermath of the story (when the wolf pack gathers around her to recite the Law of the Jungle). Thus, Raksha taking over the 86 Yiyi López Gándara leadership of the pack seems more an example of cosmetic upgrading than an earnest appraisal of the story’s gender politics. Regarding Kaa, the character undergoes a series of changes in the passage from book to film. In the book, Kaa is a male helper who saves Mowgli (and also Bagheera and Baloo) from the Bandar-log, the leaderless Monkey-People. The 1967 version turns Kaa into an antagonist that unsuccessfully attempts to kill Mowgli. The 2016 production adds a further spin by making the character female, sexy (Sink, 2016) and evil. In a recent study, Lauren Rosewarne explores the purposes of gender swaps in adaptations and remakes: “Undertaking a sex-swap can position a studio as abreast of the zeitgeist, and as responsive to viewer expectations - notably as related to gender equalityall while potentially expanding the box office” (Rosewarne, 2019: 34). In this regard, director Jon Favreau stated that it would be “odd” to have an all-male cast nowadays, and that giving more relevance to Raksha while making Kaa female “helped balance [the story] out and feel more of our time” (The Telegraph, 2016). Favreau’s words, together with his consideration of Raksha and Kaa as “prominent” female characters (The Telegraph, 2016), quickly brushing off the issue of their inconsequential role in plot development, further underscore the token nature of these transformations. Moreover, female Kaa, with her sensuous voice, seductive movements and alluring performance, and described by Scarlett Johansson, who voiced her, as “coquettish” (Gupta, 2016), fits comfortably in with a long-standing Western tradition that associates enticing women, evil/ danger and snakes, from Medusa and the Bible to Freud and popular culture (Rosewarne, 2011: 58). It is also quite revealing that, while in the book Mowgli is unaffected by Kaa’s hypnotising powers (Kipling, 2013: 47), in the film he is ensnared by the female python. Indeed, it has been noted that both Raksha and Kaa perform hackneyed and complementary roles as the film plays along with stereotypical representations of women as either maternal figures or femme fatales (Gupta, 2016). In this way, the director’s purported egalitarian aspirations are thwarted by these dis‐ ingenuous choices that contribute to validating and perpetuating old masculine narratives by either suppressing the presence and voice of female characters or presenting them as cliched tropes. 6 Conclusions Whether the process of meaning construction is led by audiences or industries (Altman, 1984: 9) or by a negotiation between the two (Gledhill, 2006: 118), it is clear that family films and blockbusters tend to obfuscate political struggle, 87 Gender education difference and inequality. In the context of world confinement, these “sanitary” (Bell, Haas, Sells, 1995: 6), “wholesome” (Booker, 2010: 31) and “apolitical” (Bell, Haas, Sells, 1995: 4) products elevate this sort of “sanitization to pedagogy” (Bell, Haas, Sells, 1995: 8). However, intermedial analysis lays bare the mechanisms behind this cleansing process. In the works analysed here, secondary female characters undergo a series of changes in their passage from book to blockbuster. Many are subject to purge, made to disappear from plots overcrowded with men in a man’s world that serves as the backdrop of the protagonist’s adventures. Another mechanism involves downgrading secondary female characters, reducing their relevance for plot development, ridiculing them or giving them relational roles as romantic partners. Furthermore, the inclusion of a heterosexual romantic relationship, often absent in the book, is a common strategy that perpetuates traditional heteronormative notions of love and underscores, from a typically male-gaze perspective, women’s main reason to exist. Also, because women do not hold any substantial relationship with one another (another common deviation in the passage from book to film), viewers are left without models of female bonding. There are also films that make use of cosmetic upgrading by introducing female characters that either are male or do not appear in the book. Whereas this can and has been used to showcase a more forward attitude by raising female representation, intermedial analysis reveals a return to dominant models and plots that do not contest or problematize traditional gender representation, perpetuating long-standing visions of women as caring mothers, romantic partners or evil enticers. Indeed, earnest upgradings, that is, true attempts at feminist reimaginings of secondary female characters in book-based family films, are rare. In these, women are given, in spite of not being completely rid of patriarchal constraints, more active and independent roles as they transfer from book to film. In spite of the recent upsurge of films with strong leading female characters and all-women casts, the use of purging and downgrading strategies is still common when it comes to secondary characters: many new adaptations and sequels such as the whole Jurassic Park franchise (1997, 2001, 2015 and 2018) and the very recent live-action adaptations of Beauty and the Beast (2017) and Mary Poppins Returns (2018) fall back again on the old tropes of femininity in spite of the feminist push behind them (Koushik, Reed, 2019: 132). This is the backdrop of the informal gender education of whole generations of viewers over the decades to which young audiences under lockdown are now being exposed at home. Some of the solutions to the problems raised in this chapter include situating critical “pedagogy far beyond the boundaries of 88 Yiyi López Gándara schools” (Bell, Haas, Sells, 1995: 9), offering “representations that work with a degree of fluidity and contradiction” (Gledhill, 2006: 118), abandoning a capitalist logic when accessing media texts (Koushik, Reed, 2019: 125), and more women directors and screenwriters (Lauzen, 2019: 6). It is still difficult to find film adaptations where secondary female characters fare better than (or at least as well as) their book counterparts. From a gender standpoint, reading the book is still a more liberating experience than watching the film. Bibliographical References Altman, R. (1984). “A Semantic/ Syntactic Approach to Film Genre”. Cinema Journal 23(3), 6-18. Åmström, B. (Ed.). (2017). The Absent Mother in the Cultural Imagination. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Andersen, H. C. (2002). The Little Mermaid and Other Fairy Tales. New York: Dover. 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M. & Aubrey, J. S. (2017). Watching Gender: How Stereotypes in Movies and on TV Impact Kid’s Development. San Francisco: Common Sense. Wong, L. H., Chai, C. S., Aw, G. P. (2017). “Seamless Language Learning: Second Language Learning with Social Media”. Comunicar, 50, 9-21. Worthington, M. (2009). “The Motherless Disney Princesses: Marketing Mothers Out of the Picture”. In A. C. Hall & M. J. Bishop (Eds.). Mommy Angst: Motherhood in American Popular Culture, (29-46). Santa Barbara: Praeger. Zanuck, R. D., Cohen, B., Jinks, D. (Producers) & Burton, T. (Director). (2003). Big Fish. Los Angeles: Columbia Pictures. 92 Yiyi López Gándara PART 2 THE FANTASTIC: FROM THE PAST AND THE FUTURE 1 The Motion Picture Production Code, “Hays Code”, had existed since 1930, but was not effectively adopted until 1934. Its guidelines attempted to eliminate all kinds of “immorality” from American cinema. Films could no longer showcase or insinuate prostitution, homosexuality, drug use or infidelity, for example. FROM “WIFE OF MY BOSOM” TO “FEMALE THING”: E. A. Poe’s Ligeia and Roger Corman’s The Tomb of Ligeia Marta Mariño-Mexuto If there is a decade which deserves to be considered the golden age of horror cinema, it is undeniably the 30s and, actually, it was at that moment that the term “horror” started to be used in reference to those kinds of films. The most influential characters and elements were introduced during those years to be exploited in the decades to follow. Horror cinema flourished especially in the US and in the UK, but also in lesser-known countries, such as Mexico, which managed to produce some remarkable films despite the lack of resources and of a consolidated industry. German Expressionism had also contributed to the genre in the years prior with classic films like Robert Wiene’s Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (1920) and Orlacs Hände (1924), Fritz Lang’s M (1931), F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (1922), or the Danish film director C. T. Dreyer’s Vampyr (1932), among many others. Their outstanding quality and originality made them become hugely influential for the mainstream films produced in the following decade, although their impact on the public had not been as great. Horror films attracted a large audience, even after the moral restrictions 1 , which made them considerably different from what we would include today in this genre. Most horror classics come from this period, such as James Whale’s Frankenstein (1931) and its sequels, Bride of Frankenstein (1935), also directed by Whale, and Rowland V. Lee’s Son of Frankenstein (1939); Tod Browning’s Dracula (1932), followed by Lambert Hillyer’s Dracula’s Daughter (1936), or Rouben Mamoulian’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931). All of these were produced 2 There had already been some approaches in silent films: for example, in Richard Oswald’s Unheimliche Geschichten (1919), one of the parts in which the film is split is based on The Black Cat. In 1928, Jean Epstein released La Chute de la Maison Usher, with a screenplay co-written by Epstein himself and Luis Buñuel. In the same year, a shorter version of the same tale was released: The Fall of the House of Usher, by Melville Webber and James Sibley, which stands out for its avant-garde, dream-like aesthetics. by Universal Pictures, which controlled the mainstream horror film industry at the time, except the last one, which was produced by Paramount Pictures. These films would join previous classics such as Rupert Julian’s The Phantom of the Opera (1925) or the previous version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by John S. Robertson. It is clear to anyone reading these titles that the 19 th century fantasy literature was being used as a cornerstone of screenplays: many other films which were not directly based on a specific book included elements from various literary works. Once discovered the appeal of Frankenstein and Dracula as characters, invariably embodied by Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi, Universal Pictures started to develop a myriad of sequels to the original stories, as well as productions starring both of them. But, following the adaptation trend, it was a logical move to look for inspiration in E. A. Poe’s tales. Robert Florey’s Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932) was one of the first incursions in his narrative 2 , followed by The Black Cat (1934), by Edgar G. Ulmer and The Raven (1935), by Lew Landers, a resource that would become increasingly common in the 50s and 60s. All of them followed the original tales’ plot rather loosely (specially The Black Cat), as it would almost always happen when it comes to Poe’s stories. In the second half of the 30s, it seemed that American Pictures’ new owners, as well as the public, were less interested in the horror genre, making it less profitable. After the Second World War, the already decadent stars who had embodied the most terrifying monsters during the previous decade were substituted by the Atomic Age sci-fi imagery. Plots started to increasingly involve alien invasions, strange mutations to people or animals or any kind of global catastrophe. This would be the trend during the 40s and 50s, when the UK started to excel as a big producer of horror films thanks to Hammer Films Productions. This company obtained generous profits thanks to its remakes and sequels of Dracula and Frankenstein in colour with its biggest star, Christopher Lee. Despite the fact that they were still commercially successful, horror films were being confined more and more to low-budget productions, most of them becoming the so called “B films”. It was at that time, in the mid-50s, that the young filmmaker Roger Corman (1926), who had already written and produced several films, arrived at the 96 Marta Mariño-Mexuto 3 AIP’s original project was shooting two black-and-white horror films for under a $100,000 budget each, but Corman was tired of working with such a low budget, so he proposed a single film in colour for $200,000, and they accepted. 4 We will be using the term “adaptation” for lack of a better one, although it is widely assumed at this point in the theory of cinema that this term is reductive and does not comprehend all of the ways in which a filmmaker is inspired by a certain literary work, and how the final product relates to the original text. Pérez Bowie adds that “En tal sentido, cabe decir que la adaptación cinematográfica de una obra clásica de la literatura no es asumible sino como una lectura personal que el director nos propone de ese texto, al que utiliza, aprovechando su potencial semántico siempre activo y disponible, para hablarnos de sí mismo más que para hablar del propio texto” (Pérez Bowie, 2008: 87). 5 The Black Cat was given an innovative comic treatment, as it would happen later with The Raven (1963). It may be no coincidence that these are E. A. Poe’s best known short story and poem and, therefore, it was more difficult to make them into original films, unless the approach changed completely. Of course, originality wasn’t always Corman’s goal, as we cannot forget that these were B films after all, but it should not be immediately ruled out as an objective. American Releasing Company, where he directed several Westerns and science fiction films, before the company changed its name to American International Pictures (AIP) and gave him the position of leading filmmaker. AIP was starting to stablish itself as the American counterpart to the English-in-origin Hammers since if, in the decade of the 1930s, Hammer Productions had brought to the screen gothic classics such as Dracula and Frankenstein with the recognisable expressionistic traits of the time, in the much more colourful decade of the 1960s, American International Pictures attempted something similar as regards their most popular American classic, Edgar Allan Poe. (Miquel Baldellou, 2010: 61) He continued to direct and produce a wide range of films with his own company, from black comedy to film noir and, in 1959, when AIP demanded for him to do a horror film 3 , he chose to adapt 4 E. A. Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher, which would be the start of his Poe cycle. House of Usher (1960), co-produced by UK’s Anglo-Amalgamated and starring Vincent Price as the leading actor, was a huge success both among the public and the critics, and Price would later be featured in all of Corman’s films based on Poe’s tales, a low-budget series known as the “Poe cycle”. The series would continue featuring some of the author’s most gruesome and well-known works: The Pit and the Pendulum (1961), The Premature Burial (1962), the anthology Tales of Terror (1962), based on the stories Morella, The Black Cat  5 , The Cask of Amontillado and The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar. One year later, his poem The Raven would be made into a film too, followed by The Masque of the 97 Wife of my bosom 6 Robert Towne (1934) said about this particular screenplay that he “worked harder on [that] screenplay for him [Corman] than on anything I think I have ever done” (Brady, 1982: 390). However, his works include the screenplays for Chinatown (1974), its sequel The Two Jakes (1990), Shampoo (1975) or Marathon Man (1976) among many others, and he did uncredited work for films such as The Godfather (1972), The Missouri Breaks (1976) or Frantic (1988). 7 The action starts with the death of Ligeia in 1821, as her tombstone says. E. A. Poe, therefore, would be 12 years old. However, the engraving on the tombstone would disappear later, suggesting that Ligeia is still alive. Red Death (1964) which, apart from being based on the homonymous short story, also included a subplot inspired by the tale Hop-Frog. An intertextual thread runs between these pictures, connecting plots from different tales, adding or eliminating elements to increase the horror effect. As R. Cueto states, Corman’s potential audience had had access to Poe’s tales through diverse media, such as comics or resumed versions, and not necessarily the reading of his texts. That is why Corman and his screenwriters took plots, characters and different ideas from Poe’s works, without caring about its context (see Cueto, 2009: 95-6). The Masque of the Red Death shot in England, the setting of the last Poe film, The Tomb of Ligeia (1965). The whole cycle has similar characteristics: These films were made on a small budget but were lavish colour films that used visual excess to create a nightmarish world of melodramatic fantasy, and were clearly made in response to developments overseas. ( Jancovich, 2015: 4, quoted in Miquel Baldellou, 2010: 62) Ligeia’s film adaptation, written by Robert Towne 6 , included a number of characteristics that distinguished it from Corman’s previous horror works. One of them was the use of exterior settings, such as the ruins of an English abbey (Castle Acre Priory, in Norfolk) in broad daylight at the beginning of the film, although the scenes shot indoors show the Gothic atmosphere characteristic of almost all of the Poe cycle. However, the plot is supposed to take place approximately in the writer’s lifetime 7 , if we take into account the clothing of the characters and the general aesthetics. Although Towne admitted to like his original screenplay still for many years, it was the Poe film which made the least amount of money of the whole series, maybe due to the fact that it was the seventh one and the public was getting tired of the concept. Corman also thought of this film as one of the best of the cycle. However, one of the issues in his opinion and Towne’s was the election of Vincent Price as the male protagonist and Ligeia’s husband, Verden Fell. Fell incarnated the neurotic first person narrator in Poe’s story, and Corman had originally wanted Robert Chamberlain for the role, worried by the fact that Price 98 Marta Mariño-Mexuto 8 English philosopher and clergyman Joseph Glanvill (1636-1680) was traditionally associated to the Cambridge Platonists. The quote was most likely invented by Poe himself (who spelled Glanvill with an additional “e” at the end), because it has not been found in any of the philosopher’s writings. Nevertheless, Poe used a true, though altered quote from Glanvill’s essay Against Confidence in Philosophy and Matters of Speculation (1676) in his short story A descend into the Maelström (1841). 9 It is interesting to notice Poe’s positive vision of will in a woman compared to William Blake’s idea of “Female Will”. Anne K. Mellor says that “Blake implicitly affirms this image of the woman as passive earth-mother by presenting its alternative, the aggressive, independent woman […]. Since Blake identifies the Female Will with egoistic selfhood, he implies that women should have no existence independent of men” (Mellor, 1983: 148). was too old. Nevertheless, Price’s presence was a requirement for AIP, and he ended up being the only American actor in the film’s all-British cast. This would be the last Poe-based picture by the “King of the B’s”, Roger Corman. AIP wanted to produce a new Poe series a few years later, but he refused to take part in it. * * * The Tomb of Ligeia starts up with the lady Ligeia’s burial in sacred ground, between the ruins of Castle Acre Priory, and the complaints by the men who helped Fell carry the coffin, because she was not a Christian. Fell refuses to believe she is truly dead because of the extraordinary force of her will, and quotes her as saying: “Man need not kneel before the angels, nor lie in death forever, but for the weakness of his evil will”. These words are a paraphrase of the quote with which Poe opens his story, attributed to Joseph Glanvill 8 : And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will. (Poe, 1984a: 262) Ligeia’s will 9 is the key to the original story and, although this citation is one of the opening sentences in the film, there are other elements which exceed it in importance. We will see how Ligeia’s personality traits get more and more blurred as the minutes go by. One of the first things which strikes the viewer who has already read Poe’s story is the space and time that the lady Rowena, Fell’s second wife, takes up in comparison to Ligeia. We get to know Rowena quite well, while Ligeia’s face is briefly seen during her burial and at the end of the picture, in complete opposition to what happens in the tale. While the narrator is married to Rowena 99 Wife of my bosom 10 On the other hand, Verden Fell’s eyes are important: he wears dark glasses for most of the film, because he cannot stand daylight. Nevertheless, he stops wearing them without any explanation when he marries Rowena and in their honeymoon. The moment they come back to the abbey, he starts wearing them again, as if he was trying to protect himself from Ligeia’s hypnotic powers. Clearly, this does not seem to work, so this point ends up unexplained. for some time, her traits or personality are hardly ever paid attention to, which is an indicator in itself that she cannot be compared to Ligeia in beauty, intelligence or personality. It is worth noting that both female characters are here interpreted by the same actress, Elizabeth Shepherd, although nothing in the story suggests a resemblance between the two women until the final Rowena-Ligeia transformation. In Ligeia, the main character’s description takes a considerable part of the tale, what the narrator calls “the person of Ligeia”, covering both her physical appearance and her intellectual abilities. As for her beauty, all of it is imbued with a certain strangeness which adds to the general effect because “«There is no exquisite beauty», says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speaking truly of all the forms and genera of beauty, «without some strangeness in the proportion»” (Poe, 1984a: 263). Her most remarkable feature, however, is her excessively big eyes, “far larger than the ordinary eyes of our own race. They were even fuller than the fullest of the gazelle eyes of the tribe of the valley of Nourjahad” (Poe, 1984a: 264). In the film, her eyes are not an important element, besides being supposedly the instrument with which she had hypnotised Fell 10 . But the element which sets this description apart from most of the depictions of females in literature at that time (and even now) is what is said regarding her knowledge: I have spoken of the learning of Ligeia: it was immense —such as I have never known in woman. In the classical tongues was she deeply proficient, and as far as my own acquaintance extended in regard to the modern dialects of Europe, I have never known her at fault. Indeed upon any theme of the most admired, because simply the most abstruse of the boasted erudition of the academy, have I ever found Ligeia at fault? How singularly —how thrillingly, this one point in the nature of my wife has forced itself, at this late period only, upon my attention! I said her knowledge was such as I have never known in woman —but where breathes the man who has traversed, and successfully, all the wide areas of moral, physical, and mathematical science? I saw not then what I now clearly perceive, that the acquisitions of Ligeia were gigantic, were astounding; yet I was sufficiently aware of her infinite supremacy to resign myself, with a child-like confidence, to her guidance through the chaotic world of metaphysical investigation at which I was most busily occupied during the earlier years of our marriage. (Poe, 1984a: 266) 100 Marta Mariño-Mexuto 11 Obviously, this is not a new concept: as the feminist movement has always pointed out, an intelligent and educated woman often constitutes a threat to the patriarchal system, and there was not a lot of place for such women in Hollywood nor in other film studios at that time (and, in our opinion, there is still not such a place). Not only it is unusual to portray the protagonist of a 19 th century horror story as incredibly intelligent as she is beautiful, but the male character admits her knowledge to be greater than his and in fact, to any other man’s he has ever known. This side of the lady Ligeia is completely absent from the film, and there may be several reasons for that. One of them is, as it has previously been noted, her absence in most of the film, which adds to the creation of a very mysterious image of Ligeia. The beginning in medias res contributes to the general ignorance about her. Those who knew the lady never tell any details about her, despite Rowena’s questions, so she ends up reduced to a symbolic presence, disturbingly represented by a black cat and a dead fox. However, Poe describes the narrator’s first wife thoroughly and that does not make her less mysterious: the lady Rowena has a surname and a distinct origin, whereas Ligeia’s husband cannot even remember where and how he met her. Let us present the beginning of Poe’s text, and the narrator’s self-confessed ignorance about the origin of his first wife: “I cannot, for my soul, remember how, when, or even precisely where, I first became acquainted with the lady Ligeia. Long years have since elapsed, and my memory is feeble through much suffering. […] And now, while I write, a recollection flashes upon me that I have never known the paternal name of her who was my friend and my betrothed […]” (Poe, 1984a: 262). and now, compare it with Rowena’s brief, yet concise presentation: “the fair-haired and blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion, of Tremaine” (Poe, 1984a: 270). Roger Corman’s pictures in general are not addressed to an especially educated viewer. Intelligent women are often viewed as suspicious even today, and in literature and cinema as well, their knowledge and power are many times utilised for crime or witchcraft (and witchcraft is not far away from her hypnotic powers, even though they are scientifically explained in the picture). In the tale, it is more of a metaphoric “hypnotism”: the narrator is infatuated by her eyes, even after she dies. Corman’s public was less prepared to see in an exceedingly educated and strong woman in a film who was not a witch or a criminal mastermind 11 : in the 60s, the American audiences were used to seeing the female protagonist, especially in a period drama or a literary adaptation, as a sweet damsel in distress 101 Wife of my bosom 12 This was very common in Gothic novels, and certainly many viewers unfamiliar with Poe’s work would make a generalisation and consider his stories “Gothic”, regardless of the time period and literary style. who would be rescued by the hero 12 or, if the film was based on an E. A. Poe story, tragically dead in mysterious circumstances, and mourned by her lover as the angel she used to be in life. Rowena enters the plot as a brave and even reckless lady, but she is rescued by Verden Fell and taken into his house when she falls off her horse so, in a way, her own boldness puts her in the position to become a damsel in distress (her horse had been frightened by a black cat at Ligeia’s tomb). As the film goes by, she gives proof again of her fearless behaviour, but also needs to be rescued again by Fell in a bell tower, a scene reminiscent of Hitchcock’s Vertigo (Hitchcock’s film was, in fact, partly inspired by Poe’s Ligeia). From the moment she enters the household, Rowena tries to figure out what is going on with Fell’s first wife. She is put in a position similar to the one described by Edwina Noone regarding the ghost story, who differentiates three main characteristics in the horror genre: the damsel in distress, a mysterious atmosphere and the threat of the old versus the new. In Gothic novels, the heroine is a modern, rational woman immersed in a dangerous atmosphere full of memories from the past (see Llopis, 2013: 130). Rowena is the skeptical, rational woman, who finds herself in the eccentric world of Fell and his mysterious deceased wife that never seems to go out of his life. Obviously, she represents the new against the old, and the age difference between the couple adds to this interpretation. In Poe’s tale, Ligeia’s intelligence and will are never used for evil, despite the surprising ending, when she apparently takes over Rowena’s body to come back to life. Although mysterious, she is never seen as nothing other than an extraordinary woman, beloved by her husband. However, for The Tomb of Ligeia’s viewers, as the publicity campaign for the film said, she became a “female thing”. Interestingly enough, this was not the first female thing in Corman’s extensive filmography. The 1959 low-budget horror film The Wasp Woman depicts a woman who, in order not to age, injects herself a substance that ends up transforming her into an evil wasp, in the fashion of the science-fiction half-human creatures so popular at that time in cinema and literature. Several films directed or produced by Corman feature a murderous woman as their lead character (Sorority Girl [1957], Bloody Mama [1970]…), but the female monster was popular during the 50s and 60s as the “innovative” counterpart to a monstrous male entity. Any trace of originality these films could have had rapidly vanished when the typical plot was established: through some pseudo-scientific explanation, a once normal person was able to transform him 102 Marta Mariño-Mexuto or herself into a massive creature with some kind of animal features (usually, an insect or any animal traditionally considered dangerous or unpleasant) with evil instincts, putting the whole Earth in danger. Sometimes, it is just as simple as a woman from outer space suddenly making an appearance on our planet to obtain some kind of benefit for her own race or simply to harm humans. Some examples of this kind of narratives are David MacDonald’s Devil Girl from Mars (1954), She Devil (1957), directed by Kurt Neumann, The Astounding She-Monster (1958), by Ronnie Ashcroft, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, directed the same year as the latter by Nathan Hertz, or Queen of Blood (1966), by Curtis Harrington. Of course, many other films only portrayed women as helpless victims of the monsters: we only have to take a look at Corman’s film’s posters, and this is not only true of his pictures, but of most of the horror and science-fiction cinema during those years. Although Ligeia is not explicitly portrayed as a non-human being in the picture, it is not far-fetched to assume that the audience was influenced by this imagery, as well as from the old type of the witch, an intelligent yet manipulative woman with supernatural powers and knowledge that allows her to do as she pleases with the people around her. And obviously, after seeing this poster, they were expecting to see a “female thing”: 103 Wife of my bosom 13 Franz Anton Mesmer died in 1815 and very little is known of his activities when he left Paris in 1785, so his possible discoveries about “animal magnetism” were not that new when Verden Fell talks about them, approximately some time after 1821. 14 Which is strictly true, because Verden Fell did not have the lady Ligeia’s death certificate, so he seemed to be legally married to two women at the same time. Harry Clarke’s 1919 illustration for Ligeia, part of his classic series of works for Poe’s Tales of Mystery and Imagination, presents her in a very different way: calm-looking, her head is surrounded by a huge halo that equals her to a saint, while her husband is on his knees, expressing adoration: As we have shown, the character of Ligeia is presented in a much simpler way and yet, the influence she has on the protagonist is not merely explained by witchcraft or left mysteriously unexplained (as it happens in the short story): there is at least a partial explanation to the strange events. Apparently, the lady Ligeia had hypnotised her husband before her death. This is suggested when Verden Fell himself speaks about the new scientific advances carried out by Franz Mesmer 13 . He himself seems to be quite an expert, for he manages to hypnotise Rowena, and while she is in this estate, Ligeia speaks through her mouth, declaring that she will always be Fell’s wife 14 . It is remarkable that although Verden Fell also has the ability to mesmerise someone, he is not seen as evil or as any less human. This attempt to provide a logic explanation of the supernatural is weaker than in the 104 Marta Mariño-Mexuto 15 On the other hand, Roberto Cueto sees this attitude as rebellious in a positive way: “Las grandes heroínas del ciclo Corman son mujeres que, de un modo u otro, desafían arrogantes los imaginarios femeninos construidos por sujetos masculinos. En todas ellas late un legítimo deseo sexual que ha sido anulado por el hombre. […] [Ligeia] propone una revancha psicológica hipnotizando al marido para que éste nunca pueda olvidarla” (Cueto, 2009: 135-6). tale, where the narrator suggests several times that his capacities may have been affected by the use of opium, because it is obvious that not all that happens in the film can be explained due to Ligeia’s hypnotic powers. However, there is an attempt in both artistic works not to openly show the supernatural until the end. Daniel F. Ferreras explains that Poe uses several ways of keeping the impression of realism: the narrator says he was under the influence of opium and admits he may have been dreaming during some of the events. Therefore, the fantastic effect is achieved by suggesting irrational elements, but preserving the realistic setting at the same time (see Ferreras, 1995: 459). Roberto Cueto suggests that, in this particular film, a more mature Corman tries to capture Poe’s ambiguity towards what is real and what is imagined by the narrator through properly cinematographic resources, such as the game of reverse angle shots, which suggests that Ligeia may be a product of Fell’s monomaniac mind (see Cueto, 2009: 110-12). Hypnotism is the key element in another well-known Poe text: The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar (1845), where the protagonist is kept alive when he was on the verge of dying by hypnosis, only to quickly decompose when he is released from the hypnotic state. It is not uncommon for the films in the Poe cycle to merge elements from several tales, as it happens in The Masque of the Red Death (1964), which includes a sub-plot taken from Hop-Frog (1849). However, hypnotism also explains the plot of an earlier Corman film, The Undead (1957), written by Charles B. Griffith and Mark Hanna, and serves as a sort of pseudo-scientific frame to the story, in which a 20 th century prostitute is hypnotised to see her own past self in the Middle Ages, accused of being a witch. The real evil witch, however, is a woman who transforms herself into a black cat at her will. Of course, the link between witches and black cats is ancient and untraceable, but the fact that Ligeia in Corman’s picture is incarnated by this animal inserts her in this tradition and cannot be explained by hypnosis 15 . This is also an intertextual wink to The Black Cat (1843), one of Poe’s most famous tales, and one that most people would be able to recognise even without having read it. Ligeia’s black hair is one of her signs of identity both in the text and on the screen, making a black cat the ideal creature for her to reincarnate in (and another dark animal, the raven, is inseparably related to E. A. Poe, an easy reference that everyone could understand). 105 Wife of my bosom There is another animal related to Ligeia, that is never mentioned in Poe’s text: the Egyptian fox that she had as a pet, the hunting of which sets the beginning of the film and the occasion for Rowena and Verden to meet. Fell collects ancient Egyptian objects and, according to his words, foxes are the animals related to the Egyptian goddess Ashtophet, an invention by the Bostonian author which does appear in the tale: And, indeed, if ever that spirit which is entitled Romance —if ever she, the wan and the misty-winged Ashtophet of idolatrous Egypt, presided, as they tell, over marriages ill-omened, then most surely she presided over mine. (Poe, 1984a: 262) In spite of the clear identification of the cat with the lady Ligeia, hers is not a “complete” reincarnation, for the woman’s body still exists: dead yet incorrupt, it is kept in one of the rooms, where a hypnotised Fell goes every night to meet her. In the rather confusing final minutes, Rowena and Ligeia seem to exchange their bodies and personalities several times: when the first one looks dead, the latter takes over her body to evilly laugh at Fell. The difference between both ladies is accentuated by presenting the angelical and blonde Rowena wearing a light blue nightgown, whereas the black-haired Ligeia is wrapped in black muslin and speaks in a noticeable deeper voice. After Rowena suddenly speaks with Ligeia’s voice and dies, Fell fights with the black cat, and his violence towards the animal suggests hatred and resentment towards his late wife because of the great influence she had upon him, rather than the ambiguous explanation that he provides: “She killed Rowena and I killed Ligeia! ” This is Fell’s justification after strangling Ligeia (who, again, transforms herself into Rowena), and astonishingly, everyone seems to forget Fell’s own murderous impulses in that moment. At one point in Fell’s fight with the animal, his eyes are wounded and, wandering blindly in the huge gothic bedroom, he makes a candelabra fall and set fire to a curtain, sealing his and Ligeia’s fate. The Tomb of Ligeia finishes with a quote from Poe’s story The Premature Burial (1844): “The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? ” (Poe, 1984b: 666), while the abbey bursts into flames. As the building disappears, in a reminiscence of The Fall of the House of Usher (1839), Verden Fell dies inside, but Rowena is alive and has got her soul back from Ligeia, who we assume is finally dead forever. Ligeia’s character is simplified for several reasons, both practical and ideo‐ logical: the viewers were not prepared to see (or, maybe, those involved in the film making were not ready to show) a powerful woman, as intelligent as her husband, without seeing her as a threat instead of a loving wife who happens 106 Marta Mariño-Mexuto 16 A comparison of the feminine figures in Poe’s works would be very helpful here, but it would exceed the limits of our analysis. It is interesting to note that, although the authorial voice’s love experiences usually end up in tragic circumstances, his vision of women in general is not negative and they do not represent evil. Even the character of Helen in both poems entitled To Helen, a mixture of Helen of Troy, Jane Stanard and Sarah Helen Whitman, does not have the connotations of the femme fatale that the Spartan queen often represented. 17 Let us not forget that Ligeia was also a writer: In Poe’s story, she is the author of the poem The Conqueror Worm, written when her physical condition was already deteriorated. The poem had already been published in Graham’s Magazine in 1843, before being incorporated to Ligeia in an 1845 version (the tale had first been published in 1838 in the American Museum magazine). to have these qualities. This is not to say that Poe was a feminist by any means, but certainly he was free of this specific prejudice, as the lecture of Ligeia demonstrates 16 . Instead, the plain lady Rowena becomes a main character and, although brave, her virtues in the film are not as innovative as those of Ligeia in the tale. After all, a certain recklessness on the part of Rowena is required in the plot in order for her to be rescued by the male hero. That was what most audiences were used to seeing at this particular moment and time. Some of these changes may not even have been made consciously in the screenplay writing process, and some of them were deliberate because it is obvious that not many people would be interested in knowing about Ligeia’s readings or writings 17 when attending the screening of a horror film. It seems that pure will is not enough of a motive for Corman’s Ligeia to come back from the dead. Jealousy is highlighted in the film: in the tale, it is assumed that the male protagonist does not love the lady Rowena, but in The Tomb of Ligeia, Rowena and Verden Fell fall in love, a fact that is obviously perceived as a betrayal by the deceased lady. This is an easier way to present the facts to the audience, rather than to highlight Ligeia’s intellectual interest in the power of will beyond death. This does not mean that there may not be a component of jealousy in Poe’s story, but the circumstances are very different: when the narrator thinks he sees, in his opium-affected mind, someone’s hand (supposedly, Ligeia’s) pouring some poison in Rowena’s glass, he is not seeing anything other than his biggest desire: getting rid of his current wife and having the first one come back to life. It is curious to realise that some of the behaviours that turn the lady Ligeia into a “female thing” are displayed by Verden Fell himself, but somehow he is never considered a “male thing”, and is presented as a much more likable character, although still a tormented, romantic hero. He proves that he is also capable of inducing a person into a hypnotic state, just what his late wife has 107 Wife of my bosom done to him, and he tries repeatedly to kill Ligeia, both in her human and in her animal form, blaming her for Rowena’s apparent death. It is true that he does not experiment the whole process of death and revival in another person’s body, as Ligeia does, but it is impossible to know if his intentions would not be as evil, were he in the same situation. He attempts murder and control by hypnosis: for all we know, the only difference is that Ligeia’s powers are greater. In Poe’s tale, Ligeia’s will is strong enough to come back to life so, assuming that her reincarnation is not the narrator’s hallucination, they will be together again, because Rowena’s body was just an instrument for this rebirth process. The film inverts the situation and makes of Rowena the only survivor. While most films based on literary works tend to focus on the romantic story, if there is one (or they make up one if it did not originally exist), the “love beyond death” concept that makes of Ligeia a tale about love, as well as a horror story, has completely vanished. Verden and Rowena’s relationship does not receive much attention, and it seems that the protagonist’s death would not be grieved for a long time. In this sense, the lady Ligeia is not totally defeated in this picture: after all, Rowena would never be for Verden Fell “the wife of his bosom”. Bibliographical References Brady, J. (1982). The Craft of the Screenwriter. New York: Touchstone. Cueto, R. (2009). “Corman & Poe (o manual práctico de adaptación literaria)”. In A. J. Navarro (Ed.). Las sombras del horror. Edgar Allan Poe en el cine. Madrid: Valdemar. Ferreras, D. F. (1995). Lo fantástico en la literatura y el cine. De Edgar A. Poe a Freddy Krueger. Madrid: VOSA. Greven, D. (2011). Representations of Feminity in American Genre Cinema. The Woman’s film, Film Noir, and Modern Horror. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Llopis, R. (2013). Historia natural de los cuentos de miedo. Madrid: Fuentetaja. Mellor, A. K. (1983). “Blake’s Portrayal of Women”. Blake/ An Illustrated Quarterly, vol. 16, (3), 148-155. Miquel Baldellou, M. (2010). “‘Those Tales of Effect’: Poe’s Gothic Tales through Roger Corman’s Cinema”. Revista de Filología, vol. 28, 59-75. Pérez Bowie, J. A. (2008). Leer el cine. La teoría literaria en la teoría cinematográfica. Salamanca: Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca. Poe, E. A. (1984a) Ligeia, in Edgar Allan Poe. Poetry and Tales. New York: The Library of America, 262-277. Poe, E. A. (1984b). The Premature Burial, in Edgar Allan Poe. Poetry and Tales. New York: The Library of America. 108 Marta Mariño-Mexuto ÉOWYN VOM BUCH ZUM FILM. Peter Jacksons Verfilmung von Tolkiens Der Herr der Ringe Miguel Ayerbe-Linares 1 Einführung und Zielsetzung Im Buch Der Herr der Ringe von J.R.R. Tolkien ist Éowyn eine weibliche Gestalt, die sich u. a. dadurch auszeichnet, auf der Suche nach ihrer eigenen Identität und ihrem Lebenssinn zu sein (Pardo, Segura 2012: 152; Hatcher 2007: 43). In diesem Rahmen gibt es m. E. zwei Stellen im dritten Teil des Romans The Return of the King, die von großem Belang für das Verständnis von Éowyns persönlicher Entwicklung sind. Dabei handelt es sich um zwei Zwiegespräche mit Männern: das erste mit Aragorn bei seinem Abschied in The Passing of the Grey Company, und das zweite mit Faramir bei der Erholung von ihren Wunden in The Houses of Healing. Doch wenn man eben diese Stellen im Film sehen will, fällt mit großem Erstaunen auf, dass aus den oben genannten Dialogen fast nichts übriggeblieben ist. Im ersten Fall (The Passing of the Grey Company) wird das Gespräch zum einen auf die Frage von Éowyn reduziert, warum Aragorn vor einer wichtigen Schlacht so plötzlich alle verlassen will, zum anderen auch auf ihren Schmerz, weil sie auf einmal deutlich erfährt, dass er sie nicht liebt; im zweiten Fall (The Houses of Healing) gibt es nur einen sehr kurzen und fast bedeutungslosen Wortaustausch zwischen Éowyn und Faramir: Éowyn: „The city has fallen silent. There is no warmth left in the sun. It grows so cold.“ Faramir: „It’s just the damp of the first spring rain. I do not believe this darkness will endure.ׅ“ (Osborne, Walsh, Jackson, 2004: 59: 36-1: 00: 16) Es sei an dieser Stelle hinzugefügt, dass dieses sehr kurze Gespräch zwischen Éowyn und Faramir nur in der verlängerten Version des Films vorkommt. Diese beiden Tatsachen sind sehr auffällig, weil die Zwiegespräche im Roman ausschlaggebend sind, um Éowyn sowohl als weibliche Gestalt, als auch 1 Diese Autorin beruft sich u. a. auf die Studien von Croft, Donovan, 2015 und Partridge, 1983. Es sei an dieser Stelle darauf aufmerksam gemacht, dass Partridges Studie vor Jacksons Verfilmung veröffentlicht wurde. ihre persönliche Entwicklung nachzuvollziehen, nämlich dass sie herausfinden möchte, wer sie ist und wer sie gerne sein möchte. Sie ist auf der Suche nach ihrem Lebenssinn und schon von ihrem ersten Auftritt im Roman an weiß sie sehr genau, was sie eben nicht sein möchte: „Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and beds when they return? “ (Tolkien, 2007: 1027) In diesem Sinne stellt sich die Frage, warum diese zwei Gespräche im (verlän‐ gerten) Film so stark reduziert worden sind. Man hätte wohl verstehen können, dass beide aus Zeitund/ oder Platzmangel nicht vollständig wiedergegeben werden konnten, trotzdem hätte man den dabei zugrunde liegenden Inhalt in einem größeren oder kleineren Ausmaß verfilmen können. Diese Tatsache erweist sich umso auffälliger, wenn man den akademischen Studien Aufmerksamkeit schenkt, die in Bezug auf die Rolle und auf die Relevanz der Frauen in Tolkiens Romanen mit Jacksons Filmen vergleichen. Vor allem wird von der Kritik betont, dass in den Filmen mehr auf die Frauen geachtet wird als in den Büchern (McKenna, 2007; Butler, Eberhart, 2002), oder dass ihre Rollen in den Filmen im Vergleich zum Buch deutlich an Gewicht gewinnen (Lane, 2005; Moore, 2002). Im akademischen Bereich weist u. a. Łaszkiewicz (2015) 1 auf die Einwände vonseiten sowohl der Leserschaft als auch der akademischen Welt hin, die die Sparsamkeit an weiblichen Gestalten einerseits, und deren niedrige Relevanz andererseits in Tolkiens Herr der Ringe zur Diskussion bringen. Was die Verfilmung des Romans durch Peter Jackson im Allgemeinen anbe‐ langt, ist viel geschrieben worden. Es seien hier u. a. die Studien von Pardo, Segura (2012), Bogstad, Kaveny (2011), Kisor (2011), Rateliff (2011), Risden (2011), Davis (2008), Barker, Mathijs (2008), Rozema (2008), Lam, Oryshchuk (2007), Morgan (2007), Valente (2007), Mathijs (2006), Mathijs, Pomerance (2006), Lane (2005) Kollmann (2004), Shippey (2004; 2003) und Wright (2004) genannt. In Bezug auf Tolkiens weibliche Gestalten bei Jackson im Allgemeinen seien hier u. a. die Studien von Carretero (2018), Łaszkiewicz (2015), Pardo, Segura (2012), West (2011), McKenna (2007), Lane (2005), Porter (2005), Akers-Jordan (2004), Chance (2004), Thum (2004) erwähnt. Besonders auffällig ist der von Pardo, Segura (2012) herausgegebene umfangreiche Band, der auf ungefähr siebenhundert Seiten die starke Reduzierung beider Gespräche Éowyns mit beiden Männern gar nicht thematisiert. Es gibt natürlich auch Studien, die sich konkret mit Éowyn und ihrer Rolle als weiblicher Gestalt sowohl in Tolkiens Roman (Croft, Donovan, 2015; Johnson, 110 Miguel Ayerbe-Linares 2009; Librán-Moreno, 2007; Smith, 2007; Michel, 2006; Burns, 2005; Frederick, McBride, 2001) als auch beim Übergang vom Buch zum Film befassen (Carretero 2018; Łaszkiewicz, 2015; Porter, 2005; Chance, 2004; Thum, 2004). Trotzdem hat auch dort die behandelte Thematik kaum mit diesen Gesprächen zu tun. Darin geht es vielmehr u. a. darum, wie Frauen geschildert werden, ob Frauen eher eine sekundäre Rolle spielen, ob die Zahl der weiblichen Gestalten in Tolkiens Buch niedriger als die der männlichen ist, ob Frauen in The Lord of the Rings im Einklang mit einem Teil der Kritik in sozialen Funktionen der Unterwerfung bestätigt werden, usw. Auch Weglassungen von Stellen beim Übergang vom Buch zum Film sind schließlich Gegenstand von Studien gewesen. Dazu zählen u. a. Kisor (2011), Rateliff (2011), Risden (2011), Robinson (2010), Morgan (2007), Valente (2007), Kollmann (2004), Paxson (2004) und Wright (2004). Dass Weglassungen in einem solchen Zusammenhang thematisiert werden, muss ja nicht wundern, denn bei der Verfilmung von umfangreichen Literaturtexten, wie in diesem Fall The Lord of the Rings, wird schnell klar, dass man den Text in seiner Ganzheit in einem Film nicht erfassen kann (Rateliff, 2011: 54; Morgan, 2007: 21; Paxson, 2004: 82). Man muss auch sagen, dass es eben in dieser Art Studien ist, wo man sowohl einen Bezug auf die mehr als beträchtliche Abkürzung der bereits an‐ gesprochenen Gespräche Éowyns, als auch eine angemessene Erklärung dafür erwarten sollte. Das ist jedoch nicht der Fall, gerade in einer Angelegenheit, die ausgerechnet eine Frau betrifft. Es wird vielmehr z. B. von der Weglassung von Stellen, die mit Tom Bombadil (Risden, 2011; Morgan, 2007; Wright, 2004) zu tun haben, oder von The Scouring of the Shire (Risden, 2007; Valente, 2007; Paxson, 2004) gesprochen. Laut Kritik sind diese zwei Stellen nicht irrelevant, denn gerade die Figur von Tom Bombadil ist besonders wichtig, um Tolkiens Auffassung von Gut und Böse zu verstehen (Morgan, 2007: 23). Nur Robinson (2010) und Paxson (2004) weisen sehr oberflächlich auf die Beziehung zwischen Éowyn und Faramir unter den Weglassungen im Film hin. In eben diesem Zusammenhang ist besonders auffällig, dass beide Autoren behaupten, dass ausgelassene Szenen sowie Dialoge erst in der verlängerten Version (extended version) wiederhergestellt werden (Robinson, 2010: 510; Paxon, 2004: 90). Diese Behauptungen kann man wohl nur in einem allgemeinen und breiten, wenn nicht in einem zweideutigen Sinn verstehen, denn auf die Gespräche zwischen Éowyn und Aragorn bzw. Faramir treffen sie gar nicht zu, denn sie werden nie nachgeholt. Angesichts all der verfügbaren Bibliografie, die sich teils aus feministischer Sicht mit Frauen sowohl in Tolkiens Herr der Ringe als auch in Jacksons Filmen mit diesem literarischem Werk befassen, fällt auf, dass niemand auf die 111 Éowyn vom Buch zum Film 2 Laut einigen Studien dient Tolkien die Gestalt von Hervör für Éowyn in The Lord of the Rings. Siehe hierfür Hatcher 2007: 47. 3 Vgl. die Ausgabe von Turville-Petre, Tolkien, 1997, Kap. 4. 4 Vgl. die Ausgabe von Berger 1888, vv. 2081-2138. 5 Ibid. vv. 2161-2166. drastische Abkürzung oder fast vollständige Weglassung der oben erwähnten langen Gespräche Éowyns mit Aragorn bzw. Faramir eingeht. Aus diesem Grund kann ich die oben erwähnten Ansichten, nämlich dass im Gegensatz zum Buch Frauengestalten im Film an Relevanz gewinnen, nicht ohne Bedenken teilen. Dass in Jacksons Film Arwen diejenige ist, die den schwer verwundeten Frodo nach Rivendel in Sicherheit bringt, und dass Éowyn nach ihrem Sieg über den Nazgûl Anerkennung bei ihrem sterbenden Onkel Éomer findet, mag beiden weiblichen Figuren einen epischen Charakter verleihen, weil sie bei konkreten und sichtbaren heroischen Taten aktiv mitspielen, aber gewinnen sie nur deswegen an Gewicht? Können sich Frau‐ engestalten nur so als sagenhafte und heldenhafte Figuren erweisen? Damit man mich nicht falsch versteht, möchte ich an dieser Stelle ausdrücklich klarstellen, dass ich gar nichts dagegen habe, dass Frauen ein Schwert in die Hand nehmen und in den Kampf ziehen. Ich bin sogar der Auffassung, dass sie so gute und ruhmreiche Heldentaten wie die Männer vollbringen können. Und hier liefert allein die Literatur des Mittelalters ganz schöne Beispiele, wie die altnordische Hervararkviða (12./ 13. Jhd.), in der Hervör 2 sich als Mann verkleidet, einen anderen Namen annimmt (Hervarðr), und gegen Männer kämpft und sie besiegt 3 ; oder den mittelhochdeutschen Orendel (12. Jhd.), wo die Königin Bride sich wie ein Ritter für den Kampf rüstet und zahlreiche Männer erschlägt 4 . Darüber hinaus wird sie dafür gar nicht getadelt, sondern ganz im Gegenteil, ihre Tat findet Anerkennung bei vielen christlichen Rittern, indem diese Mut fassen und sich sogar von ihr führen lassen, nachdem sie sie so tapfer haben kämpfen sehen 5 . Konkret auf die Gestalt von Éowyn bezogen möchte ich hier die Ansicht vertreten, dass diese Frau durch die starke Reduzierung oder sogar Weglassung der oben erwähnten Dialoge in Jacksons Film nicht nur kaum an Relevanz gewinnt, sondern vielmehr im Vergleich zum Buch an Substanz einbüßt. Wenn man die Länge beider Dialoge im Buch mit den entsprechenden Szenen im Film vergleicht, indem man jeweils die Wörter zählt, stellt man sofort einen großen Unterschied fest, wie aus folgender Tabelle zu ersehen ist: 112 Miguel Ayerbe-Linares 6 Es sei an dieser Stelle nochmals daran erinnert, dass dieses Zwiegespräch in der ersten Version des Films vollständig ausgelassen wurde. Zwiegespräch Anzahl der Wörter im Buch Anzahl der Wörter im Film Éowyn mit Aragorn 1320 65 Éowyn mit Faramir 2690 34 Tabelle 1: Vergleich der Anzahl der Wörter im Buch und im Film Wie aus obiger Tabelle zu entnehmen ist, machen die Wörter des ersten Dialoges im Film nur 4,92% der Gesamtzahl des gleichen Gesprächs im Buch aus. Was das zweite Zwiegespräch anbelangt, können wir nur von 0,79% sprechen 6 . Doch abgesehen von der rein quantitativen Betrachtung möchte ich hier auch die These vorschlagen, dass diese Gespräche beim Übergang vom Buch zum Film nicht nur sehr stark reduziert, sondern auch vielmehr von ihrem wesentlichen Inhalt entleert worden sind. Und die Folge davon ist, dass eine Frauenfigur wie Éowyn im Film stark an Tiefe verliert, denn der innere Wert dieser Frau, der im Buch so ausführlich zum Ausdruck kommt, verblasst vollständig. Diese Tatsache ist nicht unauffällig beim Übergang zum Film und gerade deshalb ist es merkwürdig, dass sie sowohl in akademischen Studien als auch von der Kritik kaum thematisiert worden ist. Im Folgenden möchte ich beide Gespräche analysieren, um zu zeigen, dass Éowyn beim Übergang vom Buch zum Film durch die starke Reduzierung nicht nur quantitativ, sondern auch qualitativ an Anwesenheit und Relevanz verliert. Gleichzeitig möchte ich auch untersuchen, welche Rolle beide Männer, nämlich Aragorn und Faramir, in diesem Zusammenhang spielen. Ich vertrete hier die Ansicht, dass beide Männer Éowyn gegenüber keine dominierende, sondern eher eine begleitende Rolle spielen, damit sie den Weg zu sich selbst und zu ihrer Selbstverwirklichung findet. Darüber hinaus möchte ich erklären, warum ich bezüglich der starken Veränderung beider Zwiegespräche beim Übergang vom Buch zum Film den Ausdruck „Entleerung“ vor „Reduzierung“ oder „Weglassung“ bevorzuge. Ich vertrete hier die Ansicht, dass beide Zwiegespräche nicht nur sehr drastisch reduziert worden sind, was die Anzahl der Wörter angeht, sondern dass beide ihres wesentlichen Inhalts beraubt worden sind. Dadurch wird uns im Film die sagenhafte Entwicklung Éowyns auf der Suche nach ihrer eigenen Identität sowie nach dem Sinn ihres Lebens vorenthalten. Als Folge daraus werden 113 Éowyn vom Buch zum Film Éowyns Relevanz und Protagonismus im Vergleich zum Buch nicht nur nicht gefördert, sondern eher gedämpft. Zu diesem Zweck möchte hier zunächst erklären, warum beide Dialoge sehr wichtig sind, um Éowyns Persönlichkeit und die Suche nach ihrer Selbstver‐ wirklichung zu verstehen. Dafür muss der Inhalt beider Zwiegespräche analy‐ siert werden. Damit soll sichtbar werden, dass ein tiefer und harter Konflikt sich in Éowyns Seele ausgelöst hat, der im Film aus welchem Grund auch immer deutlich ausgeblendet wird. Daraus folgt aus meiner Sicht eine Manipulation, die im Film den wahren Weg zur Entdeckung des eigenen Lebenssinns sowie die Selbstverwirklichung einer Frau verschweigt. 2 Warum sind die Gespräche Éowyns mit Aragorn und Faramir so wichtig? Nach dieser Einführung könnte die Frage gestellt werden, warum man eben diesen zwei Gesprächen aus dem Buch so viel Aufmerksamkeit schenken sollte. Ich nehme hier zunächst zwei Gründe vorweg: Einerseits sind diese Gespräche m. E. besonders relevant, weil Éowyn sich darin offenbart. In der Vertrautheit von Zwiegesprächen mit Männern, die sie sehr hochschätzen, zeigt sie ihre innere Welt, wo ihre Gefühle, Ängste, Sehnsüchte, innigsten Gedanken, Ideale und ihre Motivationen zum Vorschein kommen. Andererseits wird in diesen Dialogen die persönliche Entwicklung einer weiblichen Hauptfigur sichtbar, die auf der Suche nach ihrem unwiederholbaren Lebenssinn ist, der für jeden Menschen ausschlaggebend ist. Es ist wichtig hevorzuheben, dass es in diesen zwei Gesprächen zwar nicht ausschließlich, aber doch vor allem um Éowyn geht. Aber nicht nur das, was sie sagt, ist darin relevant. Auch die Beschreibung ihrer Reaktionen, Blicke und Schweigen sagen etwas über sie. Genauso wichtig ist die Interaktion zwischen Éowyn und ihren beiden Gesprächspartnern, d. h. wie sie sich selbst im Verhältnis zu einem jeden von ihnen darstellt. Darauf möchte ich im nächsten Abschnitt eingehen. 3 Analyse der Dialoge im Einzelnen 3.1 Der Dialog zwischen Éowyn und Aragorn in The Passing of the Grey Company In diesem Gespräch können zwei Phasen unterschieden werden. In der ersten, als Aragorn zu den Paths of the Dead gehen soll, verteidigt er sich vor Éowyn, die sein Vorhaben als falsch und verrückt bezeichnet: 114 Miguel Ayerbe-Linares 7 Die Kursive in den Zitaten ist immer von mir. Damit will ich auf die aus meiner Sicht relevantesten Diskursstellen aufmerksam machen. 8 Auch Michel (2006: 68) erwähnt diese Problematik. „‚But Aragorn,‘ she said at last, ‚it is then your errand to seek death?   7 For that is all that you will find on that road. They do not suffer the living to pass.‘“ „‚They may suffer me to pass,‘ said Aragorn; ‚but at the least I will adventure it. No other road will serve.‘“ „‚But this is madness,‘ she said.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1025) Éowyn versucht, Aragorn davon abzubringen, dass er sich alleine auf dem Weg zu den Paths of the Dead macht. Aber von großem Belang ist hier Éowyns Argumentation: „For here are men of renown and prowess, whom you should not take into the shadows, but should lead to war, where men are needed. I beg you to remain and ride with my brother; for then all our hearts will be gladdened, and our hope be the brighter.“ […] „Yet I do not bid you flee from peril, but to ride to battle where your sword may win renown and victory. I would not see a thing that is high and excellent cast away needlessly.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1025, 1027) Éowyn schätzt Aragorn als Heerführer sehr hoch und kann deshalb nicht nachvollziehen, dass er sich von den anderen trennen will, um ohne Begleitung einen anderen Weg zu gehen. Nach ihrer Auffassung kann ein so begabter und tapferer Mann nur offen und vor dem Angesicht der anderen Erfolg haben und Ruhm erreichen. Ihr ist der Auftritt vor anderen wichtig. Jemand mag ganz große Dinge bewirken, aber diese können kaum als heldenhaft angesehen werden, wenn es keine Zeugen gibt, die sie bestaunen 8 . Doch hier widerspricht Aragorn: „Yet the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1027) Ein zweiter zu kommentierender Aspekt in diesem ersten Teil des Gesprächs liegt in der persönlichen Einstellung der Aufgabe gegenüber, die einem jeden zukommt. Aragorn seinerseits hat den Weg zu den Paths of the Dead nicht selber gewählt. Dies ist eine Aufgabe, die nur ihm zugeteilt worden ist: „‚It is not madness, lady,‘ he answered; ‚for I go on a path appointed. But those who follow me do so of their free will.‘“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1025-1026) „‚Aragorn,‘ she said, ‚why will you go on this deadly road? ‘ ‚Because I must,‘ he said.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1026) Diese Worte Aragorns kontrastieren mit Éowyns: „‚Shall I always be chosen? ‘ she said bitterly.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1027). 115 Éowyn vom Buch zum Film Éowyn scheint jeden von außen erteilten Auftrag oder Mission als freiheits‐ beschränkend zu betrachten, d. h. etwas, wo die eigene Freiheit nichts zu sagen hat: „[…] may I not now spend my life as I will? “ (Tolkien, 2007: 1026) Beide haben eigene Wünsche, die sie gerne erfüllt sehen würden, aber der Unterschied zwischen ihnen liegt meiner Meinung nach in der Art und Weise, wie jeder von ihnen die zugeteilte Aufgabe wahrnimmt. Aragorns Haltung ist ‚aktiv‘, weil er entscheidet. Vor dem Auftrag, sich zu den Paths of the Dead zu begeben, verzichtet er auf das, was ihm viel lieber wäre, nämlich in Richtung Rivendell zu gehen, der Ort, wo sein Herz weilt. Er selbst ist derjenige, der freiwillig beschließt, seinem Auftrag nachzugehen, indem er damit auf seinen persönlichen Wunsch zugunsten eines höheren Anliegens verzichtet. Mit anderen Worten, es ist Aragorn selbst, der mit seinem eigenen Willen wählt. Auch Éowyn ist bereit, ihren Auftrag, nämlich zurückzubleiben und für das eigene Volk zu sorgen, zu erfüllen. Aber sie selbst beschließt nichts, sondern sieht sich als Opfer, dem nichts anderes übrigbleibt. Aus diesem Grund ist ihre Haltung im Gegensatz zu Aragorn ‚passiv‘. Sie beschließt nicht, sie erweckt eher den Eindruck, dass sie sich mit ihrem Auftrag abfinden muss, so unangenehm er ihr scheinen mag. Genauso wie Aragorn hat Éowyn einen großen Wunsch, nämlich zusammen mit Aragorn und den anderen Männern in den Krieg zu ziehen, aber sie verhält sich als jemand, der nicht einmal freiwillig auf die eigenen Wünsche verzichten darf. Und warum dieser Unterschied zwischen beiden Figuren? Meiner Ansicht nach geht es Éowyn um die eigene (und natürlich auch legitime) Selbstver‐ wirklichung. Und darin ist gar kein Problem zu sehen. Dieses würde ich nicht in der Selbstverwirklichung an sich sehen, sondern eher darin, wie diese erreicht wird. Für sie scheint diese nur möglich, wenn man große und heldenhafte Aufgaben bewältigen kann. Aber was soll konkret unter einer ‚großen‘ und einer ‚heldenhaften‘ Aufgabe verstanden werden? Ihre Worte könnten so interpretiert werden, als ob eine bestimmte Aufgabe oder Mission nur für ‚groß‘ und ‚ruhmreich‘ gehalten werden könnte, wenn sie nicht im Verborgenen, sondern laut vor einer Zuschauerschaft ausgeführt wird; wenn sie großes Ansehen vor den anderen genießt. Daraus folgt, dass für sie nicht alle Aufgaben oder Aufträge gleichwertig sind: ‚führen‘ und ‚in den Kampf ziehen‘, d. h. die Vorhut bilden, ist ‚groß‘; ‚hinten bleiben‘ und ‚für andere sorgen‘ dagegen ist nichts wert. Aus diesem Grund kann sie nicht nur ihren Auftrag, die Nachhut zu bilden, nicht nachvollziehen, sondern auch nicht Aragorns in Richtung Paths of the Dead. Und wenn es Aufgaben erster und zweiter Klasse gibt, hat das Folgen auch für den betreffenden Vollzieher in seinem Wert als Mensch: Seine Selbstverwirklichung würde 116 Miguel Ayerbe-Linares dann hauptsächlich von dem Urteil der anderen abhängig gemacht. Deshalb kann sie ihre Aufgabe nicht ‚wählen‘ sondern ‚sich nur damit abfinden‘. Im Gegensatz zu ihr gibt es für Aragorn keinen Unterschied zwischen hoch- und niederwertigen Aufgaben. Doch Éowyn missversteht seine Worte und erwidert darauf: „All your words are but to say: you are a woman and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman.“(Tolkien, 2007: 1027) Hier setzt, meiner Meinung nach, der zweite Teil des Gesprächs an. Éowyn empfindet die ihr zugeteilte Aufgabe daheim zu bleiben und für ihre Leute zu sorgen als abwertend (serving-woman) und versteht Aragorns Worte so, als ob er damit beabsichtigen würde, sie zu trösten und ihr Mitleid zu zeigen. Sie denkt, dass Aragorn Aussage „Yet the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1027) meint, sie solle ihre Aufgabe akzeptieren, weil sie bloß eine Frau sei. Aber was Aragorn in Wirklichkeit meint, ist, dass die Würde eines Menschen sowie seine Selbstverwirklichung nicht in der öffent‐ lichen Resonanz der Aufgabe liegt, sondern in der persönlichen Haltung ihr gegenüber: die Freiheit, sich für etwas zu entscheiden, das im Dienst der anderen ist, und über die persönlichen Vorteile wie zum Beispiel Ruhm hinausgeht. Das Problem liegt also nicht in der zugeteilten Aufgabe selbst sondern woanders. Und dies richtet nun die Aufmerksamkeit der Diskussion zwischen Aragorn und Éowyn auf einen ganz anderen Punkt: „‚What do you fear, lady? ‘ he asked. ‚A cage,‘ she said. ‚To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.‘“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1027) Éowyn beharrt auf ihrer eigenen Auffassung von ‚großen Taten‘ und ist noch nicht in der Lage nachzuvollziehen, dass sie gerade in der Erfüllung ihrer Aufgabe, welcher auch immer, im Rahmen von etwas Größerem ihre Selbstver‐ wirklichung finden wird. Aus der großen Handlung (der Kampf gegen das Böse) wird sie durch den ihr zugeteilten Auftrag (daheim zu bleiben) gar nicht ausgeschlossen. Ganz im Gegenteil, durch ihn soll sie aktiv daran teilnehmen. Nur durch dessen Erfüllung wird sie den Ruhm erreichen, der ihr genauso wie den anderen Beteiligten im Ganzen zusteht. Auch Aragorn wurde ein Auftrag erteilt, der äußerlich kein großes Ansehen genießt: fast alleine zu den Paths of the Dead zu gehen, statt an der Spitze aller Krieger zu reiten, wo alle ihn sehen und bewundern könnten. Doch auch dieser Auftrag spielt im Ganzen eine 117 Éowyn vom Buch zum Film entscheidende Rolle, wie später zu sehen ist. Éowyns Aufgabe scheint also mit der Tatsache, Frau zu sein, nicht viel zu tun zu haben. 3.2 Der Dialog zwischen Éowyn und Faramir in The Houses of Healing Das Zwiegespräch zwischen Éowyn und Faramir kommt zustande, weil Éowyn nicht gestattet wird, in ihrem noch schwachen Zustand nach der Schlacht auf den Pelennor Fields wieder in den Kampf zu ziehen. Sie wird deswegen zu Faramir als Herrn der Stellung geführt. Auf seine Frage, was sie wünscht, antwortet sie: „I would have you command this Warden, and bid him let me go.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1257) Sie besteht darauf, in den Kampf zu ziehen, um so Ruhm und Frieden wie ihr Onkel Théoden zu erreichen. Man könnte vielleicht denken, dieses Gespräch sei eine Wiederholung oder eine Fortsetzung des vorhergehenden mit Aragorn. In der Tat sieht es so aus, aber schnell spürt man den Beginn einer Änderung. Als Éowyn auf Faramirs Frage, was ihr Wunsch sei, antworten will, merkt der Erzähler an „but though her words were still proud, her heart faltered, and for the first time she doubted herself “ (Tolkien, 2007: 1257). Diese wenigen Worte sind von großem Belang, denn sie bringen zum Ausdruck, dass ein innerer Prozess in Éowyn ansetzt. Äußerlich zeigt sie sich ‚immer noch‘ stolz, doch innerlich beginnt sie zu schwanken, indem sie nicht mehr so sicher von sich selbst ist. Genauer gesagt, ihr Inneres bricht; alles, was sie bis zu diesem Zeitpunkt war, fängt an zusammenzubrechen: „She did not answer, but as he looked at her seemed to him that something in her softened, as though a bitter frost were yielding at the first faint presage of spring. A tear sprang in her eye and fell down her cheek, like a glistening rain-drop. Her proud head drooped a little. […] Her voice was now that of a maiden young and sad.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1258) Diese starke Änderung äußert sich auch im Dialog, indem sie ihren Diskurs wechselt. Sie spricht nicht mehr von Krieg, von Ruhm und von Schwert „‚But the healers would have me lie abed seven days yet,‘ she said. ‚And my window does not look eastward‘“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1258). Von nun an zeigt sie eine andere Haltung: sie gibt ihren Wunsch, in den Kampf zu ziehen, auf, sie wendet sich an keinen Mann mehr, damit er sie fortziehen oder mit ihm gehen lässt. Jetzt zieht sie sich irgendwie zurück, um sich mit sich selbst zu beschäftigen; sie spricht ihren Gesprächspartner nicht mehr an, sondern lässt sich von ihm ansprechen; sie sucht niemanden, sondern lässt sich suchen und einladen; jetzt stellt sie Fragen: „‚How should I ease your care, my lord? ‘, she said“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1258); „‚Lose what you have found, lord? ‘, she 118 Miguel Ayerbe-Linares answered“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1260); „‚Then you think that the Darkness is coming? ‘ said Éowyn“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1261). Jetzt hört sie zu. Damit öffnet sich in ihr etwas, das sie tief ansprechen will, das auf der Suche nach ihr ist. Jetzt bringt sie sich selbst in die Lage, erreicht und angesprochen zu werden, sich finden zu lassen. Trotz ihrem inneren Schmerz und ihrer Traurigkeit wird sie oft von Faramir aufgesucht und, da sie jetzt in Lage ist, zuzuhören, versucht er, ihr dabei zu helfen, die Wahrheit über sich selbst zu entdecken: einerseits wer sie in Wirklichkeit als Mensch und wie wertvoll sie ist, andererseits wie sie von außen her angesehen wird. Zunächst hilft er ihr einzusehen, was sie zu ihrem schmerzvollen und traurigen Zustand gebracht hat: „You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn. Because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the mean things that crawl on the earth. And as a great captain may to a young soldier he seemed to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is. But when he gave you only understanding and pity then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle. Look at me, Éowyn! “ (Tolkien, 2007: 1263) Diese Worte Faramirs sind m. E. kein Vorwurf an Éowyn. Damit meint er nur, dass sie ihren Lebenssinn am falschen Ort gesucht hatte. Sie denkt vielleicht, dass sie nur ein wertvoller Mensch sein darf, wenn sie etwas Großes leistet, indem sie sich vor den anderen beweist. Anders ausgedrückt, nur wenn sie die Anerkennung der anderen verdient, kann sie jemand sein bzw. einen Wert haben, als würde allein äußere Anerkennung den Wert eines Menschen bestimmen. Faramir dagegen gibt ihr zu verstehen, dass der eigene Wert und die eigene Würde nichts sind, das Andere einem gnädig und barmherzig gewähren, sondern etwas Angeborenes, das die anderen nur entdecken, bewundern und lieben ‚dürfen‘: „Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1258) Aber Éowyn tun immer noch die Wunden weh, die Aragorn ihr zugefügt hat, als er vorher ihre Zuneigung nicht erwiderte. Und was jetzt Faramir anbelangt, glaubt sie, er wolle ihr nur Mitleid zeigen, was ihr Leid verständlicherweise noch vergrößert. Deshalb muss Faramir sie nun davon überzeugen, dass er nicht nur nicht aus Mitleid handelt, sondern dass er in ihr einer Schönheit, einem Wert, Eigenschaften sowie ein derartiges Potenzial als Mensch begegnet ist, die ihn so tief faszinieren, dass er gerne Teil davon werden möchte. Es ist eigentlich 119 Éowyn vom Buch zum Film Faramir, d. h. ein Mann, derjenige, der erkennt, dass sein Glück davon abhängt, dass sie, nämlich eine Frau und ganz konkret diese eine Frau, ihn akzeptiert: „But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the elven-tongue to tell. And I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you. Éowyn, do you not love me? “ (Tolkien, 2007: 1263-1264) Nach diesen Worten weichen die letzten Schatten von Éowyns Herz. Endlich kann sie erkennen, einerseits, wer und wie sie ist, andererseits, welcher ihr Lebenssinn ist. Mit Hilfe von Faramir kann sie erkennen, dass sie nichts zu vollbringen braucht. Sie wird geliebt, unabhängig davon, ob sie sich vor anderen beweist oder nicht. Jetzt kann sie mit Freiheit statt aus Notwendigkeit entscheiden und handeln, weil sie jetzt auf ihr eigenes Herz schauen kann, statt von der Anerkennung der anderen abhängen zu müssen. Vorher war sie nicht frei, weil sowohl ihre Entscheidungen als auch ihr Handeln sich nicht nach ihrem Herzen, sondern danach richten mussten, wo sie die Anerkennung der anderen findet. Doch diese braucht sie jetzt nicht mehr, und aus diesem Grund kann sie ihren Lebenssinn erkennen und ihm folgen: „‚I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun,‘ she said; ‚and behold! the Shadow has departed! I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.‘ And again she looked at Faramir. ‚No longer do I desire to be a queen,‘ she said.“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1264) 3.3 Die Rolle der Männer in den Zwiegesprächen Eine aufmerksame Betrachtung beider Zwiegespräche zeigt, dass sowohl Ara‐ gorn als auch Faramir Éowyn gegenüber keine dominierende, sondern eher eine sekundäre, begleitende Rolle spielen. Man kann in jedem Dialog Aspekte erkennen, die Éowyn mit ihrem Gesprächspartner gemeinsam hat. Im ersten Dialog stehen Aragorn und Éowyn vor Aufträgen, die ihnen zugeteilt sind: Aragorn muss sich auf die Paths of the Dead begeben, während Éowyn die Fürsorge ihrer Leute zufällt; wie schon gesagt, würden beide lieber etwas anderes unternehmen: Aragorn würde lieber nach Rivendell gehen, während Éowyn mit ihrem Onkel und Bruder in den Kampf ziehen würde; beide sind also für eine konkrete Mission auserwählt worden, d. h. sie haben nicht selber gewählt. Doch irgendwann tritt der Unterschied zwischen beiden zutage, und 120 Miguel Ayerbe-Linares dieser liegt eben in der Haltung, die sie gegenüber ihren jeweiligen Aufgaben einnehmen. Im zweiten Dialog erholen sich Faramir und Éowyn von ihren leiblichen Wunden; beide stehen unter Aufsicht des Heilers „‚I myself am in the Warden’s keeping,‘ answered Faramir“ (Tolkien. 2007: 1257). Mit anderen Worten, beide Männer sehen in ihren jeweiligen Situationen, d. h. in dem, was sie nicht aus eigener Initiative gewählt haben, den richtigen Weg. Sie empfinden es nicht als Unterordnung, sondern als den Ort, wo sie ihre Selbstverwirklichung zu einem bestimmten Zeitpunkt oder in einer bestimmten Lebensphase finden werden. Éowyn hingegen empfindet darin nur ihre Unterordnung, deshalb kann sie nicht nur die ihr zugeteilte Aufgabe, sondern auch die Aragorns nicht nachvollziehen. Aus dem Gesagten geht hervor, dass beide Männer nicht über Éowyn, sondern auf gleicher Ebene wie sie stehen. Sie dominieren sie nicht, sondern zeigen einfach eine andere Haltung gegenüber dem, was auch sie nicht selbst gewählt haben. Aus diesem Grund wäre die Behauptung, Éowyn müsse sich einem von ihr nicht gewählten Schicksal unterordnen, weil sie bloß eine Frau ist, meiner Ansicht nach falsch. Auch beide Männer müssen sich der Aufsicht anderer (Faramir) oder einer anderen Mission, die sie nicht selber gewählt haben, unterordnen (Aragorn). Mit anderen Worten, hier stehen Mann und Frau auf gleicher Ebene. Die Funktion der Männer Éowyn gegenüber besteht m. E. darin, bewusst oder unbewusst Éowyn zur Seite zu stehen, damit sie sich selbst erkennen und akzeptieren kann. Und als Folge daraus, an den Punkt zu gelangen, wo sie ihren Lebenssinn finden und ihm folgen kann. Sie muss sich selbst nur mit den Augen dieser beiden Männer betrachten. Was die Reihenfolge der Zwiegespräche betrifft, könnte man von zwei Phasen sprechen: Das erste Gespräch dient zur Vorstellung Éowyns, wo ihre Persönlichkeit sich nach außen zeigt, d. h. wie sie zu diesem Zeitpunkt wirklich ist, was sie bewegt, was sie fühlt, welche ihre Ängste sind, usw. Es ist sozusagen die Phase der ‚Diagnose‘. Man kann u. a. sehen, dass sie in Wirklichkeit nicht frei ist, obwohl sie das Gegenteil denkt. Im zweiten Gespräch hat Éowyn angefangen zu akzeptieren, dass irgendetwas mit ihr nicht ganz stimmt, so dass der Prozess ihrer wahren Heilung (die innere) einsetzen kann. Es ist die Phase der Behandlung durch Faramir und ihrer inneren Verwandlung. 3.4 Die Zwiegespräche im Buch und im Film Gegen das bisher Gesagte könnte man vielleicht einwenden, dass in diesen wenigen Wörtern die im Buch geschilderte Lebenssituation Éowyns und ihre 121 Éowyn vom Buch zum Film Umstände zusammengefasst werden. Aber dies trifft eben nicht zu, denn die wenigen Wörter, die Éowyn spricht, sagen uns nichts Besonderes über sie selbst. Ihr Inhalt bezieht sich hauptsächlich auf äußere Realitäten. Zur Illustrierung seien beide Gespräche im Film hier vollständig wiedergegeben: 1) Zwischen Éowyn und Aragorn in The Passing of the Grey Company Éowyn: „Why are you doing this? The war lies to the east. You cannot leave on the eve of battle! You cannot abandon the men.“ Aragorn: „Éowyn! “ Éowyn: „We need you here.“ Aragorn: „Why have you come? “ Éowyn: „Do you not know? “ Aragorn: „It is but a shadow and a thought that you love. I cannot give you what you seek. I have wished you joy since I first saw you.“ (Osborne, Walsh, Jackson, 2004: Disk 1, 1: 37: 05-11: 38: 15) 2) Zwischen Éowyn und Faramir in The Houses of Healing Éowyn: „The city has fallen silent. There is no warmth left in the sun. It grows so cold.“ Faramir: „It’s just the damp of the first spring rain. I do not believe this darkness will endure.“ (Osborne, Walsh, Jackson, 2004: Disk 2, 0: 48: 26-0: 49: 37) Im ersten Dialog spricht Éowyn, um Aragorn von seinem Vorhaben abzu‐ bringen, sich von ihr selbst und von den anderen zu trennen, um einen anderen Weg alleine zu gehen. Es geht hier also um Aragorn als Thema des Gesprächs. Im zweiten beschreibt sie ausschließlich die Stille und Kälte ihrer Umgebung. Zwar ist sie anwesend und beteiligt sich daran, aber von ihr ist gar nicht die Rede. Beide Gespräche sind von Éowyn entleert worden, sie ist nicht mehr die Protagonistin darin. Die Folge davon ist, dass wir im Film nichts von Éowyns Motivationen, Ängsten, innersten Gefühlen erfahren. Auch nicht von ihrem inneren Prozess, der zu ihrer Verwandlung führt. Im Buch konnten wir lesen, wie sie auf der Suche nach dem Sinn ihres Lebens ist, bis sie ihn endlich findet; im Film dagegen ist diese Suche nicht mehr so erkennbar. Man gewinnt eher den Eindruck, Éowyn habe ihre Hartnäckigkeit aufgegeben und sich endlich wie eine fügsame Frau mit ihrem unerwünschten Schicksal abgefunden. In diesem Sinne weiß man nicht so genau, ob die Heirat mit Faramir am Ende eigentlich nur ein Trostpreis oder auch von ihr erwünscht ist. 122 Miguel Ayerbe-Linares 4 Schlussfolgerung Die Analyse der Gespräche zwischen Éowyn mit Aragorn und Faramir sowohl im Buch als auch im Film zeigen, dass sie nicht nur sehr stark reduziert, sondern vielmehr entleert worden sind. Ich sage absichtlich ‚entleert‘, weil es dabei nicht nur um eine bloße reduzierte Wortanzahl geht, sondern um das, was mir wirklich wesentlich scheint, nämlich um deren Inhalt. Ich hätte ‚reduziert‘ gesagt, wenn der innere Konflikt Éowyns ausdrücklich, wenn auch nur in zusammengefasster Form, angesprochen worden wäre. Doch das ist nicht der Fall. Éowyn mag in beiden Gesprächen im Film anwesend sein und tatsächlich sprechen, sie ist jedoch weder die Protagonistin noch deren Gegenstand. Éowyns Suche nach ihrem Lebenssinn, ihre Ängste und Motivationen kommen im Film nicht mehr zum Ausdruck. Damit verlieren beide Gespräche an Tiefe beim Übergang vom Buch zum Film, was zur Folge hat, dass Éowyns Gewicht beim Übergang vom Buch zum Film stark vermindert wird. Es ist deshalb verwunderlich, dass die Kritik sich zu dieser Angelegenheit nicht geäußert hat. Wie oben gesagt, konzentriert sie sich auf andere Aspekte, wie z. B. die Zahl der männlichen Figuren im Vergleich zu den weiblichen, oder auf die Minuten, die sowohl die einen wie die anderen im Film auftreten; es werden auch Rollen miteinander verglichen oder analysiert, wer seine Ziele frei wählen und erreichen kann; es wird auch darüber diskutiert, ob Frauen eine zentrale oder eher eine periphere Funktion zukommt. Doch so etwas Wesentliches wie der Suchprozess Éowyns nach dem Sinn ihres Lebens und seine drastische und nicht zu übersehende Verkleinerung im Film wird nicht thematisiert. Éowyn wird im Film als Protagonistin und Gegenstand beider Gespräche einfach ausgeschlossen. Die Rolle von Aragorn und Faramir in den Gesprächen ist keine dominie‐ rende, sondern eher eine begleitende. Im Fall von Faramir kann noch hinzuge‐ fügt werden, dass Éowyn auf keinen Fall eine Art Preis für ihn ist. Es ist nämlich Faramir derjenige, der sich darauf freut, von ihr gewählt zu werden, an dem Wunderbaren, das sie von Natur aus ist, teilhaben zu dürfen: „‚That is well,‘ he said; ‚for I am not a king. Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes.‘“ (Tolkien, 2007: 1264) Beide Männer nehmen eine begleitende Funktion ein, indem sie Éowyn dazu verhelfen, sich die richtigen Fragen über sich selbst zu stellen. Ihr Problem liegt nicht darin, dass man ihre Freiheit von außen einschränken will, sondern eher, 123 Éowyn vom Buch zum Film dass sie ihre Selbstverwirklichung am falschen Ort sucht. Es ist eigentlich ihr Inneres die Kraft, die ihre Freiheit in Wirklichkeit einschränkt. Éowyn wird in keinem der Dialoge durch die Männer erniedrigt, sie führen sie im Gegenteil dazu, dass sie sich zu fragen beginnt, ob der Krieg das ist, was sie wirklich will. Oder, anders formuliert, ob der Krieg tatsächlich der Rahmen ist, wo sie ihre Selbstverwirklichung erreichen will. So betrachtet kann man die Folgerung ableiten, dass beide Männer eher eine Hilfe für sie sind. Doch dies alles wird im Film weggelassen. Zum Schluss kann ich nach all dem Gesagten Behauptungen, nach denen Frauen im Film mehr Bedeutung und Aufmerksamkeit als im Buch geschenkt wird, nicht teilen. Zumindest nicht im Fall von Éowyn. Durch die Entleerung des inneren Konflikts sowie des persönlichen Entwicklungsprozesses Éowyns im Film hat man ihre Figur und ihre Relevanz sehr stark reduziert. Sie mag sich wie ein männlicher Krieger verkleiden, ein Schwert ergreifen, den Nazgûl töten (eine Tat übrigens, die sonst kein Mann überhaupt vollbringen konnte), d. h. scheinbar männliche ruhmreiche große Taten bewirken, aber Tolkien in seinem Buch ist aus meiner Sicht derjenige, der Éowyn eine Substanz und Tiefe gibt. Er zeigt uns eine Frau, die abgesehen von Männern und ihren Rollen unermündlich nach ihrem wahren Lebenssinn sucht und für ihn kämpft. Darin besteht meiner Ansicht nach ihr erfolgreicher Auftritt im Buch. So erreicht sie ihre Selbstverwirklichung. Doch all dies kommt in Jacksons Film nicht vor. Im Film gewinnt man hingegen den Eindruck, Éowyn sei erfolgreich, weil sie schafft, Heldentaten wie die Männer zu vollbringen, als ob eine Frau den Sinn ihres Lebens und ihre Selbstverwirklichung nur dadurch erreichen könnte, dass man ihr gewährt, das tun zu ‚dürfen‘, was Männer tun, weil sie Männer sind. Gerade das würde ich als freiheitsbeschränkend betrachten. Eine Sache ist, dass eine Frau aus freiem Entschluss eine Tätigkeit ausübt, die auch Männer ausüben, aber nicht weil diese Tätigkeit hauptsächlich von Männern ausgeübt wird, sondern weil sie diese allein an sich mag und ausüben will; und eine andere Sache ist, dass eine Frau eine Tätigkeit ausführt, weil sie es nötig hat, sich vor den anderen zu beweisen. Im ersten Fall handelt sie frei, weil sie selbstständig entscheiden kann; im zweiten Fall dagegen ist sie auf das Urteil und Bewertung der anderen (Männer oder Frauen) angewiesen, die ihre Entscheidungen beeinflussen. Éowyn findet den Sinn ihres Lebens und ihre Selbstverwirklichung kann endlich beginnen, nicht weil sie eine Rolle einnimmt, die ‚traditionell‘ nur Männern gehört und sich dabei erfolgreich beweist, sondern weil sie endlich auf die wahren Sehnsüchte und Wünsche ihres Herzens hören und ihnen Folge leisten kann. Sie muss nicht mehr nach externer Anerkennung streben und sich auch nicht nach externen Erwartungen richten. 124 Miguel Ayerbe-Linares Auf die Frage, warum diese zwei Dialoge im Film nicht nur so drastisch reduziert, sondern auch derart ‚entleert‘ worden sind, kann hier leider nicht näher eingegangen werden. Ich sehe mich nicht dazu berechtigt, darüber zu urteilen. Man könnte eventuell erwägen, dass die Gespräche sowohl die Stellung der Frauen im Allgemeinen, sowie Éowyns im Besonderen im Film nicht begünstigen würde, weil sie hauptsächlich als ihre Kapitulation interpretiert werden könnten. Doch kann man den Aufschluss der eigenen Identität sowie des eigenen Lebenssinns für eine Kapitulation in einem negativen Sinne halten? Bibliographische Referenzen Akers-Jordan, C. (2004). “Fairy Princess or Tragic Heroine? The Metamorphosis of Arwen Undómiel in Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings Films”. In J.B. Croft (Hrsg.). Tolkien on film: Essays on Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings. (195-213). Altadena: The Mythopoeic Press. Barker, M., Mathijs, E. (2008). Watching The Lord of the Rings: Tolkien’s World Audiences. New York: Peter Lang. Berger, A. E. (Hrsg.). (1888). Orendel. Ein deutsches Spielmannsgedicht. Bonn: Eduard Weber’s Verlag. Bogstad, J. M., Kaveny Ph. E. (Hrsg.). (2011). Picturing Tolkien. Essays on Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings Film Trilogy. Jefferson/ London: McFarland & Company. Burns, M. (2005). Perilous Realms: Celtic and Norse in Tolkien’s Middle Earth. Toronto: University Press. Butler, R. W., Eberhart, J. M. (3. Januar 2002). “Lord of the Rings: Films pay more atten‐ tion to women than did books”. Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, 1-5. http: / / ehu.idm.oclc.org / login? url=https: / / search.proquest.com/ docview/ 391172514? accountid=17248. (Letzter Zugriff am 23. September 2019.) Carretero, M. (2018). “Intertextualidad medieval y medievalista en The Lord of the Rings, de Peter Jackson”. In M. Aguilera, M. Carretero (Hrsg.). Crystals beneath the surface: selected essays in honour of Celia M. Wallhead. (21-38). Granada: Universidad de Granada. Chance, J. (2004). “Tolkien’s women (and men): The films and the book”. In J.B. Croft (Hrsg.). Tolkien on film: Essays on Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings. (175-193). Altadena: The Mythopoeic Press. Croft, J. B., Donovan, L. A. (Hrsg.). (2015). Perilous and Fair: Women in the Works and Life of J.R.R. Tolkien. Altadena: Mythopoeic Press. Davis, J. G. (2008). “Showing Saruman as Faber: Tolkien and Peter Jackson”. Tolkien Studies, 5, 55-71. 125 Éowyn vom Buch zum Film Frederick, C., McBride, S. (2001). Women Among the Inklings: Gender, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and Charles Williams. Westport: Greenwood Press. Hatcher, M. Mc (2007). “Finding Woman’s Role in The Lord of the Rings”. Mythlore, 25(1), 43-54. Johnson, B. D. (2009). “Éowyn’s grief ”. Mythlore, 27(3), 117-127. Kisor, Y. (2011). “Making the Connection on Page and Screen in Tolkien’s and Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings”. In J.M. Bogstad, Ph. E. Kaveny. (Hrsg.). Picturing Tolkien. (102-115). Jefferson/ London: McFarland & Company. Kollmann, J. (2004). “Elisions and Ellipses: Counsel and Council in Tolkien’s and Jack‐ son’s The Lord of the Rings”. In J.B. Croft (Hrsg.). Tolkien on Film: Essays on Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings. (149-171). Altadena: The Mythopoeic Press. Lam, A., Oryshchuk, N. (Hrsg.). (2007). How We Became Middle-Earth: A Collection of Essays on the Lord of the Rings. Zürich: Walking Tree. Lane, C. (2005). “The Ring Returns: Adaptation and the Trilogy”. Film & History, 35(1), 67-69. Łaszkiewicz, W. (2015). “J.R.R. Tolkien’s Portrayal of Feminity and Its Transformations in Subsquent Adaptations”. Crossroads. A Journal of English Studies, 11(4), 15-28. Librán-Moreno, M. (2007). “Greek and Latin Amatory Motifs in Éowyn’s Portrayal”. V. Flieger, M. D. C. Drout, D. A. Anderson (Hrsg.). Tolkien Studies: An Annual Scholarly Review, Volume IV. Morgantown: West Virginia University Press, 73-97. McKenna, E. (2007). “To Sex up The Lord of the Rings: Jackson’s Feminine Approach in His ‘Sub-creation’”. In A. Lam, N. Oryshchuk (Hrsg.). How We Became Middle-Earth: A Collection of Essays on the Lord of the Rings. (229-237). Zürich: Walking Tree. Mathijs, E. (Hrsg.). (2006). The Lord of the Rings. Popular Culture in Global Context. London/ New York: Wallflower. Mathijs, E., Pomerance, M. (Hrsg.). (2006). From Hobbits to Hollywood: Essays on Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Michel, L. (2006). “Politically Incorrect: Tolkien, Women and Feminism”. In F. Weinrich, Th. Honegger (Hrsg.). Tolkien and Modernity 1. (55-76). Zollikhofen: Walking Tree. Moore, R. (13. Dezember 2002). “Roles of women have been expanded in Lord of the Rings Films”. Knight Rider Tribune News Service, 1-5. https: / / ehu.idm.oclc.org/ login? url= https: / / search.proquest.com/ docview/ 457125802? accountid=17248. (Letzter Zugriff am 24. September 2019.) Morgan, G. A. (2007). “I Don’t Think We’re in Kansas Anymore: Peter Jackson’s Film Interpretations of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings”. In L. Stratyner, L., J. R. Keller (Hrsg.). Fantasy Fiction into Film. (21-34). Jefferson/ London: McFarland & Company. Osborne, B. M., Walsh, F. (Produktion), & Jackson, P. (Regie). (2004). The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. Special extended DVD edition. New Zealand/ USA: New Line Cinema/ WingNut Films. 126 Miguel Ayerbe-Linares Pardo, A., Segura, E. (Hrsg.). El Señor de los Anillos. Del libro a la pantalla. Londres/ Vitoria: Portal Editions, 2012. Partridge, B. (1983). “No Sex Please - We’re Hobbits: The Construction of Female Sexuality in The Lord of the Rings”. In R. Giddings (Hrsg.). J.R.R.: This Far Land. (179-197). London: Vision and Barnes & Noble. Paxson, D. (2004). “Re-vision: The Lord of the Rings in Print and Screen”. In J.B. Croft (Hrsg.). Tolkien on Film: Essays on Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings. (81-99). Altadena: The Mythopoeic Press, 2004. Porter, L. R. (2005). Unsung heroes of The Lord of the Rings. From the Page to the Screen. Westport: Praeger. Rateliff, J. D. (2011). “Two Kinds of Absence. Elision & Exclusion in Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings”. In J.M. Bogstad, Ph E. Kaveny (Hrsg.). Picturing Tolkien. (54-69). Jefferson/ London: McFarland & Company. Risden, E. L. (2011). “Tolkien’s Resistance to Linearity. Narrating The Lord of the Rings in Fiction and Film”. In J.M. Bogstad, Ph. E. Kaveny. (Hrsg.). Picturing Tolkien. (70-83). Jefferson/ London: McFarland & Company. Robinson, J. (2010). J.R.R. Tolkien. The Books, The Films, The Whole Cultural Phenomenon. Second edition. Maidstone: Crescent Moon. Rozema, D. (2008). “The Lord of the Rings: Tolkien, Jackson, and ‘The Core of the Original’”. Christian Scholar’s Review, 37(4), 427-445. Shippey, T. (2004). “Another Road to Middle-earth: Jackson’s Movie Trilogy”. In R.A. Zimbardo, N.D. Isaacs (Hrsg.). Understandig The Lord of The Rings. (233-254). Boston/ New York: Houghton Mifflin. Shippey, T. (2003). “From Page to Screen. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson”. World Literature Today, 77(2), 69-72. Smith, M. (2007). “At home and abroad: Éowyn’s two-fold figuring as war bride in The Lord of the Rings”. Mythlore, 26(1-2), 161-172. Thum, M. (2004). “The ‘Sub-Subcreation’ of Galadriel, Arwen and Éowyn: Women of Power in Tolkien’s and Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings”. In J.B. Croft (Hrsg.). Tolkien on film: Essays on Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings. (231-256). Altadena: The Mythopoeic Press. Tolkien, J. R. R. (2007). The Lord of the Rings. Part 3: The Return of the King. London: Harper Collins. Turville-Petre, E. O. G., Tolkien, Ch. J. R. (Hrsg.). (1997). Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks. London: University College. Valente, C. (2007), “Translating Tolkien’s Epic: Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings”. The Intercollegiate Review, 40(1), 35-43. Wright, G. (2004). Peter Jackson in perspective. The power behind cinema’s The Lord of the Rings. Burien: Hollywood Jesus Books. 127 Éowyn vom Buch zum Film 1 Die Publikation dieses Beitrags wurde vom Departamento de Filología y Traducción der Universität Pablo de Olavide finanziell unterstützt. GAME OF THRONES & DAS LIED VON EIS UND FEUER. Untersuchung der Darstellung von Frauen am Beispiel von Missandei 1 Christiane Limbach 1 Einleitung Einiges wurde bereits geschrieben zur Frauenrolle in Game of Thrones, sowohl in Bezug auf die TV-Serie als auch in Bezug auf die Bücher (Borowska-Szerszun, 2020; Ferreday, 2015; Frankel, 2014; Hunter, 2020; Limbach und Stender, 2018; Patel, 2014; Rohr und Benz, 2020; Schubart und Gjelsvik, 2016; Servos, 2014; Spector, 2012; Stender und Limbach, im Druck; Woodacre, 2020; Young, 2017). In Bezug auf die weiblichen Charaktere wurden vor allem Figuren wie Cersei Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen und Catelyn Stark oder ihre Töchter Sansa und Arya Stark untersucht. Allerdings gibt es weitere interessante weibliche Personen in Büchern und Serie, wie zum Beispiel Asha Graufreud, Brienne von Tarth und Missandei. In diesem Kapitel sollen die Veränderungen der weiblichen Figur Missandei von der Romanreihe zur TV-Serie untersucht werden. Dabei soll auch kurz auf die Frauenrolle im Allgemeinen in beiden Medien eingegangen werden. Missandei ist ein überaus interessanter Charakter: sie erscheint zum ersten Mal im dritten Originalband A Storm of Swords (Martin, 2011c) und dolmetscht als Sklavenmädchen für den Sklavenhändler Kraznys mo Nakloz als Daenerys Targaryen die Armee der Unbefleckten in Astapor erstehen möchte. Nach dem erfolgreichen Abschluss der Kaufverhandlungen schenkt Kraznys mo Nakloz Daenerys Missandei, damit die neue Besitzerin sich mit ihrer Armee verständigen kann bis diese ihre Sprache gelernt hat. Von diesem Moment an wird Missandei eine immer wichtigere Vertraute für Daenerys. Ihr werden immer bedeutendere Aufgaben zugeteilt und Missandei wächst mit den Heraus‐ 2 In diesem Beitrag wird mit den zweibändigen Erscheinungen der Bücher gearbeitet. Diese erschienen zunächst, bis zum vierten Originalbuch, bei Blanvalet (Goldmann Verlag), das letzte Buch erschien in der deutschen zweibändigen Ausgabe im Penhaligon Verlag. Beide Verlagshäuser gehören der Verlagsgruppe Random House an. 3 https: / / www.randomhouse.de/ George-R-R-Martin-Das-Lied-von-Eis-und-Feuer-Buec her-und Hoerbuecher-/ Erfolgsgeschichte/ aid33096_7790.rhd (Letzter Zugriff am 4. April 2020.) 4 https: / / gameofthrones.fandom.com/ de/ wiki/ George_R.R._Martin, (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) forderungen. Diese Figur hat bislang wenig Aufmerksamkeit erfahren und soll in diesem Kapitel ausführlicher untersucht werden und gleichzeitig als Beispiel für die Repräsentation von Frauen in der Romanreihe und der TV-Serie dienen. 2 George R. R. Martins Fantasy-Saga Das Lied von Eis und Feuer Der US-amerikanische Autor George R. R. Martin begann mit seiner Fan‐ tasy-Saga Das Lied von Eis und Feuer (Originaltitel: A Song of Ice and Fire) im Jahr 1996. Bis 2011 schrieb er insgesamt fünf Bücher während zwei weitere (The Winds of Winter und A Dream of Spring) in Planung sind. Die bisher erschienen Bücher tragen in der Originalfassung folgende Titel: A Game of Thrones (1996), A Clash of Kings (1998), A Storm of Swords (2000), A Feast of Crows (2005) und A Dance with Dragons (2011) 2 . Obwohl A Song of Ice and Fire zu Beginn kein Bestseller war (Schubart, Gjelsvik, 2016: 3), wurde der Erfolg der Saga nach und nach bahnbrechend und schuf einen Meilenstein in der modernen Fantasywelt, so belegten alle erschienen Bücher sofort die Bestsellerlisten. Das bisher letzte und fünfte Buch A Dance with Dragons kam gleich nach Veröffentlichung auf den 1. Platz der Bestseller-Listen der New York Times und konnte sich über Jahre hinweg auf den ersten Rängen halten 3 . Auch bei Amazon belegte das fünfte Buch sofort den 2. Platz der Amazon-Bestseller-Liste für Bücher, gefolgt von der Buchbox für die ersten vier Romane der Fantasy-Saga. Am ersten Verkaufstag des fünften Buches wurden laut der Verlagsgruppe Random House ca. 170 000 gedruckte Bücher und 110 000 E-Books verkauft (Bosman, 2011). In Deutschland wurden die Romane zu einem riesigen Erfolg, allein bis Mai 2018 gab die Verlagsgruppe Random House an, bereits 5,9 Millionen Exemplare im deutschsprachigen Raum verkauft zu haben (Weise, 2018). Martin wurde für die ersten vier Bücher sukzessive in den Jahren 1996 (A Game of Thrones), 1998 (A Clash of Kings), 2000 (A Storm of Swords) und 2012 (A Dance with Dragons) mit dem Locus Award, einem Literaturpreis für Science-Fic‐ tion und Fantasy 4 , für den besten Roman ausgezeichnet, um nur einige seiner 130 Christiane Limbach 5 http: / / content.time.com/ time/ specials/ packages/ completelist/ 0,29569,2066367,00.html, (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) 6 https: / / www.welt.de/ kultur/ video205089548/ Exklusiv-Interview-George-R-R-Martin-im -Ge-spraech-mit-WELT-Autor-Martin-Scholz.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) Preise für diese Fantasy-Saga zu nennen. Martin wurde 2011 ebenfalls in die jährlich erscheinende Time-100-List der einflussreichsten Menschen der Welt aufgenommen 5 . Die Übersetzungen seiner Bücher erschienen in vielen Ländern auf Grund des großen Umfangs in mehreren Bänden pro Buch. In Deutschland erschienen zuerst zwei Bände pro Buch, allerdings gibt es die Bücher seit 2004 auch in einbändiger Fassung. Die Übersetzung der ersten beiden Bände wurde von Jörn Ingwersen vorgenommen und traf auf Grund von einigen falschen Über‐ setzungen, der großen Schludrigkeit und den uneinheitlichen Übersetzungen von Eigennamen, die oft auch gar nicht übersetzt wurden, auf viel Kritik (Servos, 2014: o. S.). Daraufhin wurden die Übersetzungen ab dem dritten Band von Andreas Helweg vorgenommen. Die Übersetzer Sigrun Zühlke und Thomas Gießl waren in einer neuen Auflage der Bände hauptsächlich für die kohärente Übersetzung der Eigennamen ins Deutsche verantwortlich und standen dabei auch in direktem Kontakt mit den Fans über das Internetforum Fandom (ibid.). George R. R. Martins Fantasy-Saga wurde weltweit zum Erfolg, so auch, nach anfänglichen Schwächen, in Deutschland. Seit 2005 wird er ebenfalls als „der amerikanische Tolkien“ gehandelt, nachdem er von dem Buchkritiker Lev Grossman der Zeitschrift Time so bezeichnet wurde 6 . Der Autor selbst verweist darauf, dass ihn Tolkiens Trilogie Der Herr der Ringe (Originaltitel: Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, 1954; The Two Towers, 1954; The Return of the King, 1955) bei dem Verfassen seiner Werke neben anderen Autoren stark beeinflusst habe (Börste, 2018) und auch andere sehen ihn als amerikanischen J. R. R. Tolkien (Schubart, Gjelsvik, 2016: 5). Hervorzuheben ist besonders sein Schreibstil, denn jedes der Kapitel ist jeweils aus der Perspektive einer der Romanfiguren geschrieben, es handelt sich um eine interne Fokalisierung mit einem heterodiegetischen Erzähler. In der Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitung wurde Martins Literaturwerk auf folgende Weise gelobt: Besser als durch Martins Romane lässt sich die Befürchtung, Unterhaltungsliteratur verrate das literarische Kunstwerk an Marktzwänge und Lesererwartungen, augen‐ blicklich kaum widerlegen. Das ‚Lied von Eis und Feuer‘ feiert literarische Autonomie mit einem großen Fest des Erzählens. (Balke, 2012) 131 Game of Thrones 7 https: / / www.fernsehserien.de/ game-of-thrones/ episodenguide/ staffel-8/ 13323. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) 8 https: / / www.emmys.com/ shows/ game-thrones, https: / / en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/ List_of_ awards_and_nominations_received_by_Game_of_Thrones (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) 9 https: / / de.statista.com/ statistik/ daten/ studie/ 990751/ umfrage/ zuschauerzahl-pro-sta ffel-von game-of-thrones/ (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) 3 Die TV-Serie Game of Thrones Nach dem sagenhaften Erfolg der Bücher erwarb HBO Productions 2007 die Fernsehrechte für die gesamte Fantasy-Saga Das Lied von Eis und Feuer und verfilmte diese. Die Serie erschien unter dem Namen Game of Thrones und besteht insgesamt aus 73 Folgen, die auf acht Staffeln aufgeteilt sind und von 2011 bis 2019 ausgestrahlt wurden. Die erste Staffel war in den USA ab dem 17. April 2011 bei HBO zu sehen. In Deutschland fand die Erstausstrahlung ab dem 02. November 2011 über TNT statt und wurde ab dem 23.03.2012 als Free-TV-Erstausstrahlung bei RTL II gezeigt. Die erste Staffel der Serie basiert auf dem ersten Buch der Reihe (A Game of Thrones, 1996) und beinhaltet 10 Folgen, deren Länge jeweils ca. 50 Minuten beträgt. Bereits die erste Staffel der Serie hatte unglaublichen Erfolg, was nicht zuletzt auf die umfangreichen Medienkampagnen von HBO Productions zurück‐ zuführen ist. Während die ersten sechs Staffeln jeweils 10 Folgen haben, besteht Staffel sieben aus sieben Folgen und Staffel acht nur aus sechs Folgen. Dafür haben die letzten vier Folgen der letzten Staffel jedoch eine durchschnittliche Länge von ca. 80 Minuten. Die Ausstrahlung der letzten Folge der Serie wurde weltweit sehnsüchtig erwartet und zeitgleich in den USA und Deutschland am 19.05 2019 ausgestrahlt. Bereits am 26.10.2019 wurde sie auf RTL II frei empfangbar gezeigt 7 . Game of Thrones ist zur bekanntesten Fernsehserie aller Zeiten geworden und hat seit 2011 einen Rekord an Nominierungen und erhaltenen Auszeichnungen aufgestellt: Insgesamt kam die Serie auf 786 Nominierungen und gewann 290 Auszeichnungen, darunter 59 Emmys unter anderem auch die begehrte Auszeichnung für die beste Drama-Serie 8 . Die Zuschauerzahlen schnellten in die Höhe, allein in den USA stieg die Zahl von anfänglichen 2.52 Millionen auf knapp 12 Millionen zum Ende der achten Staffel 9 . Auch die Produktionskosten der Serie sind außergewöhnlich. Game of Thrones ist die teuerste Serie aller Zeiten. Allein die erste Folge kostete 10 Millionen US-Dollar. Während im Folgenden bei der ersten Staffel pro Folge ca. 6 Millionen US-Dollar ausgegeben wurden, stiegen 132 Christiane Limbach 10 https: / / www.zeit.de/ 2019/ 50/ game-of-thrones-fernsehserie-kosten-produktion-hbo, https: / / www.stylight.de/ Magazine/ Lifestyle/ Teuersten-Serien/ (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) 11 David Benioff und D. B. Weiss waren nicht immer die Drehbuchautoren bzw. Produ‐ zenten der TV-Serie. Eine komplette Episodenliste mit Angaben zu den Drehbuchau‐ toren und den Regisseuren der einzelnen Folgen kann hier abgerufen werden: https: / / gameofthrones.fandom.com/ de/ wiki/ Episodenliste. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) Informationen zu den Produzenten der einzelnen Folgen kann unter https: / / www.imdb.com/ title/ tt0944947/ ? ref_=ttep_ep_tt. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020) eingesehen werden. die Kosten für die Produktion kontinuierlich an und beliefen sich in der achten und letzten Staffel auf 15 Millionen US-Dollar pro Folge 10 . 4 Unterschiede zwischen der Saga das Lied von Eis und Feuer und der TV-Serie Game of Thrones Verallgemeinert kann man sagen, dass in der TV-Serie ein Originalroman pro Staffel verfilmt wurde. Während die Handlungen in der ersten Staffel noch weitgehend mit der Romanvorlage übereinstimmen, treten bereits ab der zweiten Staffel erhebliche Unterschiede auf. Hinzu kommt, dass der TV-Pro‐ duktion mit Beginn der sechsten Staffel die Romanvorlage fehlte, sodass die sechste, siebte und achte Staffel von den Produzenten David Benioff und D. B. Weiss 11 geschrieben wurde. Hierzu arbeiteten sie mit George R. R. Martin zusammen, der sie über die wichtigsten geplanten Ereignisse für die letzten beiden Romane seiner Fantasy-Saga in Kenntnis setzte. Allerdings verlief die Zusammenarbeit zwischen Autor und Produzenten nicht immer reibungslos, denn die Entwicklung der Serie und vor allem die stark kritisierte achte Staffel entsprachen nicht Martins Vorstellungen (Mansholt, 2019). Zwischen TV-Serie und den Büchern der Fantasy-Saga gibt es zahlreiche Un‐ terschiede mehr oder weniger großen Ausmaßes (Franke, Fußy, 2015; Havaran, 2020). Zu den Hauptunterschieden zwischen den Büchern und der TV-Serie zählen vor allem Folgende: Der Serienname: Während die TV-Serie den Titel Game of Thrones trägt, ist dies bei George R. R. Martin der Titel des ersten Romans der Saga. Die komplette Saga erhielt bei Martin den Titel Das Lied von Eis und Feuer (orig. A Song of Ice and Fire). Die Erzählperspektive: Wie bereits erwähnt werden bei Martin die einzelnen Kapitel, abgesehen vom Prolog, jeweils aus der Perspektive einer der Hauptfi‐ guren erzählt (interne Fokalisierung). In der Serie wird dies ebenfalls an einigen 133 Game of Thrones Stellen realisiert, allerdings werden auch andere Szenen hinzugefügt, um Inhalte zu vertiefen und den Zuschauer über wichtige Handlungen ins Bild zu setzen. Die Erscheinung: Einige Schauspieler weisen nicht die spezifischen Merkmale der Buchcharaktere auf, wie dies zum Beispiel der Fall bei der Figur, Asha Graufreud (im Original Yara Greyjoy) ist, die von der britischen Schauspielerin Gemma Whelan verkörpert wird. Sie ist nicht, wie im Buch beschrieben, langbeinig, schlank und hat kurze schwarze Haare. Die Produzenten der Serie rechtfertigen diese Entscheidung mit dem schauspielerischen Können der Dar‐ stellerin, wodurch keine andere Besetzung möglich gewesen wäre. Das Alter: Hervorzuheben ist auch der große Unterschied zwischen dem Alter der Darsteller in der Serie und dem der Charaktere in den Romanen. Während einige der Hauptfiguren in den Büchern noch Kinder sind ( Jon Schnee 14, Sansa Stark 11, Arya Stark 9, Bran Stark 7, Rickon Stark 3 und Daenerys Targaryen 13 Jahre), sind sie in der TV-Serie bereits Jugendliche. Dies hat vor allem praktische Gründe, den handlungsrelevante Gewalt- oder Sexszenen sollten nicht mit Kinderdarstellern verfilmt werden (Schubart, Gjelsvik, 2016: 9). Die Anderen/ Die Weißen Wanderer: Die Weißen Wanderer, die in der TV-Se‐ rien, vor allem gegen Ende, eine große Rolle einnehmen, sind in den Büchern bisher eher Nebenerscheinungen und werden meistens auch als „die Anderen“ (orig. The Others) bezeichnet. Die Bezeichnung „die Anderen“ wurde in der Serie vermieden, um keine ungewollten Parallelen zu anderen Serien wie z. B. Lost herzustellen. Die Handlungen: Auch die Handlungen in der Serie weichen mehr oder weniger stark von denen in den Romanen ab. Ein Beispiel ist die Heirat zwischen Sansa Stark und Ramsay Schnee/ Bolton in der TV-Serie. Diese findet in den Büchern gar nicht statt: Ramsay heiratet in den Romanen Sansas Jugendfreundin Jeyne Poole. Des Weiteren sterben auch Charaktere in der Serie, die im Buch noch unter den Lebenden verweilen, wie zum Beispiel Ser Barristan, der in der fünften Staffel im Kampf gegen die Söhne der Harpyie ums Leben kommt. Außer Frage steht ebenfalls, dass die Serie mit den einzelnen Folgen nur über wenig Platz verfügt und nicht alle Handlungen der Romane wiedergeben kann (ca. 10 Folgen à ca. 50 Minuten für ein Buch mit ca. 600 Seiten). Die Charaktere: Viele Unterschiede gibt es auch bei den Charakteren, manche kommen nicht im Buch vor, jedoch in der Serie und umgekehrt. Dies ist zum Beispiel der Fall bei Strong Belwas, einem riesigen Eunuchen, früherer Sklave und Arenakämpfer, der sich Daenerys anschließt (er kommt in der Serie nicht vor) oder der Prostituierten Ros, die von Joffrey mit einer Armbrust getötet wird (sie kommt in der Romanreihe nicht vor). 134 Christiane Limbach 12 Weitere Unterschiede zwischen der Romanreihe und der TV-Serie können unter den Links http: / / www.filmstarts.de/ nachrichten/ 18493613.html? page=8, https: / / gameofthr ones.fandom.com/ de/ wiki/ Unterschiede_zwischen_Buch_und_Serie (Letzter Zugriff am 5. April 2020.) und nach Staffeln geordnet unter diesem Link: https: / / gameofthrones.fandom.com/ de/ wiki/ Unterschiede_zwischen_Buch_und_Serie (Letzter Zugriff am 5. April 2020.) nachgelesen werden. 13 Abgesehen von Limbach und Stender, 2018 sowie Stender und Limbach (im Druck), die Missandei im Kontext des Dolmetschens und Übersetzens untersuchen. Die Charaktereigenschaften der Figuren: Viele Figuren werden in der TV-Serie in ihren Charaktereigenschaften und Entwicklung verändert wie z. B. Jaime Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, Cersei Lannister etc. und weichen von ihren Vorlagen im Buch ab. In diesem Beitrag soll hier auf Grund von Platzgründen nicht weiter auf die Unterschiede zwischen der Romanreihe und der TV-Serie eingegangen werden 12 . 5 Missandei als weibliche Figur und ihre Veränderung von den Büchern zur TV-Serie Wir wollen nun unser Augenmerk auf die Präsentation der Frauen am Beispiel von Missandei richten, eine der weiblichen Figuren, die, im Gegensatz zu Cersei Lannister, Catelyn Stark, Daenerys Targaryen sowie Sansa und Arya Stark, bis zum heutigen Zeitpunkt noch nicht ausführlich analysiert wurde 13 . An ihrem Beispiel soll untersucht werden, wie dieser weibliche Charakter in den Romanen und der anschließenden Verfilmung als TV-Serie Game of Thrones dargestellt wird und wie er sich entwickelt. Hierzu wollen wir zunächst einige Überlegungen zur Rolle der Frauen in Martins Romanen und der TV-Serie Game of Thrones im Allgemeinen anstrengen. 5.1 Die Rolle der Frauen in Martins Fantasy-Saga Das Lied von Eis und Feuer und in der TV-Serie Game of Thrones In der Fantasy-Saga Das Lied von Eis und Feuer gibt es viele weibliche Figuren, die sowohl Hauptals auch Nebenrollen einnehmen. Die Rolle der Frauen sowohl in den Büchern als auch in der TV-Serie ist ein kontroverses und heftig debattiertes Thema, bei dem sehr unterschiedliche Standpunkte vertreten werden (Frankel, 2014; Schubart, Gjelsvik 2016; Ferreday, 2015). Die Kernfrage dieser Debatte scheint zu sein, ob man die Fantasy-Saga und auch die Verfilmung der Saga durch HBO als feministisch oder antifeministisch bezeichnen kann (Frankel, 2014; Schubart, Gjelsvik, 2016: 1). An dieser Frage scheiden sich die Geister. Frankel (2014: 1) formuliert hierzu: „The question is, is Game of Thrones a 135 Game of Thrones feminist statement? Or just to men with its degraded, underdressed prostitutes in increasingly sensationalized scenes? “. Es gibt sowohl diejenigen, die auf die starken weiblichen Frauenfiguren verweisen und darauf, dass Westeros insgesamt nicht frauenfeindlich sondern menschfeindlich im Allgemeinen sei, kein Ort, an dem Moralität zu finden sei und wo oftmals das Böse gewinne und wo auch Sex-, Nackt- und Vergewaltigungsszenen gerechtfertigt seien, da sie ein Teil dieser Welt (vor allem Westeros) seien (Servos, 2014 o. S.; Schubart und Gjelsvik (2016: 6-7). Andere unterstreichen die Funktion der vielen Sex-, Nackt- und Vergewaltigungsszenen als Mittel, die Einblicke in die verschiedenen Figuren lieferten (Young, 2017). Schubart und Gjelsvik (2016: 1-2) weisen darauf hin, dass Frauen des Weiteren in allen Positionen (als Protagonistinnen, Nebenfiguren und als das gewöhnliche Volk) in Martins Das Lied von Eis und Feuer zu finden seien, sowie auch alle Arten von deren Stereotypen. Wenn es um den Kampf um den eisernen Thron geht, seien die weiblichen Figuren genauso ehrgeizig, aktiv und fähig wie die männlichen. Des Weiteren halten sie ebenfalls fest, dass Martin bei seinen unterschiedlichen Erzählperspektiven ein Gleichgewicht zwischen männlichen und weiblichen Blickwinkeln halte. Der Autor der Fantasy-Saga selbst sagt von sich in einem Interview mit der britischen online Tageszeitung The Telegraph, dass er ein Feminist sei und die weiblichen Figuren genauso dynamisch und ausdrucksvoll wie die männlichen Figuren entworfen habe: „To me, being a feminist is about treating men and women the same […]. I regard men and women as all human.“ (Salter, 2013) Auf der anderen Seite stehen diejenigen, die sowohl die Buchreihe als auch die Serie auf Grund ihres herabwertenden Frauenbildes als äußerst bedenklich ansehen, da sich Frauen in ihre Vergewaltiger verlieben wie Daenerys Targaryen (in der Serie, nicht im Buch) (Spector 2012; Frankel 2014: 12), Frauen als geringer als Männer und als Objekte männlicher Begierde dargestellt, geschlagen, miss‐ braucht und vergewaltigt werden, wo Bordelle, Inzest und sexuelle Folterung die Welt beschreiben, in der die Handlung spielt (Spector, 2012; Schubart, 2016). Frauen können nur Macht gewinnen, wenn sie ihre weiblichen Seiten vernachlässigen und männlicher werden, weibliche Eigenschaften werden als schwach und männliche als stark angesehen (Tasker, Steenberg, 2016; Frankel 2014: 12). Ferreday (2015: 34) bezweifelt, dass die Frage ob die TV-Serie Game of Thrones feministisch oder antifeministisch ist richtiggestellt ist und fragt, ob es nicht produktiver wäre darüber nachzudenken wie „feminist interventions might be made into the violent discourse that constitute rape culture and rape myths, as well as about the possibilities for silenced voices and bodies to speak and be heard.” 136 Christiane Limbach Die weiblichen Figuren bei Martin sind vielseitig, sie verkörpern zwar archetypischen Rollen wie z. B. die der Königin, Mutter, Jungfrau, Kriegerin, Heldin, Mädchens etc., allerdings können sie auch zwischen diesen Archetypen wechseln, sowie zwischen Gut und Böse, sie sind mehrdeutig (Frankel, 2014: 37- 40). Es handelt sich um ausgearbeitete Figuren (round characters), die nicht nur eine Charaktereigenschaft (gut oder böse) bzw. gar keine haben (flat characters) und nur als Beiwerk den Hintergrund für die Haupthandlung der männlichen Figuren dienen, wie es bei anderen Werken der Fall ist. Martin war bzw. ist es sehr wichtig, dass seine Figuren nicht unterentwickelt sind: „Yes, it’s fantasy, but the characters still need to be real.“ (Salter, 2013) Untersucht man die weiblichen Charaktere in Das Lied von Eis und Feuer genauer, stellt man fest, dass die Frauenfiguren sehr stark sind und entschei‐ dend zur Handlung beitragen, man kann sich mit ihnen identifizieren und sie erscheinen durchaus glaubwürdig. George R. R. Martins Geschichte lebt vor allem von den starken Frauenfiguren, die die Gesamthandlung wesentlich deutlicher dominieren als einzelne möglicherweise sexistische Szenen. […] Die meisten weiblichen Hauptcharaktere bei George R. R. Martin sind nämlich gleichberechtigt und sehr stark […] Die weiblichen Charaktere dienen nicht nur als „damsel in distress“ (also Jungfrau in Nöten) oder gar als schmückendes Beiwerk, wie so oft in Fantasygeschichten, sondern sie handeln aktiv und mit den Männern gleichberechtigt. (Servos, 2014: o. S.) Arya ist ein leuchtendes Beispiel für ein Mädchen, das seinen eigenen Weg geht und sich nicht von gesellschaftlichen Zwängen und geschlechtsspezifischen festgelegten Rollen beeindrucken lässt. Ebenso wie Brienne von Tarth, die sich über die gesellschaftlichen Konventionen hinwegsetzt, größer und stärker als die meisten Männer ist und auch besser kämpfen kann. Auch in ihrem Erscheinungsbild wird dies deutlich, denn sie wird als männlich, groß, stark, muskulös und nicht gerade hübsch beschrieben. Trotzdem steht sie für viele Ideale wie zum Beispiel Ritterlichkeit, Loyalität, Mut, Selbstbewusstsein, Kampf‐ geist etc. Auch Asha Graufreud stammt aus einer frauenfeindlichen Welt, den Eiseninseln, wo sie sich aber über die gesellschaftlichen Zwänge erhebt, ihre Sexualität frei auslebt, zur Anführerin von Eroberungszügen wird und ebenfalls das Schiff „Schwarzer Wind“ kommandiert. Sie wird nicht nur als selbstbewusst, sondern auch als außergewöhnlich intelligent beschrieben. Bei den Wildlingen sind Frauen komplett gleichberechtigt, obwohl sie als barbarisches und unzivi‐ lisiertes Volk beschrieben werden. Frauen können Kriegerinnen werden und ihren Mann selbst wählen, sie werden nicht zwangsverheiratet. Ein leuchtendes Beispiel für eine freie, gleichberechtigte und starke Frau ist Ygritte. 137 Game of Thrones Andere weibliche Charaktere wie Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark oder Cersei Lannister sind nicht von Anfang an frei oder gehen ihren eigenen Weg, sondern machen vielmehr eine Entwicklung durch und erkämpfen sich langsam aber stetig ihre Position, Macht und Rechte in einer frauenbzw. menschenfeindlichen Welt. Bei Martin müssen sich die weiblichen Figuren ständig in einer frauenfeindli‐ chen Welt behaupten, werden aktiver und unabhängiger dargestellt und müssen mit eigenen Mitteln um Macht und Einfluss kämpfen (Servos, 2014: o. S.). In der TV-Serie Game of Thrones werden die weiblichen Figuren allerdings auf die archetypischen Rollen reduziert, sie haben meist keine Ambiguität mehr. So töten weder Arya Stark noch Cersei Lannister keine Unschuldigen mehr, Melisandre ist gewalttätiger und opportunistischer als zuvor - sie wird zur klassischen Femme fatal, während Arya als Amazone dargestellt wird. (Frankel, 2014: 37) Auch Martins Frauenbild traf auf Kritik, denn in Das Lied von Eis und Feuer sind Frauen sind oft Rivalinnen und es gibt so gut wie keine Freundschaften, Zusammenhalt, -arbeit oder sogar Interaktion zwischen ihnen. Durch den Bechdel-Test kann ermittelt werden, wie viele Szenen es in einem Film oder einer Serie gibt, die die folgenden drei Kriterien erfüllen: a) mindestens zwei Frauen sind anwesend, b) sie führen mindestens eine Unterhaltung und c) diese darf nicht über einen Mann gehen. Wendet man diesen Text auf die Serie sowie die Buchreihe an, wird deutlich, dass die Beziehungen zwischen Männern oder zwischen Männern und Frauen gegenüber Beziehungen zwischen Frauen deutlich überwiegen (Frankel, 2014: 31-36). Frankel (2014: 35) zeigt, dass nur 4 unabhängige Frauen (Daenerys Targaryen, Arya Stark, Asha Graufreud und Lady Olenna Tyrell) ihren eigenen Weg beschreiben, im Gegensatz zu 21 unabhängigen Männern. „Every other female character, and there are many, lives to serve someone and put his (usually his) interests ahead of hers.“ (ibid.) Sich als Mann wie eine Frau zu verhalten oder sich hinter einer Frau zu verstecken gilt als schwach oder wird als Beschimpfung geäußert. Dies geschieht sowohl in der TV-Serie als auch in Martin’s Fantasy-Saga und es sind vor allem Frauen, die diese Aussagen machen (Frankel, 2014: 172-174) und so das Bild einer dem Mann unterlegenen Frau fördern und verbreiten. Hinzukommt, dass starke Frauen, wie z. B. Arya Stark oder Brienne von Tarth ebenfalls ihre weibliche Seite verneinen, um als besonders stark zu gelten. Diese Stärke wird mit Maskulinität gleichgesetzt: „Strong characters are portrayed with classically masculine characteristics, and weak characters with feminine ones. Thus the women must reject their feminine side to operate in the men’s sphere.“ (Frankel, 2014: 2) 138 Christiane Limbach Es muss jedoch ebenfalls hervorgehoben werden, dass eine schlechte Behand‐ lung von Frauen bei Männern als negative Eigenschaften betrachtet wird, und zwar in beiden Medien, etwa wenn König Robert seine Frau Cersei schlägt, wenn Joffrey die Prostituierten quält und tötet, wenn Kraznys mo Nakloz Daenerys wiederholt bei den Verkaufsverhandlungen beschimpft, weil er annimmt, dass sie ihn nicht versteht etc. (Frankel, 2014: 174-177). Weibliche Charaktere müssen sich stärker als ihre männlichen Kollegen gegen die Ungerechtigkeiten und Schicksalsfügungen behaupten (Servos 2014: o. S.) und sind meist den männlichen Figuren untergeordnet. Zu Beginn der Fantasy-Saga dienen sie fast immer politischen Zwecken, haben keinen eigenen Willen und müssen gehorsam sein. Jedoch machen viele von ihnen im Hand‐ lungsverlauf eine Entwicklung durch und werden zusehends selbstständiger und mächtiger, setzen ihre Fähigkeiten ein und nutzen ihre Vorteile. Allerdings liegt laut Cersei Lannister die Waffe einer Frau zwischen ihren Beinen, wie Sackler (o. J.) auf dem feministischen Internetblog hervorhebt: „Cersei also uses her sexuality to advance her goals. Whether it is having her brother, father, her children to protect the Lannister bloodline or seducing key informants and strategic assets, Cersei firmly believes (as she tells young Sansa Stark) that ‚a woman’s weapon is between her legs‘.“ Auch viele andere weibliche Figuren bedienen sich dieser Methoden, was nur wenige übrig lässt, die das Game of Thrones nach ihren eigenen Regeln spielen oder es genießen eine Frau zu sein (Frankel, 2014: 2). Hauptkritikpunkt bleibt jedoch die männliche Gewalt gegen Frauen und deren Unterdrückung und die Tatsache, dass Frauen darüber hinaus auch unzählige Male in den Romanen vergewaltigt werden. George R. R. Martin beschreibt […] nicht nur patriarchalische Strukturen und män‐ nerdominierte Gesellschaftsformen, sondern schreckt auch nicht davor zurück, immer wieder Gewalt gegen Frauen, vor allem in Form von Vergewaltigungen, als eines der schrecklichsten Unterdrückungsinstrumente zu schildern. (Servos: 2014: o. S.) Martin wird weiterhin der Vorwurf gemacht dass [er] Vergewaltigungen oder ähnliche Situationen beschönige oder gar romanti‐ siere, beispielsweise als die erst 13-jährige Daenerys von ihrem Bruder mit einem weitaus älteren Kriegsfürsten zwangsverheiratet wird. (Servos, 2014: o. S.) Feministinnen werfen Martin vor, durch die Häufigkeit und Deutlichkeit der Vergewaltigungen diese zu einer Art Normalität zu erklären, ein Werk ge‐ schaffen zu haben, in den Sexismus und Rassismus regieren 139 Game of Thrones 14 https: / / tafkarfanfic.tumblr.com/ post/ 119770640640/ rape-in-asoiaf-vsgame-of-thrones -a-statistical, (Letzter Zugriff am 5. April 2020.). There’s an enormous amount of violence against women in A Song of Ice and Fire, and its portrayal is uniformly negative. It is always uncomfortable rather than titillating. Rape and sexual violence, both from „protectors“ and from strangers, are persistent threats to all the female characters. Robert Baratheon drunkenly rapes Cersei; when she tells him he’s hurt her, he blames it on alcohol. Sansa, Arya, and Brienne all experience verbal threats of sexual violence from a wide variety of men. This omnipresent threat in these women’s lives creates what amounts to an environment of sexual oppression. That this circumstance is rarely remarked upon by the characters shows just how entrenched it is in the culture. (Spector, 2012: 185) Tatsächlich findet man in einem Internetblog tafkar 14 eine Statistik zu den Vergewaltigungen bei Martins Fantasy-Saga, die in den bisher erschienenen Büchern auf 214 Vergewaltigungen bei 117 Opfern gezählt wurden. Martin muss allerdings zu Gute gehalten werden, dass nicht alle Figuren in den Büchern der Meinung sind, dass Vergewaltigungen zur Normalität gehören sollten, wie zum Beispiel Jaime Lannister, der in Sturm der Schwerter Brienne gegenüber zu verstehen gibt, dass „kein wahrer Ritter so eine Schandtat billigen [würde]“ (Martin 2001: 43). Jaime lässt ebenfalls den Vergewaltiger der Magd Pia auf Harrenhal für seine Tat hinrichten. Im Gegensatz zu den Büchern, enthält die Serie nicht nur viele Nackt- und Sexszenen, sondern kann auch als sexistisch angesehen werden (Frankel, 2014: 7; Schubart, Gjelsvik, 2016: 4), sie ist sogar dafür bekannt und auch George R. R. Martin räumt ein: „One of the reasons I wanted to do this with HBO is that I wanted to keep the sex.“ (Hibberd, 2011) In der Serie sind die Sexszenen zudem auf die männlichen und nicht auf die weiblichen Zuschauer ausgelegt (Frankel, 2014: 16): „[…] men are treated as characters and controllers of the scene, while the women range from exploit to ignored barely-people.“ (ibid.) Aus Platzgründen gehen wir an dieser Stelle nicht weiter in die Tiefe, sondern richten unser Augenmerk auf Missandei. 5.2 Missandei: ihre Entwicklung in der Romanreihe Das Lied von Eis und Feuer Missandei ist eine weichliche Figur, die erst ab dem dritten Buch der Romanreihe (in der deutschen Übersetzung ab dem fünften Buch Sturm der Schwerter) auftaucht. Missandei stammt aus dem Friedliebenden Volk der Naath und tritt als eine Sklavin zum ersten Mal als Dolmetscherin für Kraznys mo Nakloz, 140 Christiane Limbach einem Sklavenhändler in Astapor in Erscheinung. Sie ist mit 10 Jahren jünger als Daenerys und wird als sehr willensstark und intelligent beschrieben. Wie eine Vielzahl von anderen weiblichen Figuren in den Romanen, hat auch Missandei einen Schicksalsschlag erlitten. Sie wurde von Räubern entführt und als Sklavin in Astapor verkauft. Drei ihrer Brüder werden in Astapor zu Unbefleckten, allerdings stirbt einer von ihnen während der Ausbildung. Missandeis Gabe ist es 19 Sprachen zu beherrschen, deswegen absolviert sie in Astapor eine Ausbildung zur Schreiberin. Nachdem Missandei als Geschenk an Daenerys übergeben worden ist, schenkt Daenerys ihr die Freiheit, damit sie in ihre Heimat zurückkehren kann. Allerdings hat Missandei in ihrer Heimat niemanden mehr und sie bevorzugt es bei Daenerys zu bleiben. Schnell wird sie zu ihrer engen Vertrauten, begleitet sie stets, teilt mit ihr das Bett und spricht Daenerys Trost und Mut zu. Daenerys fühlt sich Missandei sehr verbunden („Dany hatte Missandei sehr liebgewonnen“ [Martin 2002: 561]) und lässt Missandei am Ende des sechsten deutschen Buches versprechen, sie niemals anzulügen oder zu verraten („Lüg mich niemals an, Missandei. Verrate mich nie“ [Martin 2002: 581]). Missandei stellt ihr Können unter Beweis, indem sie Daenerys in linguistischen und kulturellen Dingen berät (sie erklärt ihr die Bedeutung des Wortes der Ghiscari Mhysa (Mutter), wie die Ghiscari ihre Toten ehren, begleitet sie beim ersten Treffen mit den Ghiscari etc.). Im vierten Originalband kommt Missandei nicht vor. Sie tritt erst wieder ab dem fünften und letzten Originalband auf (A Dance with Dragons). Sie wird zum Herold von Daenerys, ihrer Königin, und kündigt sie von nun an auf folgende Weise an: Missandei verkündete ihre Ankunft. Die kleine Schreiberin hatte eine süße, kräftige Stimme. „Alle knien nieder vor Daenerys Sturmtochter, der Unverbrannten, Königin von Meereen, Königin der Andalen und der Rhoynar und der Ersten Menschen, Khaleesi des Großen Grasmeers, Sprengerin der Ketten und Mutter der Drachen.“ (Martin 2012a: 79, 92, 303; 2012b: 141) Als einer von Missandeis Brüdern von einem Sohn der Harpyie getötet wird, tröstet Daenerys Missandei und die beiden festigen ihre enge Verbindung. Mis‐ sandei bezeichnet Daenerys sogar als „Unser aller Mutter“ (Martin 2012a: 294). Auch bei Daenerys Hochzeit mit Hizdar zo Loraq in Mereen steht Missandei Daenerys zur Seite. Nachdem Daenerys auf Drogon aus einer wiedereröffneten Kampfarena verschwindet, erklärt sie ihr Ehemann für tot und übernimmt die Regierung. Er umgibt sich mit seinen eigenen Anhängern und setzt Daenerys Vertraute nach und nach ab: so auch Missandei in ihrer Funktion als Herold, da 141 Game of Thrones es in seinen Augen unangemessen ist, von einem Kind und einer freigelassenen Sklavin aus Naath angekündigt zu werden (Martin 2012b: 447-448). Gegen Ende des letzten Buches bewohnt Missandei alleine die königlichen Gemächer von Daenerys und bleibt ihr auf diese Weise treu. Außerdem berät sie Ser Barristan bei seinem Vorhaben Grauer Wurm für ein Vorhaben zu gewinnen, der ihren Rat sowie sie selbst als weise ansieht: „Missandei ist elf Jahre alt und trotzdem schon klüger als die Hälfte der Männer an diesem Tisch, und an Weisheit übertrifft sie alle.“ (Martin 2012b: 813) 5.3 Missandei: ihre Entwicklung in der TV-Serie Game of Thrones In der TV-Serie erscheint Missandei genau wie in den Büchern zum ersten Mal in der dritten Staffel als Sklavin und Dolmetscherin. Sie wird von der britischen Schauspielerin Nathalie Emmanuel verkörpert. Ganz im Sinne der TV-Serie ist auch Missandei deutlich älter als in den Romanen, statt ein Mädchen von 10 Jahren ist sie bereits eine erwachsene Frau. Seit Beginn ihrer Auftritte sieht man auch Nathalie Emmanuel wie viele ihrer anderen Schauspielkolleginnen leicht bekleidet, viel Haut zeigend oder mit enganliegender Kleidung. Ihr wird also in diesem Sinne das Schicksal der weiblichen Charaktere in der Serie zuteil, nämlich, genau wie in der Romanreihe heißt, Opfer männlicher Begierde zu werden. Rolle der Frauen hat schon immer für Kritik gesorgt. Man mag darauf verweisen, dass es sich bei der Serie immerhin um die Darstellung einer mittelalterlichen, patriarchalischen Gesellschaft im Krieg handelt, so dass mangelnde Frauenrechte (von Gleichberechtigung ganz zu schweigen) und Frauen als Opfer männlicher Willkür und Gewalt durchaus realistisch sind - aber dann öffnet man sich natürlich der Kritik, dass andere Dinge in der Serie nicht so realistisch sind. (Krannich, 2019) Wie bereits in 5.1 erwähnt, erntete die Serie viel Kritik für diesen maskulinen und sexistischen Blickwinkel (nicht nur in der Wissenschaft sondern auch in der Bevölkerung: Der Standard, 04.05.2014; Kölnische Rundschau, 03.05.2014; Würger, 2017; Duve, 2014; Pickar, 2015; Schmieder, 2014; NTV, 2014; Fandom, o. D.; Niasseri, 2017; Weekend.at, 05.05.2014) und es stellt sich die Frage, inwiefern die vielen Sex- und Gewaltszenen sowie auch die Nacktszenen und die sexistische Kleidung der Darstellerinnen gerechtfertigt sind. Auch für Nathalie Emmanuel gibt es eine Nacktszene in der Serie, und sogar viele für z. B. Emilia Clarke, Lena Headey und Carice van Houten. Es wurden allerdings auch Doubles eingesetzt (Lackner, 2016). Emilia Clarke beschrieb in Interviews, wie sie als junge und unerfahrene Schauspielerin von den Machern der Serie zu Nacktszenen gedrängt wurde, sich jedoch nach und nach behaupten konnte 142 Christiane Limbach 15 www.vip.de/ cms/ game-of-thrones-wirft-gerade-sein-frauenbild-ueber%20bord/ 43362 86.html (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) (Küchemann, 2019). Auf der anderen Seite wird auch geschildert, dass die weiblichen Darsteller die Rolle der Frauen in Game of Thrones positiv bewerten, da sie starke Frauen repräsentieren (Frankel, 2014: 2-3; Schubart, Gjelsvik, 2016: 9). In der achten Folge der vierten Staffel (Newman, Spence und Graves, 2014b). wird Missandei von Grauer Wurm, dem Anführer der Unbefleckten, beim Baden und Waschen ihrer Kleider beobachtet und erscheint frontal komplett nackt. Darüber hinaus gibt es auch eine Sexszene (McAtackney, Newman, Spence und Mylod, 2017) zwischen Missandei und Grauer Wurm, bei der man sie ebenfalls nackt sehen kann. Diese Szenen kommen nicht in den Romanen vor und können, wie so viele andere, unter den großen Kritikpunkt der Serie „Sexismus“ eingeordnet werden, da es weitaus mehr Nacktszenen für weibliche Schauspielerinnen als für männliche Schauspieler gibt (Frankel, 2014: 16-23). Missandeis Nacktszenen kommen nicht in den Büchern vor, sondern sind eine Addition der Serienmacher. Von Beginn an spielte Emmanuel die Rolle sehr überzeugend und wurde nach und nach zu einer Lieblingsfigur des Publikums, sodass ihre Rolle in der Serie sogar weiter und weiter ausgebaut werden musste. Etwas Ähnliches geschah auch mit den Nebenfiguren wie Bronn, Tormund, Lyanna Stark oder auch Grauer Wurm, die im Buch nur eine kleine Nebenrolle einnehmen, in der Fern‐ sehserie allerdings viel mehr an Bedeutung gewinnen. Auch bei Cersei Lannister ist eine solche Entwicklung in der Serie zu verzeichnen. Missandei erscheint im Gegensatz zu den Büchern auch in der vierten Staffel und wird ab der fünften Staffel zur Hauptfigur. Die Verbindung zu Daenerys und ihre Funktion für sie, die in den Büchern beschrieben wird, wird in der TV-Serie noch vertieft. Ein großer Pluspunkt der Serie ist sicherlich, dass die weiblichen Charaktere (genau wie die männlichen) durchaus als aktive, mutige, handlungstragende Figuren dargestellt werden, die sich weiterentwickeln und Entscheidungen treffen, und damit wichtig für den Verlauf der Serie sind. Zu den starken femininen Figuren der TV-Serie zählen Cersei Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, Catelyn Stark sowie ihre Töchter Sansa und Arya Stark, die rote Priesterin Melisandre, Brienne von Tarth, Asha Graufreud etc. Sechs Staffeln lang begeisterte das Westeros-Epos mit seinem zum Schneiden dichten Plot, Hauptfiguren-Meucheleien und - gerade für eine patriarchale Fantasy-Welt - starken Frauen. Daenerys, Brienne und Missandei zeigten, dass Frauen auf dem Bildschirm mehr sein können - ja müssen - als abwechselnd in Not geratene Jungfern oder schmückendes Beiwerk 15 . 143 Game of Thrones Die Charaktere entwickeln sich zudem noch weit über die Buchvorlage hinaus, sodass sogar von „keimenden feministischen Hoffnungen“ (Knödler, 2019) die Rede ist. An einigen Stellen ist die Serie sogar feministischer als die Buchvorlage. So zum Beispiel Missandeis Bemerkung „Valar morghulis“, die in der Serie mit „Alle Männer müssen sterben“ übersetzt wird, worauf Daenerys ihr antwortet, dass sie keine Männer seien und Missandei schmunzelt. In den Büchern wird dieser Ausdruck hingegen mit „Alle Menschen müssen sterben“ (Martin, 2001: 479) übersetzt. Missandei ist eine Figur, die sich ebenfalls über die Buchvorlage hinaus entwickelt, vor allem, da ihre Entwicklung von der dritten bis zur achten Staffel reicht und die Bücher nur eine Vorlage bis zur einschließlich fünften Staffel geben. Missandei steigt von einer Sklavin zur Beraterin der Königin Daenerys auf und verzeichnet somit eine steile Karriere. Abgesehen von ihrer Dolmetschertätigkeit für Kraznys mo Nakloz in den ersten drei Folgen der dritten Staffel (Newman, Spence, Taylor und Minahan, 2013; Newman, Spence und Minahan, 2013; Newman, Spence und Benioff, 2013) dolmetscht sie auch bei anderen Gelegenheiten, wie etwa bei den Audienzen der Bürgen von Meereen bei Daenerys (Newman, Spence und Sakharov, 2014) oder bei der Begegnung mit dem Champion von Meereen (Newman, Spence und Graves, 2014a). Des Weiteren hilft sie auch mit ihren sprachlichen Kenntnissen, z. B. wenn sie Grauer Wurm Sprachunterricht erteilt (Newman, Spence und Graves, 2014a), Daenerys bei der Aussprache des dothrakischen Wortes „Athjahakar” hilft (Newman, Spence und MacLaren, 2011) oder auch darauf hinweist, dass in der Prophe‐ zeiung, die die Rote Priesterin Melisandre gegenüber Daenerys erwähnt, das Wort „azor ahai“ nicht nur mit „Prinz“, sondern auch mit „Prinzessin“ übersetzt werden kann, da es im Valyrischen keinen Genus hat (McAtackney, Newman, Spence und Mylod, 2017a). Als enge Vertraute von Daenerys und durch ihre Tätigkeit als Herold, weicht Missandei selten von der Seite ihrer Königin. So ist sie auch bei der Wiedereröffnung der Kampfarenen (Cogman, McAtackney, Newman, Spence und Podeswa, 2015) dabei. In dieser Folge gibt Missandei Daenerys auch ihren Rat in Staatsangelegenheiten, als sie Daenerys darum bittet. Sie fungiert ebenfalls als offizielle Vertreterin von Daenerys, z. B. wenn sie Jon Schnee auf Drachenstein zusammen mit Tyrion Lannister empfängt und von ihm als „engste Vertraute der Königin“ vorgestellt wird (McAtackney, Newman, Spence und Mylod, 2017b). In dieser Folge stellt Missandei auch erneut ihr strategisches Denken als Teil des Rates unter Beweis, als es darum geht, die beste Kriegsstrategie zu beschließen. Missandei dient Daenerys auch als Statthalterin in Meereen, als sie Daenerys dort mit Tyrion Lannister und Grauer Wurm zurücklässt (Cogman, McAtackney, Newman, Spence und Nutter, 2015). 144 Christiane Limbach 16 Für eine detaillierte Besprechung von Missandeis Funktionen siehe Stender und Limbach (im Druck). Sie ist ebenfalls bei Treffen von Daenerys mit anderen Herrschern präsent, z. B. als Daenerys die Zweitgeborenen trifft (Newman, Spence und MacLaren, 2011) oder Cersei Lannister, um ihr einen der Weißen Wanderer zu zeigen (McAtackney, Newman, Spence und Podeswa, 2017). Ebenso steht Missandei auch mit den Unbefleckten in Kontakt, ruft die Offiziere für ein Treffen mit Daenerys zusammen (Cogman, McAtackney, Newman, Spence, Podeswa, 2015) oder dient als Nachrichtenübermittlerin als Daenerys nach Neuigkeiten bezüglich der Unbefleckten fragt (McAtackney, Newman, Spence, Shakman, 2017). Sie pflegt sogar Grauen Wurm als dieser beim Kampf gegen die Harpyien verletzt wird, auch wenn sie das wahrscheinlich sehr gerne macht (Cogman, McAtackney, Newman, Spence, Mylod, 2015). Missandei kann in ihren vielen Funktionen und ihrer Laufbahn sogar als Beispiel für die Karrierechancen für angehende Dolmetscher und Übersetzer herangezogen werden (siehe Stender, Limbach, im Druck) 16 . Die Serienmacher haben Missandei also deutlich mehr Handlung zugeschrieben als sie in den Büchern hat (wie auch bei der Figur Grauer Wurm). In ihrer Rolle als Missandei konnte Nathalie Emmanuel die Herzen der Zuschauer gewinnen, sodass für sie sogar eine Liebesaffäre mit Grauer Wurm, gespielt von Jacob Anderson, der ebenfalls die Herzen der Fans eroberte, geschrieben wurde (Gonzales, 2019). Ein weiterer sehr positiver Aspekt der TV-Serie ist, dass mit Nathalie Emma‐ nuel eine farbige Schauspielerin gewählt wurde. Die Serie steht seit Jahren in der Kritik auf Grund der Tatsache, dass alle Hauptrollen von weißen Schauspielern eingenommen werden und nur die Nebenrollen mit nicht-weißen Ethnien besetzt sind (Frankel, 2014: 26). Missandei vertritt nun als einzige Schauspielerin eine nicht-weiße Ethnie, genau wie ihr männlicher Schauspielkollege Jacob An‐ derson (Grauer Wurm). In einem Interview erklärt die Schauspielerin Nathalie Emmanuel, die sich im privaten Leben für Frauenrechte einsetzt (Rose, 2017): „It’s safe to say that Game of Thrones has been under criticism for their lack of representation, and the truth of it is that Missandei and Grey Worm have represented so many people because there’s only two of them,“ she said. „So this is a conversation going forward about when you’re casting shows like this, that you are inclusive in your casting.“ (Desta, 2019) So bemerkenswert positiv die Entschlüsse der Serienmachern Benioff und Weiss die Rolle der Missandei mit einer farbigen Schauspielerin zu besetzen und Missandei als Hauptcharakter und kompetente starke Frau (wie viele andere 145 Game of Thrones 17 https: / / noizz.de/ serien/ game-of-thrones-laut-george-rr-martin-hatte-es-funf-weiterestaffeln-geben-konnen/ nh2zzg2 (Letzter Zugriff am 5. April 2020.) 18 https: / / www.vip.de/ cms/ game-of-thrones-wirft-gerade-sein-frauenbild-ueber-bord-43 36286.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) weibliche Figuren) auszubauen, ja der Serie sogar manch positive feministische Note zu geben, die in den Büchern nicht vorhanden war, so fatal war leider das Ende der Serie mit der langersehnten achten Staffel. Diese Staffel zog mit ihrem raschen und wenig durchdachten, sogar nachlässigen Ende, harte Kritik auf sich und verärgerte die Fans (Bitz, 2019; Azh, 2019; Engelhardt, 2019). Es wurde sogar von einer neuen Überarbeitung gesprochen. Martin äußerte, dass für ein plausibleres und ausgearbeiteteres Ende mindestens noch fünf Staffeln, statt nur einer hätten gedreht werden müssen 17 . Neben den vielen verschiedenen Kritikpunkten an der achten Staffel wurden vor allem die Entwicklung der weiblichen Hauptcharaktere stark kritisiert. Es kam sogar zu Schlagzeilen wie „Wie ‚Game of Thrones‘ seine Frauenfiguren ruiniert“ (Kayikci, 2019), „‚Game of Thrones‘ wirft gerade sein Frauenbild über Bord“ 18 oder Unterüberschriften wie „Die Serie verrät ihre Protagonistinnen“ (Knödler, 2019) etc. In der vierten Folge der achten Staffel stirbt Missandei, als sie nach einem gescheiterten Eroberungsversuch von Königsmund von Gregor Clegane auf Cerseis Befehl vor aller Augen enthauptet wird. Auch Grauer Wurm - sie sind inzwischen ein Liebespaar - und Daenerys müssen ihren Tod mitansehen. Kritik erntete, aus unterschiedlichen Gründen nicht nur Missandeis Tod, sondern auch ihre Entwicklung als Figur. An einer schlecht ausgearbeiteten Entwicklung leiden gleich mehrere weibliche Charaktere in der achten Staffel, wie in der Süddeutschen kritisiert wird: „Auch die Evolution der Charaktere leidet unter der Hektik des Finales“ (Knödler, 2019). Missandei hat eine steile Karriere hinter sich, ist eine überaus intelligente und selbstbewusste Frau und zum Schluss scheint ihr sehnlichster Wunsch zu sein, in ihre Heimat Naath zurückzukehren und dort die Strände noch einmal zu sehen und den Frieden dort zu genießen. Von der Sklavin zur Beraterin der Königin hat auch Missandei eine steile Karriere hinter sich - und sich immer wieder als jemand bewiesen, der im richtigen Moment strategisch denkt (und übersetzt! ). Dieser Figur keine weiteren Ambitionen zu geben, als nach dem Ende des Krieges nach Hause zurückkehren zu wollen, ist schon schwach. (Kayikci, 2019) Sie wird also von den Serienmachern reduziert, da ihre charakterliche Ent‐ wicklung nicht kohärent zu der ist, die sich durch die Serie hinweg erlebt. Ebenfalls kann kritisiert werden, dass sie nur in diese Situation gerät, da sie die Anweisungen von Grauer Wurm befolgt, der zwar mit ihr auf dem Ruderboot ist, 146 Christiane Limbach 19 https: / / www.vip.de/ cms/ game-of-thrones-wirft-gerade-sein-frauenbild-ueber-bord-43 36286.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) allerdings unbeschadet an Land gespült wird, während Missandei in die Arme des Feindes fällt. Am Ende muss die Figur aber als Bauernopfer herhalten. Beim Angriff Euron Graufreuds auf die Flotte der Drachenmutter fügt sie sich dem herrischen Befehl ihres Liebhabers, in ein Ruderboot zu steigen. Sie wird nicht wie dieser zufällig an Land gespült, sondern gefangen genommen, anscheinend als einzige von Daenerys’ Gefolgsleuten überhaupt 19 . Missandei stirbt außerdem in Handschellen, was an ihre frühere Sklavenzeit erinnert. Sie wird also auch in diesem Sinne sozusagen wieder auf das reduziert, was sie war, als sie in der dritten Staffel zuerst auftrat. Ihr Tod führt dazu, dass seitdem keine weibliche nicht-weiße Ethnie mehr vertreten ist und wird in der Presse als „ein ehrloses Ende für die einzige größere schwarze Frauenrolle in der ganzen Serie“ (Kayikci, 2019) bezeichnet. Er wird als Schockelement für die Zuschauer benutzt, damit die Spannung nicht abfällt und dafür Daenerys und Grauer Wurm ein starkes Rachemotiv zu geben und ihre nachfolgenden Handlungen zu rechtfertigen. Die Rache der beiden wird ebenfalls dadurch legitimiert, dass Missandeis letztes Wort „Dracarys“ (der Befehl an die Drachen für Angriff) ist, Daenerys also dazu ermächtigt mit ihrem letzten Drachen anzugreifen. Cersei Lannister wird durch den Mord an Missandei als absolut und unwiderruflich böse dargestellt. So wird Missandei also nur sterben, um den Fortgang der Handlung weiter anzutreiben. Die einzige prominente weibliche Person-of-Color wurde letztendlich abseits der in der Serie gezeigten Handlung gefangengenommen und als Spielball zwischen Cersei und Daenerys - zwei weißen Figuren - exekutiert. (Krannich, 2019) Missandeis Tod sollte vielleicht auch Daenerys weitere Entwicklung zur ver‐ rückten Königin rechtfertigen: Missandei wird in „ihre[r] Rolle zu einer Rand‐ figur reduziert [wird], die zu nichts anderem dient, als den Zusammenbruch von Daenerys zu provozieren“ (Kayikci, 2019). Ebenfalls zu bemängeln ist das ehrlose Ende Missandeis auch aus sexistischer Sicht. Bei ihrem Tod ist die Kamera auf Grauer Wurms Gesicht gerichtet, das heißt, es werden also seine Emotionen zum Tod Missandeis gezeigt, und nicht ihre letzten Momente. Ähnliches geschah schon einmal in der Serie, nämlich bei Sansa Starks Vergewaltigung durch Ramsay. Auch hier standen statt der 147 Game of Thrones 20 www.vip.de/ cms/ game-of-thrones-wirft-gerade-sein-frauenbild-ueber-bord-4336286. html (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) letzten Momente einer weiblichen Darstellerin die Reaktionen eines männlichen Kollegen im Vordergrund. Doch nicht nur Missandei als weibliche Figur der Serie, die sich durch die Staffeln hinweg zu einer starken und selbstbewussten Frau entwickelt hat, trifft das Schicksal der Verflachung. Auch die Evolution anderer weiblicher Hauptfi‐ guren wird in der achten Staffel reduziert, ihre Handlungen sind inkohärent zu ihren Charakteren und sie unterliegen wieder ihren männlichen Kollegen 20 (Knödler, 2019, Krannich, 2019). So kommt Knödler wie auch schon Frankel (2014: 16-23) zu dem Urteil: Für alle, die auf den feministischen Lockstoff reingefallen waren, den die Macher hier und dort eingestreut hatten, ist die achte Staffel eine Erinnerung: Wenn nur Männer eine Serie schreiben, kommt halt eine Männerserie heraus. (Knödler, 2019) Daenerys mutiert in der achten Staffel zu überemotionalen, irrationalen ver‐ rückten Königin, die in dieser Hinsicht dasselbe Schicksal wie ihr Vater erleidet und von ihren männlichen Beratern plötzlich nicht mehr als kompetente Königin angesehen wird, ja sogar von ihrem Verbündeten und Partner Jon Schnee am Ende ermordet wird. Sansas Entwicklung zu einer mächtigen Frau, die gelernt hat, die politischen Schachzüge ihrer Gegenspieler zu verstehen und vorherzusehen und durchaus in der Lage ist, ihre eigenen Interessen und die ihrer Familie durchzusetzen, reduziert sich, indem sie ihr Können und ihre Entwicklung auf ihre männlichen Peiniger zurückführt: „Ohne Littlefinger und Ramsay und den Rest wäre ich für immer ein kleines Vögelchen geblieben.“ Dies wurde natürlich stark kritisiert, denn Vergewaltigungen, Misshandlungen und Peinigungen sind keine notwen‐ digen Voraussetzungen für persönliches Wachstum und schon gar nicht der Verdienst der Peiniger selbst (Knödler, 2019, Krannich, 2019, Kayikci, 2019). Auch die Rolle von Brienne von Tarth erleidet eine starke Reduzierung in der achten Staffel der Serie. Bisher kannte man Brienne als aufrichtige, zielstrebige, loyale anstrebende Ritterin, die in ihrer Rüstung deutlich besser kämpft als alle männlichen Figuren. Sie tritt in der letzten Staffel nicht mehr in ihrer Rüstung, sondern im Nachthemd auf (Knödler, 2019), und wünscht sich nichts sehnlicher als einen Mann, nämlich Jaime Lannister (Kayikci, 2019), an ihrer Seite. Dieser schlägt sie sogar zum Ritter, d. h. ihre finale Bestätigung bekommt Brienne also von einem Mann. Außerdem scheint sie daran zu zerbrechen, dass Jaime sie für Cersei verlassen hat (ein Verhalten von Jaime, das auch nicht mit den 148 Christiane Limbach 21 www.vip.de/ cms/ game-of-thrones-wirft-gerade-sein-frauenbild-ueber-bord-4336286. html (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) Büchern übereinstimmen kann, denn Jaime hatte sich von Cersei schon lange abgewandt): Sie zum Schluss als Frau darzustellen, die mit allem klarkommt, nur nicht damit, von einem Mann verlassen zu werden, ist einfach unbefriedigend. (Kayikci, 2019) Cerseis Rolle wird ebenso reduziert: Nach der beeindruckenden schauspieleri‐ schen Leistung der Darstellerin Lena Headys in den vorherigen Staffeln der Serie, hätte man dieser Rolle durchaus mehr Handlungsraum in der achten Staffel geben können und auch ihren Tod spektakulärer gestalten können. Die einzigen beiden weiblichen Figuren, die ihrer Linie treu geblieben sind, sind Arya und Asha. Asha Graufreuds Entwicklung ist eine der vielen, die - wahrscheinlich auch Zeitgründen - nicht zu Ende geführt werden. Es ist jedoch anzunehmen, dass sie auf die Eiseninseln zurückkehrt, wo sie weiterhin ihren Vorlieben nachkommt und eine exzellente Herrscherin ist. Nachdem Arya den Heiratsantrag ablehnt hat, sieht man sie am Ende der Serie als Kapitänin eines Schiffes fortsegeln, wahrscheinlich in die weite Welt, um Abenteuer zu erleben. Leider leidet die achte und letzte Staffel der Serie also unter einem zu schnell geschriebenen Ende (Knödler, 2019 etc.), dass nicht nur zahlreiche Handlungsverläufe ins Nichts laufen lässt, sondern auch die Entwicklung gleich mehrerer weiblicher Figuren inkohärent zu ihrer bisherigen Evolution beendet und die feministischen Hoffnungen für die Serie zu Nichte gemacht hat. Missandei ist leider nur ein Beispiel dafür, denn auch die Charaktere Cersei Lannister, Sansa Stark, Brienne von Tarth müssen diese Verflachung in der achten Staffel erleben. Nun wäre es verschmerzbar gewesen, wenn eine der drei oben genannten Figuren so behandelt worden wäre. Schließlich gehört es zum Charakter der Serie, dass sich Handlungsbögen schnell ändern können und Figuren ein anderes, als das erwartete Schicksal erleiden. Dass aber drei der stärksten Frauenfiguren allesamt Rückschritte in ihrer Entwicklung machen müssen, ist schon bemerkenswert 21 . 6 Schlussfolgerungen In diesem Kapitel wurde die Repräsentation der Frauen in der Fantasy-Saga Das Lied von Eis und Feuer und in der TV-Serie Game of Thrones am Beispiel der Figur Missandei untersucht. Es kann durchaus der Standpunkt vertreten werden, dass die weiblichen Figuren bei George R. R. Martin starke Frauen sind, die sich durchaus entwickeln und deutlich zum Handlungsverlauf beitragen. Sie setzen 149 Game of Thrones sich dabei auch über gesellschaftliche Zwänge und geschlechtsspezifische Rollen hinweg, wie dies zum Beispiel der Fall von Arya Stark, Brienne von Tarth und Asha Graufreud der Fall ist. Zugleich kann man sie nicht eindeutig einem Archetyp zuordnen, die Grenzen zwischen ihnen sowie zwischen Gute und Böse verlaufen. Andere feminine Figuren, die Martin geschaffen hat, erkämpfen sich langsam ihre Position, Rechte und Freiheiten. Hier können Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark und Cersei Lannister als Beispiel dienen. Wie sie dies tun, und ob die moralisch und aus einer feministischen Sicht vertretbar ist, bleibt offen. Allerdings muss darauf hingewiesen werden, dass dies nicht nur für die weiblichen Figuren, sondern auch für die männlichen Figuren gilt. Es ist ebenfalls hervorzuheben, dass bei den Wildlingen Frauen komplett gleichberechtigt sind. Obwohl Martin auch die Gewalt gegen Frauen und vor allem Vergewaltigungen in seiner Romanreihe zahlreiche Male thematisiert und ihm der Vorwurf gemacht wurde, diese auch zu romantisieren, muss jedoch bemerkt werden, dass dies immer aus der Perspektive einer männlichen Figur geschieht und nicht alle Männer diese Auffassung teilen. Des Weiteren kann Westeros nicht nur als eine frauenfeindliche Welt angesehen werden, sondern als eine menschenfeindliche Welt im Allgemeinen. George R. R. Martins Fantasy-Saga kann also durchaus als eines der ersten Werke angesehen werden, die sich durch seine starken weiblichen Charaktere von anderen Werken dieses Genres stark abhebt und sich den gesellschaftlichen Entwicklungen hin zu einer Gleichberechtigung der Frau unserer Zeit nähert. In der TV-Serie Game of Thrones wurden die weiblichen Figuren zu Beginn durchaus in vielen Aspekten, wenn auch nicht allen, originalgetreu dargestellt. Es wurden jedoch auch die vielen Vergewaltigungsszenen aus den Romanen, sowie viele Nackt- und Sexszenen in die Serie aufgenommen und sogar darüber hinaus ausgebaut. Die Produktionsfirma HBO ist bekannt dafür vor allem die männlichen Zuschauer für ihre Serien auf diese Art gewinnen zu wollen. Es wurden also von den Serienmachern vor allem Marketingstrategien verfolgt. Jedoch muss auch hervorgehoben werden, dass die weiblichen Figuren in der Serie durchaus an Stärke gewinnen, wie dies zum Beispiel der Fall bei Missandei ist. Sie wird zur Hauptfigur gemacht und bekommt deutlich mehr Auftritte als in der Romanreihe. Dabei macht sie eine steile Karriere, bekommt mehr und mehr Aufgaben zugewiesen und meistert diese mit Bravour, sie wird zum Publikums‐ liebling. Die weiblichen Darstellerinnen der Serie verweisen ebenfalls auf die insgesamt positiven Frauenrolle, mit starken, unabhängigen und selbstbewussten Frauen. Auch Szenen, die in der Originalvorlage keine feministischen Elemente aufweisen, wie zum Beispiel die Übersetzung von „Valar morghulis“, wurden die in der Serie zu „Alle Männer müssen sterben“ umgewandelt, sind also nun durchaus feministisch gefärbt. Vor allem auch durch Daenerys’ Antwort „Wir sind 150 Christiane Limbach 22 www.spiegel.de/ consent-a-? targetUrl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.spiegel.de%2Fkultur%2F tv%2Fgame-of-thrones-hbo-kuendigt-prequel-house-of-the-dragon-an-a-1294000.htm l (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) keine Männer.“ Hatten diese positiven Aspekte der Serie durchaus die Hoffnung geweckt, dass hier die weiblichen Charaktere zu Verfechterinnen und Vorbildern für weibliches Können, Selbstbewusstsein, Unabhängigkeit und Macht zu werden bzw. zu stehen, so wurden diese Hoffnungen jedoch mit dem Ende der Serie (also der achten Staffel) nach und nach zerstört. Durch das hektische Ende der Serie wurde die Evolution der weiblichen Figuren zunichte gemacht, die Charaktere flachten ab, entwickelten sich inko‐ härent oder gar konträr zu ihrer bisherigen Linie und mussten sich wieder den männlichen Figuren unterordnen. Die löste bei den Fans der Serie starke Kritik aus, sodass sogar ein neues Ende der Serie gefordert wurde. Inzwischen ist jedoch klar, dass keine Neuverfilmung des Endes der Serie geben soll, sondern ein Prequel. Es ist vorgesehen eine neue Serie mit dem Titel House of Dragons zu drehen, die 300 Jahre vor den Ereignissen von Game of Thrones spielt und sich auf den Roman Feuer und Blut von George R. R. Martin stützt 22 Der Erfolg der Serie Game of Thrones, vor allem der ersten Staffeln, sollte allerdings trotz des mangelhaften Endes, anerkannt werden. Bei der Internationalen Filmdatenbank imdb.com wurden alle Folgen der Serie mit mindestens 8 von 10 Punkten bewertet (Bitz, 2019). Die Serie hat in den ersten Folgen durchaus einen Schritt in die richtige Richtung getan, wie auch George R. R. Martin, indem diese starke, gut ausgebaute weibliche Figuren in die Handlung aufgenommen haben, die sich in ihrem Verhalten durchaus auch unterscheiden und gesellschaftskritisch sind, besonders im Hinblick auf geschlechtsspezifische Rollen. Zu hoffen bleibt also, dass weitere Autoren und Produzenten diesen Beispielen folgen und die Gleichberechtigung zwischen Frauen und Männern stetig vorantreiben. Auch bleibt zu hoffen, dass George R. R. Martin in seinen beiden angekündigten Romanen die weiblichen Figuren weiter zu gleichberechtigten emanzipierten starken und selbstbewussten Frauen aufbaut. Immerhin nimmt er sich für das Schreiben seiner Romane glücklicherweise mehr Zeit als die Produzenten der Serie. Bibliographische Referenzen Aschenbrenne, V. (27. März 2019). „Game of Thrones - Wie sich das Finale der TV-Serie von den Büchern unterscheidet.“ GameStar. www.gamestar.de/ artikel/ george-rr-mar tin-ueber-das-finale-von-staffel8-game-of-thrones,3342274.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 8. April 2020.) 151 Game of Thrones Azh, K. (21. Mai 2019). „Folge 6: Ende GOT, Alles GOT.“ 4001Reviews.de. https: / / 4001re views.de/ serien/ kritik-game-of-thrones-staffel-8/ #gref. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) Balke, F. (29. Juli 2012). „Jenseits der Eismauern lauern todbringende Geistwesen.“ Frank‐ furter Allgemeine Zeitung. www.faz.net/ aktuell/ feuilleton/ buecher/ buecher-der-wo che/ f-a-z-romane-der-woche-jenseits-der-eismauer-lauern-todbringende-geistwesen-1 1833953.html? printPagedArticle=true#pageIndex_2. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) Bitz, X. (19. Mai 2019). „Erwartbare Enttäuschung.“ Süddeutsche Zeitung. www.sueddeut sche.de/ medien/ game-of-thrones-staffel-acht-kritik-1.4447970. (Letzter Zugriff am 8. April 2020.) Borowska-Szerszun, S. (2020). “Westerosi Queens: Medievalist Portrayal of Female Power and Authority in A Song of Ice and Fire”. In Queenship and the Women of Westeros. Female Agency and Advice in Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire. (53-75). Berlin: Springer Nature. Börste, A. (13. August 2018). „Der Herr der Ringe ist schuld, dass wir in Game of Thrones leiden müssen.“ Moviepilot. www.moviepilot.de/ news/ der-herr-der-ringe-ist -schuld-dass-wir-in-game-of-thrones-leiden-mussen-1110126. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) Bosman, J. (13. Juli 2011). “A Fantasy Book Revives Store Sales”. The New York Times. www.nytimes.com/ 2011/ 07/ 14/ books/ george-r-r-martins-dance-with-dragons -sells-well.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 4. April 2020.) Cogman, B., McAtackney, L., Newman, C., Spence, G. (Produktion) & Mylod, M. (Regie). (2015). Game of Thrones: Die Söhne der Harpyie. (5. Staffel, 4. Folge). USA: Television 360, Grok! Television, Generator Entertainment, Startling Television, Bighead Little‐ head. Cogman, B., McAtackney, L., Newman, C., Spence, G. (Produktion) & Nutter, D. (Regie). (2015). Game of Thrones: Die Gnade der Mutter. (5. Staffel, 10. Folge). USA: Television 360, Grok! Television, Generator Entertainment, Startling Television, Bighead Little‐ head. 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(Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) www.emmys.com/ shows/ game-thrones. (Letzter Zugriff am 4. April 2020.) www.fernsehserien.de/ game-of-thrones/ episodenguide/ staffel-8/ 13323 (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) www.n-tv.de/ leute/ Kritik-an-Game-of-Thrones-waechst-article12763126.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) www.randomhouse.de/ George-R-R-Martin-Das-Lied-von-Eis-und-Feuer-Buecher-und- Hoerbuecher-/ Erfolgsgeschichte/ aid33096_7790.rhd. (Letzter Zugriff am 4. April 2020.) www.rundschau-online.de/ news/ kultur/ -game-of-thrones--kritik-an-sex-und-gewalt-2 893076. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) www.spiegel.de/ kultur/ tv/ game-of-thrones-hbo-kuendigt-prequel-house-of-the-dragon -an-a-1294000.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) www.stylight.de/ Magazine/ Lifestyle/ Teuersten-Serien/ . (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) www.vip.de/ cms/ game-of-thrones-wirft-gerade-sein-frauenbild-ueber-bord-4336286.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) www.welt.de/ kultur/ video205089548/ Exklusiv-Interview-George-R-R-Martin-im- Gespraech-mit-WELT-Autor-Martin-Scholz.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) www.zeit.de/ 2019/ 50/ game-of-thrones-fernsehserie-kosten-produktion-hbo. (Letzter Zugriff am 27. April 2020.) 158 Christiane Limbach VERSIONS OF SELF-SEARCH AND SELF-TRANSCENDENCE IN A POSTHUMAN PARADIGM: The Case of Motoko Kusanagi (Ghost in the Shell) Pedro Alemany Navarro 1 Identity and Change In Parallel Lives (Βίοι Παράλληλοι, Bíoi Parállēloi) Plutarch recorded the puzzle which has become canonical in the metaphysical discussion around identity and change. This paradox, known as the Ship of Theseus, aims at pondering the always-challenging question of what makes something what it is through time and space. Although this paradox has been subject to modifications over the years, let us freely recreate it as follows: Theseus, one of the great heroes of Greek mythology - after having come back from killing the Minotaur - leaves his ship in the Athenian harbor as a memorial. Very slowly over the years, different parts of the ship undergo decay and have to be replaced by new ones in order for the ship to stay afloat. After having replaced the first planks, very few would doubt the affirmation that the majestic ship in the harbor is still Theseus’ ship. Over the centuries, the moment will inevitably come when all the pieces will have been replaced. Eventually, none of the pieces will be the ones that were there initially: will then the ship still be Theseus’ ship? And if not, at what exact moment did it stop being it? The English philosopher Thomas Hobbes added a second level of complexity. In the Hobbesian scenario, the man in charge of changing the parts of the ship used them to build an exact replica of the original ship. Over time, there would be ship 1, that is, the original ship of Theseus with all its parts replaced, and ship 2, a ship built out of all the parts extracted from the original ship. If in the previous scenario we considered that the resulting ship was still the ship of Theseus after having had all its parts replaced, we would then have to claim that ship 1 is still the ship of Theseus. However, why would ship 2 not be worthy of being considered also the ship of Theseus? After all, all of the original parts of 1 The belief in the existence of temporal parts, as opposed to spatial parts, summarizes an important part of the evolution of the original identity paradox. Whether or not one might consider such metaphysical disputes to be completely irrelevant, we would like to return to the original discussion around spatial parts in a paradigm where important spatial changes might occur. 2 Authors like Noam Chomsky have pointed out that “if you give a metaphysical interpretation to these things [identity paradoxes like the Ship of Theseus] you run right off into impossible conundrums”. From a contemporary internalist perspective -which is not to be confused with an idealist view- Chomsky assumes that “the investigation of cognoscitive powers […] led finally to a quote of Hume’s: the objects that we talk about are really objects of thought which are constructed by mental operations, and there is no peculiar physical nature belonging to them” (Chomsky, 2009: 382). 3 For a detailed examination of the philosophical landscape which surrounds the term ‘posthuman’, see Ferrando (2019). For a systematic analysis of historical, medical and ethical issues regarding the question of posthuman enhancement, see Gordijn (2009). the ship of Theseus are contained in ship 2. Can ship 1 and ship 2 be both the ship of Theseus? In order to understand what prompts us to experience the Ship of Theseus as a paradox, we need to pay special attention to the assumptions which can be found at the basis of the puzzle itself. One of the underlying assumptions is that change is a necessary phenomenon which ordinary objects undergo. Following this idea, we can consider that the resulting ship in scenario 1, as well as ship 1 in scenario 2, are, in both cases, Theseus’ ship. Nevertheless, it can also be assumed that the essence of the object itself resides wherever its forming parts do; thus, ship 2 in scenario 2 can also be considered the ship of Theseus. Accepting one principle would entail the rejection of the other. Many other scenarios as well as many other interpretations of the so-called Ship of Theseus have been theorized by multiple thinkers after Hobbes, although it can be said that - once the idea of four-dimentionalism is introduced - it always comes down to the endurantism-perdurantism dichotomy 1 (which necessarily originates when dealing with the contradictions posed not only by the concept of identity itself, but also by time) or to the debate around internalism vs. externalism 2 . For the purpose of our discussion, we would like to maintain the original paradox in all its metaphysical dimension, but our aim is to further expand it and transpose it into a posthuman paradigm, that is, a paradigm where the notion of the human is an open one 3 . For that purpose, we will make use of the fictional story of Ghost in the Shell ( 攻殻機動隊 , Kōkaku Kidōtai) and its subsequent film versions. For if one thing has remained a constant during the centuries through which identity paradoxes like the Ship of Theseus have been taken to the realm of personal identity, that is the hardware that has served as the arena 160 Pedro Alemany Navarro 4 “La fiction de Shirow est une réponse à une polémique des anneées 1960 entre Arthur Koestler et Daisetsu Teitaro Suzuki. Connu pour son roman Le Zéro et l’infini (1941) et son essai Les Somnambules. Essai sur l'histoire des conceptions de l'univers (1959), Arthur Koestler avait dénigré le bouddhisme dans son essai Le Lotus et le robot (1960). Célèbre au Japon pour avoir vulgarisé le zen auprès des Occidentaux, Suzuki répond au romancier en 1961 dans deux articles de presse où il explique de quelle manière l’Européen méconnaît le zen. Shirow est né l’année de la polémique, et en admirateur de Koestler, il tente de réconcilier la vision scientifique de celui-ci avec la culture religieuse asiatique. Inspiré de l’essai The Ghost in the Machine d’Arthur Koesler (1967), le, titre choisi par Shirow pour son manga (The Ghost in the Shell) est une variation où la machine est remplacée par le mot shell, terme employé en informatique pour désigner une interface entre l’utilisateur et l’OS” (Suvilay, 2017: 2). for such identity questions: the sapiens itself. Fiction, by now, provides us with the scenario to transfer the original identity paradox to a world where important changes in the human hardware entail important changes in our perception of identity and change. The story of Motoko Kusanagi pivots around a gynecoid cyborg, a combina‐ tion of organic and non-organic parts, who ultimately questions her self-concept in a world where she is one of a kind. Ghost in the Shell (GITS) was originally a manga written and illustrated by Mashume Shirow, inspired by Arthur Koestler’s famous book The Ghost in the Machine (1967), and which aimed at reconciling the world of scientific materialism and the traditional metaphysical suppositions which emanate from the Asian religious paradigm 4 . Our intention is to discuss the limits of humanness and human identity during the age of cybernetic enhancement in the fictional character of Motoko Kusanagi and how, in this fictional case, the female body serves as the medium through which antagonistic views concerning the perks and risks of A.I. and human-machine interaction/ integration are articulated. Furthermore, we will be able to theorize upon the different versions of self-search which can occur in a posthuman scenario and, thereby, discuss how different adaptations of GITS - although based in the same original story - have antagonistic aspirations, and ultimately offer dichotomous worldviews. 2 The Transhumanist Philosophy Present in the Manga and Anime Versions 2.1 Beyond the limits of human identity In this posthuman paradigm, the object whose identity we are theorizing upon is a subject: a woman or, rather, a gynoid. In scenario 1, we discussed that the removal of a plank from Theseus’ ship did not really entail the loss of the ship’s 161 Versions of self-search essence; ergo it did not affect its identity. Similarly, following this same principle, that is, that objects/ subjects do undergo change without a loss of their essence, substituting the arm of a woman with a prosthetic one would not entail the loss of that woman’s identity. This process, however, can continue until all that remains is the woman’s brain. The question, then, will not only be if the woman is still the same woman after all those changes, but, furthermore, if the woman will still be a woman at all? And if not, when did she stop being one? What, then, constitutes humanness (and womanness) in a posthuman paradigm? Through the analysis of different versions of GITS we will recreate a post‐ human identity paradox that will echo the discussions which usually take place between transhumanist authors and which, furthermore, will take us to define the quasi-floating signifier of identity as a self-recognized locus from which the self develops its worldview. But first, what does transhumanism consist of ? As a philosophy transhumanism deals with the fundamental nature of reality, knowl‐ edge, and existence. As a world view, it offers a cultural ecology for understanding the human integration with technology. As a scientific study, it provides the techniques for observing how technology is shaping society and the practice for investigating ethical outcomes. Its social narrative emerges from humans overcoming odds and the continued desire to build a world worth living in. These processes require critical thinking and visionary accounts to assess how technology is altering human nature and what it means to be human in an uncertain world. (Vita-More, 2013: 49) This new transhumanist paradox might make us question the original assump‐ tions we had regarding Theseus’ ship. Is the woman still the same woman as long as she has her original body? (scenario 2) Or is the woman still the same woman as long as she keeps her consciousness? (scenario 1). Let’s complicate the paradox a bit more. If we accept the idea that the woman in scenario 1 is still a woman, because she - apart from all her prosthetic members - still keeps her mind-brain, will she still be a woman once she possesses a scalable high-bandwidth brain-machine interface system as Elon Musk promises us he will soon be able to do with Neuralink? Will she still be a woman as long as she keeps biological parts of her original brain? In short, if change is a necessary phenomenon which ordinary objects/ subjects undergo, where are we to set the limits to change? Where are, then, the limits to human identity? These same metaphysical reflections upon posthuman identity are the central philosophical leitmotiv of GITS; be it the original manga by Masamune Shirow (1989), the anime film written by Kazunori Itō and directed by Mamoru Oshii (1995), the anime tv series written and directed by Kenji Kamiyama (2002-2005) or the most recent Hollywood film directed by Rupert Sanders and starring 162 Pedro Alemany Navarro Scarlet Johansson (2017). It would be unjust not to claim, however, that only Itō and Oshii have - until now - been the ones exploring deepest the identity paradox present in the story of Major Kusanagi and doing it with the most aesthetic exquisiteness. In fact, Itō and Oshii have probably been the only ones able to extract from Shirow’s at-times-comical and hyper-sexualized character an androgynous, asexual, and almost-expressionless posthuman thinker who tackles fundamental metaphysical questions which necessarily arise when considering a posthuman scenario like the one some fictional works offer and transhumanists desire. Fig. 1: Kusanagi in the original manga (1989) Fig. 2: Kusanagi in the anime version (1995) It is usually suggested that the philosophical idea which permeates Shirow’s story is that of Cartesian dualism. However, it is arguable to what extent such apparently dualistic conception hides, in reality, a more physicalist under‐ standing of the mind-body question; for the independence of a physical medium in order to develop consciousness is constantly put into question all throughout the evolution of the Kusanagi’s journey. To begin with, it could be argued that functionalism, instead of a strict Cartesian dualism, might serve as a more precise term to brand the idea suggested in GITS: A functionalist holds that a particular mental state or cognitive system is independent of any specific physical instantiation, but must always be physically instantiated at any time in some physical form. Functionalism is a form of physicalism that differs from both identity theory (a mental state is identical to a specific brain state) and behaviorism (mental terms can be reduced to behavioral descriptions). (Vita-More, 2013: 7) 163 Versions of self-search 5 For a deeper aesthetic analysis of some of the most thought-provoking anime, manga, and science fiction movies in Japanese visual culture, see Brown, 2010 and Murphy, 2018. Nevertheless, the problematic mind-body relationship portrayed in GITS is indeed to be found in any transhumanist paradigm due to the (in this case, fictional) possibility of augmented sapiens or hybrid entities like the ones Kusanagi represents, that is, a self with a cyborg body or “shell” and a human consciousness or “ghost”. A pure materialist perspective would lack the ability to explain the intricate relationship between consciousness and matter, but a Car‐ tesian dualism does not fully provide a much better alternative either. GITS goes beyond the original identity problems posed by the limitations of a materialist or idealist solution to the mind-body question. Throughout the film, the idea that all human cognitive functions can potentially be emulated is left unresolved due the appearance of Project 2501 a.k.a. The Puppet Master. Without embracing a position of strict metaphysical naturalism, but ultimately casting doubt on the mind-body duality, GITS can represent the ultimate conclusion of identity paradoxes while, at the same time, bespeak the transhumanist realization par excellence: the boundaries of the self are indefinite. Furthermore, GITS stands as a sui generis story due to the fact that it does not portray a strict dystopian scenario concerning the recurrent problematics depicted in fictional works which stem from human-machine interaction or human-machine integration. Indeed, many of the theoretical premises - as well as the aesthetics - of dystopian cyber-punk 5 are to be found in GITS, but the 1995 film by Itō and Oshii means, philosophically speaking, a departure from many other dystopian scenarios portrayed in fictional works like Ex Machina, West World or The Matrix. The lines present in recurrent conflicts between humanness and machineness portrayed in other sci-fi works are blurrier from the very beginning in the journey of Major Kusanagi, a character who walks the tightrope between humanness and machineness - biologically as well as psychologically - through a self-reflective disposition which serves as a self-inflicted Turing test: Sometimes I suspect I’m not who I think I am, like maybe I died a long time ago and somebody took my brain and stuck it in this body. Maybe there never was a real me in the first place and I’m completely synthetic. […] The only thing that makes me feel human [is] the way I’m treated”. (Ishikawa, Iyadomi, Matsumoto, Mizuo, Oshii, 2002: 42: 16) From the perspective of Social Identity Theory, we can see Kusanagi’s self-con‐ cept in crisis. The process of essentialism and otherness which necessarily occurs before the development of a social identity fails. The axiom that the self defines its own identity through the interaction and acceptance of a 164 Pedro Alemany Navarro 6 See Komel, 2016. 7 The Puppeteer or The Puppet Master is a program originally created for espionage purposes which thanks to the constant access to the digital world becomes self-aware and becomes an autonomous cybernetic entity. In the film, he occupies the shell of a female cyborg or gynoid while making use of a deep masculine voice. 8 In the original manga, The Puppet Master notes how even if able to produce a certain amount of diversity and variation in the copies he is able to create of himself, all these copies would eventually find one another, merge with one another and only strengthen their shortages. The consciousness resulting from the fusion between Kusanagi and The Puppet Master would, however, have the ability to reproduce on the net, thus providing specific social group (in this case, humans) does not suffice Kusanagi, for the identification with a collective necessarily entails a depersonalized identity: the loss of individuality in favor of group membership. Even if recognized by others as a human, Kusanagi’s self-concept cannot only be established within the limiting aspects of humanness. 2.2 Idealist progress and neutral monism: resolving the dualism/ materialism/ idealism conflict. Ghost in the Shell (1995) introduces a particular nonconflicting conception of human-machine interaction, which highly differentiates this posthuman scenario from others usually portrayed in dystopian fiction. This has also served to suggest a Hegelian reading of Kusanagi’s journey as a way of refuting an interpretation around Cartesian dualism. 6 Indeed, Kusanagi might represent the idealist aspiration which constitutes the Hegelian Geist. Nevertheless, this Hegelian reading might only explain the idea of self-transcendence which the story contains, and which ultimately bespeaks the transhumanist view of progress. On the basis of this Hegelian reading of Kusanagi’s journey, we suggest that in order to transcend both Cartesian dualism as well as other monist philosophies like idealism or materialism, we might find the view of neutral monism, which we will later ascribe to The Puppet Master, as more fitting to understand the journey of Kusanagi, her quest for Absolute Knowledge, and the ultimate approach to reality which the story of GITS contains. The an sich which represents Major Kusanagi does not win over the für sich which would be represented in the character of The Puppet Master 7 , like Neo wins over Agent Smith in The Matrix, nor the other way around, like Ava wins over Caleb in Ex Machina. In GITS, both Kusanagi and The Puppet Master merge with one another to establish an an und für sich, thus constituting a dialectical turn which, using The Puppet Master’s semantics, can be understood as a reproduction of sorts, one of the life processes for which The Puppet Master especially yearns 8 . 165 Versions of self-search the post-fusion consciousness the ability to die as well, the other basic life process The Puppet Master desires. Fig. 3: Kusanagi and The Puppet Master’s fusion in the manga (1989) Overall, GITS goes beyond solely exemplifying the transhumanist aspiration par excellence which could already be represented in Major Kusanagi herself. The merging - or rather Aufhebung - between machineness and humanness for which Kusanagi can already be an icon (and which necessarily has given birth to a higher state of consciousness) becomes, in turn, the new an sich, which naturally searches for its für sich, The Puppet Master. Thus, Kusanagi represents the desire for self-transcendence for which the transhuman itself might as well crave. Kusanagi’s reflections in the anime film symbolize the character’s Weg der Verzweiflung, which can be read as the necessary next step in the dialectical process. Her journey indicates an intellectual coming-of-age whose conclusion does not take the character back to the original state nor does it let her be phagocytized by a totalizing antithesis. Kusanagi’s search for The Puppet Master ends up representing a search for her own potential self, which although initially appearing as an anti-hero, turns out to represent simultaneously - and in the most dialectical of manners - a kindred “ghost”. Kusanagi has been enhanced past her original humanness to the point that she herself doubts her human arche. Although a bearer of a ghost, she is still unable to be content with the limiting aspects of her remaining humanness: “I feel confined only free to expand myself within boundaries” (Ishikawa et al., 2002: 32: 11), an idea which echoes computer scientist and transhumanist author Newton Lee’s idea of “the purgatory of humanity” (Lee, 2019: 8). After realizing that she cannot grasp the vastness she desires due to her still-human 166 Pedro Alemany Navarro Fig. 4: Project 2501 a.k.a. The Puppet Master (in the shell of a gynoid) looking at Motoko Kusanagi moments before the fusion in the anime film (1995). limitations (the quintessential transhumanist complaint), Kusanagi accepts to let go of her tormented cyborg identity and - through a process of sublation - become a higher consciousness. This is, in essence, a transhumanist philosophy, as Lee himself further explains: “transhumanism empowers people to realize the full human potential. The prefix ‘trans’ in transhumanism can denote “transitioning,” “transforming,” and “transcending” in order for human beings to become better physically, mentally, and spiritually” (Lee, 2019: 37). When posing to The Puppet Master the identity questions which have accompanied Kusanagi throughout the whole film, The Puppet Master negates the usefulness or even the existence of such fixed identity to which she had been clinging, as humans do in order to make sense of the world around them. Through the understanding of a fixed identity as something rather contingent and not necessary, The Puppet Master liberates Kusanagi from the burden of identity (and, by extension, the viewer from the burden of the classical identity paradox itself): “All things change in a dynamic environment. Your effort to remain what you are is what limits you” (Ishikawa et al., 2002: 1: 12: 14). The Puppet Master invites Kusanagi to view the quasi-floating signifier of identity as a shaping prism, as a never-fully-fixed locus from which to constantly develop a new and updated worldview. With the reflection upon the similarities between both characters, The Puppet Master introduces the process of sublation itself: “We are more alike than you realize. We resemble each other’s essence, mirror images of one another’s psyche” (Ishikawa et al., 2002: 1: 12: 24). The 167 Versions of self-search initially expected dichotomy between humanness and machineness present in most other dystopian (ergo pessimistic) fictional works dealing with posthuman questions results in a mere conceptual - perhaps linguistic - trap. Now able to resolve the tension between her desire for self-transcendence and the limiting burden of her own conceptualization of identity, Kusanagi is ultimately convinced by The Puppet Master’s words, for he finally provides the final answer to her transhuman angst: I am connected to a vast network that has been beyond your reach and experience. To humans it is like staring at the sun, a blinding brightness that conceals a source of great power. We have been subordinate to our limitations until now. The time has come to cast aside these bonds and to elevate our consciousness to a higher plane. It is time to become a part of all things. (Ishikawa et al., 2002: 1: 12: 38) After making Kusanagi reconfigure her way of reflecting upon identity and progress, The Puppet Master resolves both Kusanagi’s personal identity conflict and, furthermore, the dualism/ materialism/ idealism conflict through a rather neutral monist view of reality which takes informational ontology as its base. As The Puppet Master explains at the beginning of the film: “I am not an A.I. […] I am a living, thinking entity who was created in the sea of information”. The initial informational ontology suggested by The Puppet Master coincides with the final monistic ontology which preludes the process of sublation with Major Kusanagi, two ontological positions that Ojochogwu Abdul has excel‐ lently amalgamated: “Informational ontology, as a neutral monism, basically posits that information is the ultimate constituent from which the cosmos is constructed, and that, fundamentally speaking, our universe and everything within it is ultimately made of information” (Abdul in Lee, 2019, 729). The post-fusion result is aesthetically portrayed in the anime film via the shell of a female child. And just as every new dialectic turn meant for Hegel the development of a higher consciousness, the post-fusion consciousness realizes that its old semantics are of no more use. Playing now with the dichotomic relationship between “child” and “man”, this post-fusion consciousness - a new-born - represents, rhetorically, the an und für sich (the man) as well as, aesthetically, the new an sich (the child): “When I was a child my speech, feelings and thinking were those of a child. Now that I am a man, I have no more use for childish ways”. With the following final words, the quest for self-transcendence has come, for now, to a narrative end: “the net is vast and infinite” (Ishikawa et al., 2002: 1: 17: 25). Ghost in the Shell (1995) overcomes the fears present in other fictional works which pivot around the human-machine dichotomy by exposing the conceptual 168 Pedro Alemany Navarro 9 See Ahr (2019). error of such dichotomic presupposition, thus turning the dichotomy into a dialectical relationship. The initially considered evil character, The Puppet Master, proves to be the only vehicle for Kusanagi’s act of self-transcendence: the antithesis which must necessarily be present for any progress to occur. It is precisely this idea of dialectical progress, which Kusanagi and The Puppet Master share by the end of the film, that prompts us to understand Kusanagi’s knowledge of herself as inserted within an infinitely wider and totalizing desire for a higher knowledge. Kusanagi’s journey can be understood not only as that of a subject getting to know an outside world but, also, as an indefatigable and reflective self-consciousness tracking the conceptual framework where it navigates and which, ultimately, as she realizes, unites everything there is. In this sense, and if we aim to adhere to a strict Hegelian framework, Kusanagi reaches through this process of sublation with The Puppet Master, the state every “ghost” desires: that of Absolute Knowledge. However, The Puppet Master invites Kusanagi - as well as all idealist or internalist readers/ viewers - to realize that everything there is cannot only be found within the limiting conceptualizations of matter or consciousness: it has to be something more basic. If we look closer at The Puppet Master’s words, that Absolute is nothing but information, that is, an informational ontology understood as neutral monism. 3 Ghost in the Shell (2017): The Return to the Mother Archetype and the Embrace of Humanness If the 1995 anime film portrayed what can be understood as a case for transhu‐ manist progress through a nonconflicting view of the merging of humanness and machineness, the most recent Hollywood take on the character of Major Kusanagi means a return to a stereotypical dystopian scenario for which Hollywood is already known 9 , thus the break with the transhumanist aspiration suggested by the original manga and crystalized in the 1995 anime film. The character of Mira Killian in the script written by Moss, Wheeler and Kruger shares the ruminative thoughts typical of Major Kusanagi’s conflicted cyborg identity, this time in the character of Mira Killian and prompted by a set of confusing memories which constantly haunt the character. Just as in the 1995 film, Killian reflects upon her one-of-a-kind identity in a world from which she cannot help but feel dissociated. If the anime film pivoted around the axiom that in order to get to know oneself, the self has to transcend its own 169 Versions of self-search 10 For a deeper analysis of the Singularity Hypothesis from both a scientific and a philosophical perspective, see Eden, 2012. 11 Although, as has already been noted, Hollywood has a reputation for scaremongering, relevant personalities like Stephen Hawking have expressed their concerns about how developments in artificial intelligence could eclipse human capabilities (Cellan-Jones, 2014). Elon Musk has also expressed that “AI is far more dangerous than nukes” (Clifford, 2018). (human) limitations, this 2017 script ultimately suggests that the self, in order to understand itself, needs to return to its origins and embrace such limitations. In her portrayal of Killian, Johansson uses her recurrent existentialist dispo‐ sition to which she has made us become accustomed throughout her career. In what seems like a more humanized version of Kusanagi’s identity crisis, Killian’s character serves to mirror, in this 2017 script, the anxieties of current humans who, fearing their disappearance as a species in the face of the coming Singularity 10 , plea for a control of A.I. and cyber-enhancement, and a return to humanness 11 . The good/ evil dichotomy is portrayed very clearly from the very beginning in a less-than-nuanced film: good means control of cyber-transcendence and respect of the traditional non-organic limits of the human psyche and soul, as the President of the African Federation alerts making use of a functionalist idea: “There’s no one who really understands the risk to individuality, identity, messing with the human soul” (Arad, Costigan, Steven, Sanders, 2017: 11: 00). Evil is, therefore, represented by the greediness of Hanka Robotics that understands posthuman beings as weapons without integrity. The character of Project 2571/ Kuze is not an A.I. nor a consciousness created in the sea of information. Kuze is a previous cerebral salvage whose only mission in the film is to serve as the medium through which Killian gets to know the drama of her past and the intentions of Hanka Robotics. Thus, the transhumanist aspiration which was present in Major Kusanagi’s reflections in the manga and anime versions is completely erased in the Hollywood version, a film which does not even take us back to the post-modern human-A.I. conflict, but to a classical man vs. man conflict. In the 2017 script, the return to human roots is portrayed as a journey towards a locus securus for humans and posthumans alike, in this case, represented by the character/ archetype of Kusanagi’s mother, the human arche par excellence. The Cartesian dualism is introduced and reinforced in this Hollywood version by characters like Kuze himself and Dr. Outlet. Nevertheless, like Kuze, Killian rejects the irrelevance of a ghost’s memories; for they might not define the self, but do give shape to it, as Killian’s journey exemplifies. Consequently, Killian’s inability to resolve her identity crisis finds a resolution once those memories 170 Pedro Alemany Navarro Fig. 5: Killian/ Kusanagi and her mother (2017) are embraced. These memories of her past lead her to the only person who primarily shapes trust, fear, anxiety, or the self ’s feeling of abandonment; the person who shapes self-concept, identity and the self ’s mission in the world; the person whose legacy transcends time, distance and “shell”: the mother. After returning to the mother, Killian discovers her real name, Motoko Kusanagi, and her original fight: Kusanagi was an anti-technology anti-augmentation rebel who was, ironically, kidnapped by Hanka Robotics and turned into an augmented gynoid. Kusanagi’s mother - still unaware of the fact that the shell of the perfect-looking cyborg who stands in front of her contains the ghost of her lost child - explains who Kusanagi used to be: “she’d write her manifestos about how technology was destroying the world” (Arad et al., 2017: 1: 17: 20). After seeing an echo of her lost daughter’s ghost in the perfect-looking cyborg in her kitchen, Kusanagi’s mother asks Motoko about her identity, “who are you? ”, prompting the final stage of her existential crisis: “I don’t know,” Kusanagi responds. The return to her roots - that is, the return to the mother - not only confirms or strengthens her rejection of her own cyborg identity; it, furthermore, turns the character of Kusanagi into a posthuman Joan of Arc who once wished to be the leader of the quintessential postmodern conflict in fictional works: (wo)man vs. technology, which, as we have seen, only hides a pre-modern conflict. Thus, the concept of identity in this 2017 version is not only something fixed: it is to be found in the first and only relationship which gives shape to the self. This ultimately gives meaning to the consciousness’ existence. 171 Versions of self-search In a constant search for her humanness, Kusanagi’s reflections and actions move progressively further away from the desire of posthuman Absolute Knowledge for which Kusanagi yearned in the anime film and which, in the face of the vast technological improvement present in the original story, can only lead to a union with a contrary in order to achieve a higher level of consciousness. For Killian/ Kusanagi, instead, her yearning leads, in a complete opposite direction. Self-progress for her consciousness means an introspective self-search which ultimately provides her with a clear identity, meaning, and purpose. The dialectic turn which the anime film portrayed by the fusion of Kusanagi and The Puppet Master is, this time, rejected by a too-human(ist) cyborg who says no to dialectical progress: “I’m not ready to leave. I belong here” (Arad et al., 2017: 1: 31: 53). If Kusanagi in the anime version was driven by a constant dissatisfaction with her own narrow viewpoint (that is, an idealism which evolves into a post-fusion neutral monism), Killian/ Kusanagi finds homeostasis following the psychoanalytic tradition. In the 2017 version, Kusanagi chooses humanness instead of cyber-transcendence, and her mother instead of her antithesis, The Puppet Master. By the end of the film, Kusanagi has embraced her original identity and is referred to by others with her original name: Motoko. The final message with which the anime film ignited the fantasies of its transhumanist viewers (“the net is vast and infinite”) is now completely abandoned. This new Kusanagi - after having undergone a process of Ich-Werdung - utters to an already-frustrated audience the humanist axiom which has played as a basso continuo throughout the whole film: “humanity is our virtue”. Bibliographical References Ahr, M. (2018). “The Most Evil Artificial Intelligences in Film”. Den of Geek. www.de nofgeek.com/ us/ movies/ tau/ 274559/ evil-artificial-intelligences-film. (Accessed on 1 September 2019.) Arad, A., Costigan, M., Steven, P. (Producers). Sanders, R. (Director). (2017). Ghost in the Shell [Motion Picture]. Madrid: Paramount. Brown, S. T. (2010). Tokyo Cyberpunk: Posthumanism in Japanese Visual Culture. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Cellan-Jones, R. (2014). “Stephen Hawking warns artificial intelligence could end man‐ kind”. www.bbc.com/ news/ technology-30290540 (Accessed on 1 September 2019.) Chomsky, N., Piattelli-Palmarini, M., Salaburu Etxeberria, J., (Eds.). (2009). Of Minds and Language a Dialogue with Noam Chomsky in the Basque Country. Of Minds & Language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 172 Pedro Alemany Navarro Clifford, C. (2018). “Elon Musk: ‘Mark my words - A.I. is far more dangerous than nukes’”. www.cnbc.com/ 2018/ 03/ 13/ elon-musk-at-sxsw-a-i-is-more dangerous-than-nu‐ clear-weapons.html. (Accessed on 1 September 2019.) Eden, A. H, Moor, J.H., Soraker, J. H., Steinhart, E. (Eds.). (2012). Singularity Hypotheses A Scientific and Philosophical Assessment. Berlin, Heidelberg: Springer. Ferrando, F. (2019). Philosophical Posthumanism. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Gordijn, B., Chadwick, R. (Eds.). (2009). Medical Enhancement and Posthumanity. The International Library of Ethics, Law and Technology, 2. Dordrecht: Springer Nether‐ lands. Hegel, G. W. F. (1952). Phänomenologie des Geistes. Edited by Johannes Hoffmeister. 6. Aufl. nach dem Text der Originalausgabe der Philosophischen Bibliothek 114. Hamburg: Meiner. Koestler, A. (1967). The Ghost in the machine. London: Hutchinson. Komel, M. (2016). “The Ghost Outside Its Shell: Revisiting the Philosophy of Ghost in the Shell”. Teorija in Praksa, 53 (4), 920-28. Lee, N. (Ed.). (2019). The Transhumanism Handbook. 1st ed. 20. Cham: Springer Inter‐ national Publishing. Ishikawa, M., Iyadomi, K., Matsumoto, K., Mizuo, Y. (Producers) & Oshii, M. (Director). (2002). Ghost in the Shell [Motion Picture]. Barcelona: Selecta Visión. Murphy, G. J., Lars Schmeink (Eds.). (2018). Cyberpunk and Visual Culture. New York, NY: Routledge. Plutarch (1914). Plutarch’s Lives. London: William Heinemann. Shirow, M. (2017). Ghost in the Shell 01. Barcelona: Planeta Cómic. Suvilay, B. (2017). “L’âme des machines dans The Ghost in the Shell”. ReS Futurae. Vita-More, N., More, M. (Eds.). (2013). The Transhumanist Reader: Classical and Con‐ temporary Essays on the Science, Technology, and Philosophy of the Human Future. Massachusetts: Malden. 173 Versions of self-search 1 Recent examples include Summer in The O.C (Fox, 2003-2007), Brennan in Bones (Fox, 2005-2017) or Penny in The Big Bang Theory (CBS, 2006-2019). WONDER WOMAN. From Page to Screen Sergio Cobo-Durán/ Irene Raya Bravo 1 Wonder Woman from a Feminist Approach Since its appearance in 1941, the character of Wonder Woman has been in the spotlight of the various feminist waves, either receiving praise as a symbol of empowerment or, on the contrary, being questioned as a role model. In 1972, in the midst of second-wave feminism, activist Gloria Steinem vindicated Wonder Woman as a fundamental icon of feminism, awarding her the cover of the first issue of Ms. magazine. Steinem postulates (as cited in Finn, 2014: 7) “If we had all read more about Wonder Woman and less about Dick and Jane, the new wave of the feminist revolution might have happened less painfully and sooner”, as she was convinced of the superheroine’s potential to change society. The reality is that the social impact of Wonder Woman goes far beyond the world of comics, becoming a popular icon even for those who have never read her picture stories. In other words, “everybody knows about Wonder Woman, but not many people know about Wonder Woman” (Berlatsky, 2015: 3). Most audiences are more familiar with the image implanted by actress Lynda Carter in her television series than with the revolutionary background of the original character as a model of strength, power and female supremacy. In fact, in numerous television series 1 , female protagonists dress up as Wonder Woman to highlight their physical attractiveness to the approving gaze of their male partners, apparently unaware of the character’s power beyond her physical charm. A recent event exemplifies the controversy surrounding the character: on 21 October 2016, Wonder Woman was named an honorary ambassador to the United Nations for her commitment to peace, justice and equality. In December of the same year, Wonder Woman was removed from the honorary position, after protests and the collection of virtual signatures, which denounced the extreme hyper-sexualisation of a character that, according to those protesting, should not be set up as a model for women. In line with this criticism, Wonder Woman as a character has been considered by some theorists as an example that can be analysed from the point of view of post-feminism (Munford, Waters, 2014; Jones, 2018), as well as other superheroines who have been portrayed recently in audio-visual media (Clark, 2016; Bercuci, 2017; Joffe, 2019), because they represent values such as individualism as opposed to women’s collective struggle, while also following the traditional canons of beauty within a patriarchal society that is not changed by feminist behaviour. Bearing in mind this legacy and this contradictory discourse within feminism itself, we move on to the cinema of the new millennium, linked to the rise of superhero films, which jump from the comic strip with more than thirty films produced both by Marvel and DC. This circumstance has led to the reinvention of Wonder Woman for the big screen, as well as her introduction for a new generation of spectators. The following is an analysis of this superheroine’s historical journey, observing her own literary and film career, her connection with other comic-book protagonists, and her latest translation to the screen in Patty Jenkins’ 2017 version. 2 The Birth of Wonder Woman Before speaking of the significance of this character in comic books, it is important to contextualise the historical period in which it arises. The golden age of comics is considered to span from the 1940s to the arrival of the 1950s. “A Yank Weekly article, published in November of 1945, cited the estimates of the Market Research Company of America, which found that about 70 million Americans, roughly half of the U.S. population, read comic books” (Kelley, 2009: 1). Deeply significant figures that help to understand the contextual relevance of these publications. In December 1941, at the height of the comic book’s golden age, Wonder Woman appeared in comics for the first time in issue 8 of All-Star Comics. Created by American psychologist William Marston, it was a novelty for a female character to become the real protagonist of the work. Although it should be noted that she was not the first female superhero—by an eight-month difference. To be exact, Miss Fury, who was also drawn by a woman, Tarpe Mills, was the first female hero. Interestingly enough, both characters found their enemies in the Nazis. And other superheroines would follow Wonder Woman, such as Sun Girl, Moon Girl, Hawk Girl, Bullet Girl and Bat Girl, among others 176 Sergio Cobo-Durán/ Irene Raya Bravo (Robins, 1996). Only a month after its publication, in January 1942, “she obtained her own collection called Wonder Woman no.1 (volume 1) which was published until 1986, ending with issue 329” (Ureta, 2019: 14). As usual in the world of superheroes, in the original comic, Wonder Woman faces the dilemma between her real identity as a person and her construction as a superheroine. In this duality, many researchers have found lesbian subtext as a hidden character (Brian Mitchell, 2003) and her coming out of the closet symbolised by her heroics. This is transferred to society to such an extent that in 1954, with the campaign against communism and homosexuality, the McCarthy administration came to claim “that comic books were corrupting the nation’s youth” (Daniels, 2000: 103). It is very significant that although the character initially worked as a nurse, in 1947, after the death of its creator - Marston -, the character became part of the Justice League. Here, she became the group’s secretary, in charge of answering calls and organising the team. The comic softens the empowered female character in favour of a more common female role in the literature of the time. This also coincides with the approval of the Comics Code Authority that regulated the very content of comics. The change is remarkable by the fifties, when the character begins to show interest in and focus on love or domestic issues, something that was not present in the original creation. Comics continued to modify the character, taking away any possibility of feminist readings. Later, in 1968, the character began to be written by Denny O'Neil and continued to lose her initial skills - among them, she loses her superpowers and has to learn martial arts. However, it is in 1973 when Wonder Woman goes back to the original idea, influenced by Gloria Steinem (Dune, 2006). As previously mentioned, Steinem is one of the names associated with the second wave of feminism in the United States, so her defence of the character reinforces the idea of Wonder Woman as an empowering icon. 2.1 Wonder Woman in audio-visual media Although there are many audio-visual works featuring Wonder Woman, she is not the main character in all of them, nor do they have a close connection with the original story of the comics. Her first appearance is under the title Wonder Woman: Who’s Afraid of Diana Prince? (Martinson) in 1967. After the success of the Batman series (ABC, 1966-1968), producer William Dozier tried to adapt the Wonder Woman comics. However, it was a failed proposal, possibly because of the substantial changes made to the original story. Taking advantage of the style of the Batman series (1966-1968), a proposal of a comedic nature that has nothing to do with the original text is chosen: in this version, Diana lives with her mother, who insists on the need to find a boyfriend to take care of her. It is 177 Wonder Woman a parody that moves radically away from the feminist proposal of the Amazons or the feminine utopia present in the original comic. This pilot episode became part of some tests to bring out a TV series focused on superheroines, as it is also shown in Batgirl’s experience as a TV short in 1967—the character would end up taking part in the Batman series. After this failed pilot, another proposal for a television series was made in 1974, directed by Vincent McEveety and produced by the American channel ABC. Although it also fails to develop and is a less remembered production than the later television series produced by Douglas S. Cramer Company, it should be noted that it is the first real image series that focuses on the character while maintaining the spirit of the original comics. It was written by John D. F. Black and featured a professional tennis player playing Diana (Cathy Lee Crosby). It should be noted that, in terms of costume, here Wonder Woman does not wear bracelets, tiaras or the Lasso of Truth, which are central to the character in other versions. On the iconographic level, her hair colour is also changed, and Diana is depicted as blond for the first time. It is a model that is closer to James Bond than the story of an empowered woman who saves the world. However, the TV performance by model and actress Lynda Carter would be the one to have greater relevance in the collective imagination, and her version of Wonder Woman would be more familiar to several generations than any of the comics inspired by the superheroine (Simonson, 2016: 50). From 1975 to 1976, the ABC network, and later CBS, from 1977 to 1979, broadcast the series starring Carter. This time the show works perfectly and lasts four years, with three full seasons and special episodes. Contextually situated in the middle of second-wave feminism, which entails the shaping of new female roles on screen, the series temporarily broadcasts alongside other similar television proposals where women have an important action role, as is the case of Charlie’s Angels (ABC: 1976-1981) or The Bionic Woman (ABC: 1976-1977; NBC: 1978). Although there are multiple and heterodox adaptations, Wonder Woman disappears from the audio-visual scene for a few years. On a television level, her character is back in the animated series produced by Cartoon Network, Batman: The Brave and the Bold ( Jones, 2008). She also appears as a guest character in the episode “It’s All Greek to Me” of the animated series The Brady Kids (Sutherland,1972-1973), as well as appearances in other animated productions such as Super Friends (Nichols, 1973-1986), Young Justice (Zwyer,2010-2013) and Justice League Action (Castorena, 2016). There have also been recent animated feature films such as Wonder Woman: Bloodlines (Liu, 2019), and even documentaries like Wonder Women! The Untold Story of American Superheroines (Guevara-Flanagan,2012). In 2011, NBC tried to adapt Wonder Woman’s adven‐ 178 Sergio Cobo-Durán/ Irene Raya Bravo tures to the small screen in the same spirit as Carter’s version, but the production did not go beyond the creation of the pilot episode. On the film front, in addition to the 2017 fiction feature, we would like to highlight Professor Marston and Wonder Woman (Robinson, 2017), which focuses on the life of the comic book’s creator and the conception of Wonder Woman as a character. This text focuses on the film adaptation Wonder Woman ( Jenkins, 2017), directed by Patty Jenkins, where the superheroine is the main character and, according to the film’s creators, the production respects the original text. Her appearance on the media scene marks a cinematic trend in the treatment of superheroines, as explained below. 2.1.1 Wonder Woman and other cinematic superheroines of the new millennium In recent film history, the transfer of heroic female characters from comics to the big screen has perpetrated several fundamental clichés that are mutually complementary and keep with the dominant “male gaze” (Mulvey, 1999): women have been integrated into a more ensemble cast, serving as support for one or more male figures, as is the case with Sue Storm in The Fantastic Four (Sassone, 1994) or Black Widow from Iron Man 2 (Favreau, 2010). They have also been represented as hypersexualised women focused on pleasing male spectators’ eyes, generally stuffed into leather suits that are extraordinarily suggestive and impractical for fighting and, as perfectly exemplified by Elektra in Daredevil (Steven Johnson, 2003) and in her own 2005 spin-off. A paradigmatic case of this explosive sexualisation, which is often linked to a character that tempts the hero, is seen in Catwoman, who is as sensual as she is insane in Batman Returns (Burton, 1992) and then is reduced to a visual cult object in her solo appearance in Catwoman (Pitof, 2004). With Jenkins’ new version of Wonder Woman, however, there are novelties in the character treatment that promise a new way of approaching female heroism on screen. However, as has happened with other heroines, her introduction does not take place in the solo film; actress Gal Gadot is introduced as Wonder Woman in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (Snyder, 2016), appearing again as part of the ensemble cast in Justice League (Snyder, 2017). As a character, Wonder Woman is a fundamental piece for DC, which tries to build a competitive film universe to face the success of Marvel Cinematic Universe - and DC obtained remarkable results with this film. In addition to becoming a major box office success, earning over $800 million, it has led to a sequel (Wonder Woman 1984, Patty Jenkins, 2020). But its notoriety has generated other consequences that are even more important from a social perspective: after its release, other superheroine films have been produced outside and inside DC, directed or 179 Wonder Woman co-directed by women, in which the female protagonists have carried the dramatic weight of their story without being especially sexualised and with their own plots that go beyond the traditional romantic story arc - Captain Marvel (Boden and Fleck, 2019), Harley Quinn: Birds of Prey (Yan, 2020) and Black Widow (Shortland, 2020). 3 From Page to Screen Variations in the Construction of Wonder Woman (Patty Jenkins, 2017) Like in any kind of adaptation of the role to the screen, many variations arise in the character’s own narrative construction. Some changes have to do with obvious motives, such as the scenography, staging or visual construction of the character. However, other changes are conditioned by style and character transformation decisions that are subordinated to the creators’ vision. Below is an analysis of the nuances that were modified by the film’s screenwriters (Allan Heinberg and Geoff Johns), producers (Geoff Johns, Zack Snyder, Deborah Snyder and Jon Berg) and director (Patty Jenkins) of Wonder Woman (2017). The film’s plot maintains the basis of the original story, as it tells how the existence of Diana, daughter of the Queen of the Amazons, is altered by the arrival of American war pilot Steve Trevor. The young woman decides to leave the island of the Amazons and gets involved in the problems of the real world during a turbulent historical period. However, here lies a fundamental difference from the first comic book, for while Marston’s work is set in World War II and Wonder Woman positions itself as a tool of social propaganda for democracy against Nazism, the film is set in World War I, where this confrontation between values is not so obvious. In this respect, Barragán (2019: 21) comments that “by changing the war context, Diana ends up losing part of her essence”. From an iconographic perspective, there is an update of the character’s image. We want to point out that her relevance as an icon goes beyond a specific historical moment, but that she is considered in her conception as “a positive symbol of femininity and nationalism during World War II” (Emad, 1984: 964), representing both a model of accentuated femininity and the values of American democracy. That is, from an objectifying perspective, it can be understood that “Wonder Woman’s body as a cultural artifact represents specific gendered nationalisms” (Emad, 1984: 955). In her transfer to the big screen, there have been some fundamental changes according to contemporary contextual needs. The choice of Israeli actress Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman was accompanied by quite a lot of controversy, since many fans considered the actress too ethnic - 180 Sergio Cobo-Durán/ Irene Raya Bravo unlike Wonder Woman’s usual image, Gadot’s eyes are brown instead of blue -, too thin and not voluptuous enough to play Diana Prince. Some fans were especially dissatisfied with her small breast size and with her clothes, which were closer to a suit of armour than the usual corset worn by Lynda Carter. On the other hand, the uniform made up of a red bra and a starry blue skirt, alluding to the American flag, were replaced by a less shiny battle uniform that is more compatible with the concept of an Amazon’s armour, which is even reminiscent of other interpretations of mythological warriors such as Xena, Warrior Princess (Syndication, 1995-2001). Thus, Wonder Woman ceases to be an expressly American symbol of warlike power and becomes a more universal emblem, which makes more sense from the point of view of narrative coherence, since the story takes place exclusively on European soil. Curiously, clothes will serve in other situations to show how Wonder Woman has been educated without the gender conventions that do condition the behaviour of other, apparently more civilised, women. In a sequence in which she goes shopping for clothes to go unnoticed in London, supervised by Steve Trevor and his secretary Etta Candy, Diana has real problems finding clothes that allow her to fight and make her understand the little mobility and flexibility that women’s attire offers. Likewise, the absence of clothing does not pose a conflict for the Amazon. She is not shy to confront a naked Steve Trevor, and she also makes fun of him when he confesses his reluctance to sleep near her “without being married”. The same thing happens with her sexuality, although this is not shown explicitly: she talks to Steve about how she knows, on a theoretical level, all the pleasures of the flesh -adding even that men are not necessary for this pleasure. Likewise, it can be interpreted that there is an intimate relationship between her and Steve despite their lack of marital bonds. In this way, the naturalness of Diana Prince’s behaviour reflects a humorous criticism of the squeamish behaviour of the early 20th-century society. Given the importance of physical appearance, Wonder Woman’s beauty continues to be one of her most outstanding values in her construction as a character, since both Steve and the other characters who meet her during the film do not hesitate to highlight her physical attributes on multiple occasions. It is significant that Doctor Poison, one of her main opponents in the film as well as one of the fundamental villains of the comics, is characterised precisely by the opposite, that is, by her ugliness, since a mask hides the deformity of her face. Poison’s destructive personality can thus be interpreted as stemming from an inferiority complex, so she tries to ingratiate herself with male characters like General Ludendorff, just as she feels a certain interest in Steve Trevor during their fleeting encounter until she senses his interest in Diana. 181 Wonder Woman From a narrative perspective, the first change has to do with the character’s origin as opposed to the original comics. Here, from the very beginning of the film, the birth of the superheroine is spoken of as a wish granted by Zeus to Hippolyta. The Queen of the Amazons wanted to have a daughter and the all-powerful maker granted her wish (“I wished you so much so, I sculpted you from clay myself and begged Zeus to give you life”). This condition cannot be overlooked, as the Dionysian stories associated with the god of gods are a basic reference of the most conservative mythical patriarchy. Hippolyta’s own words confirm the supremacy of Zeus over the rest of the pantheon: “The Gods ruled the Earth. Zeus King among them”. In that sense, beauty, super strength, intelligence, and everything that makes Diana stand out from the rest of the Amazons, are gifts that seem to be granted by the father, according to the film and some later versions of the original comics. Moreover, according to the first version, Diana is sculpted by Queen Hippolyta, who wished for a daughter, and Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, grants that wish. Diana is therefore, in those more matriarchal versions, the fruit of two women. It is interesting how later versions involve Zeus, first as a father and later, in New52, it is discovered that this story conceals his relationship with Hippolyta. From this adultery found in the comic book is born Diana, the bastard daughter, who is abandoned on the Amazon Island to be hidden from Hera, Zeus’ wife (Abad-Santos, 2017). In the film - although she does not know it and her mother hides the information from her - , Diana is the real “God Killer”, a tool conceived to stop the God of War, so her conception is not innocent, but due to a utilitarian desire on the part of Zeus. Thus, Wonder Woman plays a decisive role in a conflict between two male figures who control her destiny without her being aware of it until the end. Although the comic book starts with the fall of the plane as a trigger and Diana’s first contact with a man, this moment is delayed in the film. We are first presented with the origin associated with Zeus, the story of the divine Pantheon, as well as Wonder Woman’s childhood and her passage into adulthood. On the other hand, in the comics, the mythical birth is indissolubly associated with two figures such as Aphrodite or Athena. Two goddesses, founding mothers and responsible for Diana. However, there is not a single reference to either of them in the film, eliminating allusions to female deism, with Hippolyta, the Amazon Queen, and Antiope being female substitutes for the goddesses and acting as mentors in the film. It should be noted at this point how the organisation of matriarchal society in Themyscira, with Hippolyta and Antiope as civilian and military leaders respectively, is portrayed as a refuge from the dangerous outside world (in the words of Hippolyta: “Zeus created this island to hide us from the 182 Sergio Cobo-Durán/ Irene Raya Bravo outside world”). Although they are fierce warriors, they live in fear of the arrival of war, which inevitably seems to be brought by men. A key scene that shows this fact takes place in the training fight between Diana and her aunt, when the young Amazon smashes her bracelets and produces a great shock wave that awakens her mother’s fear of having attracted Ares. Her suspicions are not unfounded, as the distortion created by the waves allows Steve Trevor’s plane to reach the island, as well as attracting the German enemies to its shores. In this vein, the film seems to show that although the Amazons are prepared for war - as they demonstrated in times past when they freed themselves from the slavery they were subjected to by man -, they are fundamentally peaceful beings. This undoubtedly has to do with their own origin as a species, for as the Queen of the Amazons narrates, “the Gods created us, the Amazons, to influence men’s hearts with love and restore peace to the Earth”. From a feminist point of view, an inevitable criticism arises when the role of the Amazons is reduced to servitude, with the main mission of calming the warlike temperament of men. But it is true that Diana, influenced by her aunt Antiope, does not live with this fear of the outside world. She shows great interest to know all that is foreign to her, as well as excessive enthusiasm for the art of war since her early childhood. Regarding romantic conflict, Wonder Woman’s love in the comics is imme‐ diate, because she falls in love from the moment she sees Steve Trevor for the first time. It is an innocent, first-time way of falling in love, as opposed to the film, where falling in love is a slower process and is already made explicit during the second act. It is especially significant that, in the film, she discovers everything through male characters. Not only love - conditioned and taught by Steve -, but also how a woman should behave in public or when to remain silent, depending on the situation, which is justified by Diana’s complete ignorance of the customs that govern the world. For this reason, it is sometimes difficult to perceive Wonder Woman from a feminist point of view, since many of her behaviours are taught by male recommendation, in acts that can often be described as paternalistic. This happens, for example, when Steve tries to cover up her Amazon outfit when they arrive in London, when he buys her an ice cream at the train station or covers her shoulders so that she does not get cold. This reflects excessive naivety in Diana’s part, which creates hilarious situations but, at times, could be associated more with a lack of intelligence than with the candour of first experiences. This dynamic can be interpreted as the classic myth of Pygmalion and the beautiful Galatea and the effect named after it, which is a recurring theme in cinema in films like My Fair Lady (Cukor, 1964), Splash (Howard, 1984) or Pretty Woman (Marshall, 1990), where women are presented as a raw material 183 Wonder Woman that can be shaped to perfection by men. In this respect, when Allan Heinberg, the film’s screenwriter, is interviewed about his main cinematic references, he acknowledges the influence of Splash as well as clear hallmarks of The Little Mermaid (Clements, 1989), specifically Disney’s incarnation, with which he shares the same starting premise: “This is a woman who has been raised in a very protective, sheltered life, she’s curious about what life is like outside and she wants to have her own experience. She wants to be where the people are” (Sperling, 2017). Some sequences of The Little Mermaid are recreated almost literally, like the introduction between Diana and Steve, whose planning is very similar to that between Ariel and Eric when she saves him from the sea. The similarity of the Amazons and the mermaids is also reflected visually, because when the story is told of how these women came to Earth to help humanity, they are shown emerging from the sea, as if it were their real original habitat. The Amazonian utopia, so present in the comic, where a female society was not only possible but desirable, sometimes disappears completely in the film. Although it is presented at the beginning, the relationship that Diana establishes with her surroundings and with the other characters once she leaves the island shows the need for a male presence as a driving force. The arrival of actions, conflict or love always comes through a male character, and Diana’s contact with other women is limited, except for Etta Candy. This even affects conflict resolution, and here lies one of the main problems of the film from a feminist perspective: the story is resolved thanks to love, specifically love in its most romantic sense. In that sense, the relationship she establishes with Steve Trevor in the film is essential in shaping Diana as a person and as a hero. Diana closes the film with the premise “Only love can truly save the world”. The character manages to defeat the final enemy, Ares, embodied in Sir Patrick Morgan, through the help of a memory associated with romantic loss. It is then that Diana utters the premise that ends up defining the character: “I believe in love”. It seems that, somehow, Diana remembers that, as a child, her mother taught her that “Fighting does not make you a hero”. She regains the Amazons’ natural compassion and even spares Dr Maru’s life despite her causing Steve Trevor's death. Nevertheless, there are genuine sequences of female empowerment that correspond precisely to the moments of transgression in which Diana defies external orders. First, as a child, she breaks her mother’s command by training with her aunt in the art of war. As an adult, she takes the sacred weapons (the Lasso of Truth, the God Killer sword and the shield) to go to the Great War, against the orders of the Queen of the Amazons. She ignores Steve Trevor when she walks into a military meeting before the astonished eyes of a group of men who are trying to settle the possibilities of an armistice with Germany. However, 184 Sergio Cobo-Durán/ Irene Raya Bravo on a symbolic level, her true transformation into Wonder Woman takes place in the trenches, when Steve asks her to ignore the suffering around her by claiming that she cannot do anything to change it, and she answers “No, but this is what I am going to do”, putting on the tiara bequeathed by her aunt Antiope. At this moment, she enters the middle of a crossfire, coming out triumphant before the disconcerted looks of the other characters. Later, in the recapture of the occupied French town, she can knock down tanks, machine guns and dozens of soldiers without barely even flinching. 4 By Way of Conclusion: Contributions of the New Wonder Woman to the Popular Consciousness As can be seen in the analysis developed, it is clear that the transfer from comics to the big screen has not involved a radical renewal of the character from a feminist perspective. In fact, in many cases, it has meant a loss of critical perspective in the shaping of the character in relation to its mythical origin or with respect to the somewhat paternalistic relationship she establishes with Steve Trevor. Compassion, as an essential characteristic of the hero, rises as one of Wonder Woman’s essential traits. And yet, in contemporary cinematic representations of the male superhero, other virtues are extolled - honour, companionship, ability to sacrifice themselves, sense of justice, leadership, resistance - in contrast to kindness, compassion or ability to love. This view suggests a non-egalitarian treatment, which continues to perpetrate the idea that these traits, linked to a traditional conception of femininity, are still the best that women can contribute in a position of heroism. Wonder Woman is an action hero who now, for the first time and as a cinematic novelty, is also female. And she is so aware of her ability to stand up to others that, when Steve Trevor tells her that no one can change the course of war, she responds decisively “I am the man who can! ”, expressing her confidence in herself as the most powerful being on the planet. However, linking to some of the key aspects of post-feminism, her status as a woman is not really significant to her empowerment and, in fact, there are no other women outside of Themyscira who portray excellence, nor does she establish relationships of sisterhood and companionship with other women. Thus, Wonder Woman ends up fulfilling the basic key aspects of post-feminism: individual glorification to the detriment of women’s collective struggle. In short, and despite her achievements, Wonder Woman does not manage to change the world of men - she helps to restore peace to a society where the patriarchal structure remains intact. 185 Wonder Woman Bibliographical References Abad-Santos, A. (10 June 2017). “Wonder Woman’s dueling origin stories, and their effect on the hero’s feminism, explained: The movie showed one version of the hero's complicated origin story. Here’s the other”. Vox. www.vox.com/ culture/ 2017/ 6/ 7/ 1574 0202/ wonder-woman-origin-storyamazons-marston-explained. 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Entertainment Weekly. https: / / ew.com/ movies/ 2017/ 05/ 19/ won der-woman-writer-little-mermaid-influence/ . (Accessed on 20. April 2020.) Ureta Larrondo A., Pérez Virtus, A. (2019). “Wonder woman: la romantización y sexua‐ lización de un ícono feminista a través del audiovisual”. Hachetetepe, 13-25. Warner, J. (Producer) & Cukor, G. (Director). (1964). My Fair Lady. USA: Warner Bros Pictures. 188 Sergio Cobo-Durán/ Irene Raya Bravo PART 3 FOR WOMEN WAR IS NEVER OVER 1 Remarque’s novel firstly appeared in a Danish translation, Kammerater (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1936) by Sonja Heise. The English translation appeared in 1937 and was serialized in the US magazine Good Housekeeping. In 1938, the original German text was published by Querido in Amsterdam. 2 In this regard, Steven Carr refers to an opinion of screenwriter E. E. Paramore arguing in print that the producers distorted the original anti-Nazi message of the original adaptation, leaving only a “sad love story” (Carr, 2011). MGM’S THREE COMRADES: Frank Borzage, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hollywood’s Courageous Weimar Women Alberto Lena 1 Mgm’s Three Comrades Released in June 1938, Three Comrades is a Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) production based on a novel written by Erich Maria Remarque (Drei Kameraden, 1938) 1 . Directed by Frank Borzage, Three Comrades combines the romance genre with a celebration of comradeship. The running theme of Three Comrades is the progressive development of Patricia Hollmann’s (Margaret Sullavan) illness. She is a high-class German woman dying from tuberculosis. Although the film was conceived primarily as a woman’s drama, Three Comrades also explores political issues and shows scenes of street violence which took place in Germany right after the First World War 2 . Like other 1930s controversial films, such as Anatole Litvak’s Confessions of a Nazi Spy, Three Comrades amalgamates two or more genres (Carr, 2011). Bearing the above in mind, in this essay I would like to argue that, in spite of being produced as a woman’s drama, a film such as Three Comrades can also be seen as a political film exploring the social and economic conditions that favored Adolf Hitler’s rise to power. Moreover, in this essay I want to draw attention to the fact that the film also foregrounds the representation of Patricia as a heroic German woman. In this respect, I want to explore how this symbolic device had previously been employed by other Hollywood productions in order to highlight the humanitarian values of a defeated enemy. 2 Hollywood’s Courageous German Women In the 1920s Hollywood films started to be interested in representing the hard reality of post-war Germany placing special emphasis on the devastating effects of the conflict on women’s lives. D.W. Griffith’s Isn’t Life Wonderful (1924) was one of the first attempts at showing the harsh reality of life in post-war Germany. The film was made on German location between July and August in 1924. It was partially shot on German location (Berlin, Grünau, Kopenick and Sacrow) using local people as extras (Bowser, 1989: 216). Griffith’s narrative is focused on the life of a Polish refugee, Inga (Carol Dempster). She lives in Berlin with a professor and his family. Orphaned by war, Inga embodies hope, strength and determination. In Berlin, she faces a bleak environment crammed with hunger, malnutrition, breadlines and continuous riots. These qualities help in her struggle to provide for the entire family and, especially, for her sick fiancé, Paul (Neil Hamilton), another member of the professor’s family. Like many soldiers weakened by the war, Paul is still suffering from poison gas. Thanks to Inga’s strength, Paul gathers stamina enough to find a job in a shipyard. Inga earns her living mending furniture in a secondhand shop. Although they are aware of living in a world stricken by the economic depression and social unrest, Paul and Inga are, however, determined to get married. In fact, the family discourages them stressing the couple’s lack of money and the grim economic future of Germany. Inga does not give up her irresistible optimism irrespective of the dark economic situation produced by the declining value of the German mark. She helps her husband to tend a secret garden where they grow potatoes. Inga and Paul hope that the garden will provide resources for them to live. The film stresses that the precarious store of potatoes becomes the symbol of irrepressible optimism for the couple (Griffith, 2015: 36: 18). They keep fighting against all odds, even risking their lives to do so when they hurry home through a dark forest and are pursued by a group of hungry workers. They want to seize the crop of potatoes the couple is transporting in a cart. Eventually, the hungry workers manage to overtake the couple and rob them of their hard-earned potatoes (Griffith, 2015: 1: 45: 39). In spite of this misfortune, Inga tries to console her husband. Inga and Paul realize that they are still alive. They still have each other and keep on fighting. Indeed, the film shows that, in less than a year, through the couple’s unflinching determination, Inga and Paul manage to build a new home and 192 Alberto Lena have enough potatoes for the whole family (Griffith, 2015: 1: 49: 27). Through Inga’s struggles, Griffith also shows the everyday life of many ordinary German women debased by the evil effects of war and economic recession. For, although a Polish migrant, Inga aspires to be an assimilated German woman and her suffering becomes representative of a whole generation of desperate human beings who are prisoners of the post-war poverty trap. For many women like Inga the immediate aftermath of the war brought inflation, unemployment and “the burden of many men who had returned home crippled or psychologically disturbed” (Pine, 2001: 200). A box office success, John Ford’s Four Sons (1928) is another Hollywood film exploring the damaging effects of the Great War on the German population. Adapted from the story by I. A. R. Wylie entitled “Mother Bernle Learns her Letters”, published in The Saturday Evening Post in 1926. Ford’s film constitutes also a plea for pacifism. It became one of the greatest box-office hits in the director’s career (Bogdanovich, 1967: 49). This film tells the melodramatic story of Mother Bernle (Margaret Mann), a courageous woman facing the moral collapsing of German society produced by the war. Mother Bernle appears as a victim of a totalitarian militarist state controlling all aspects of individual life. In fact, John Ford takes pains to show how Mother Bernle’s picturesque Bavarian village, Burgendorf, turns into a desolate environment when conflict erupts. In the early stages of the film Burgendorf is introduced by the intertitle: “The Old World - A deeply contented village, people gentle and kind”. The village stands as a paradigm of an ideal traditional agrarian community rooted in harmonious family relations and good neighborliness (Fox, Ford, 2007: 03: 12). All of a sudden, an autocratic militarist system takes hold of her idyllic Bavarian village with the arrival of the new garrison commander, Major von Stomm (Earle Foxe). He is a sort of sneering Prussian officer who disrupts the harmony of the village dwellers’ with his authoritarian and capricious behavior (Fox, Ford, 2007: 11.32). But what most perturbs the harmonious life of the perfectly organized village is the eruption of the First World War. The conflict deeply alters the peaceful life of the village. Mother Bernle loses two of her sons in the front: Franz, the soldier (Ralph Bushman) and Johann, the blacksmith (Charles Morton). Her youngest son, Andreas, the shepherd (George Meeker), is forced into the army when the German authorities learn that another son, who had migrated to the States, Joseph, the farmer ( James Hall), has joined the enemy’s army. Near the end of the war, Andreas is killed on the front. The film represents a whole generation of German soldiers as victims of a brutal and merciless state. 193 Three Comrades Mother Bernle bears witness to the destruction of her secure world because of the war. Her home becomes a space of utter desolation and bereavement during the conflict. When the war ends, hatred takes possession of the heart and mind of the village’s inhabitants and soldiers who eventually take revenge on Major von Stomm (Fox, Ford, 2007: 1: 06: 40). In spite of this tragic reversal of fortune, the film places emphasis on the fact that the harmonious social order of the village is restored right after the war. Harmony and order return to the village when the post-war revolution is over. The film shows how the schoolmaster, the burgomaster, the blacksmith and the smiling local children seem to be untouched by the physical and moral devastation caused by the conflict. In spite of the joyous atmosphere of the village, Mother Bernle feels alone and weak facing the immensity of destruction that war has brought to her life (Fox, Ford, 2007: 1: 09: 08). The last stages of the film show how Mother Bernle manages to overcome her tragic fate and desperate loneliness by migrating to the United States. There, she joins her surviving son, Joseph. He is married and invites her to live with his family. In the States, he has become a successful entrepreneur running a delicatessen shop in New York. America represents a new future for Mother Bernle, a new beginning (Fox, Ford, 2007: 1: 34: 38). In spite of the film’s happy ending, Mother Bernle’s tragic story stands as symbol of the horror and inconsolable grief experienced by many German women during the war. Like John Ford’s Four Sons, Ernst Lubitsch’s The Man I killed (1932), also known as Broken Lullaby, explores again the effects of the war on average German women. Based upon Maurice Rostand’s play, L’homme que j’ai tué (1930), the film is a poignant pacifist drama centered upon the loneliness and existential despair of Elsa (Nancy Carroll), a young woman living in a small German village. Elsa has lost her fiancé, Walter Hölderlin (Tom Douglas), a young musician, to war raging on the Western front. On visiting her fiancé’s tomb, Elsa discovers an unknown man placing flowers on Walter’s grave (Lubitsch, 2007: 27: 40). The unknown man is in fact a French musician, Paul Renard (Phillips Holmes), who introduces himself as an old friend of Walter. Paul seems to have met Walter in Paris before the war. Paul stays in the town and Elsa introduces him to Walter’s family. Although Dr Hölderlin (Lionel Barrymore) does not hide that he hates the French, he and his bereaved wife (Louise Carter) become very fond of the French musician. Eventually, Elsa feels a great attraction for the mysterious visitor and falls in love with him. The drama reaches its highest point when Paul confesses to Elsa that he is in fact the French officer who killed her fiancé during the conflict. Paul has dropped by the village in search of forgiveness (Lubitsch, 2007: 1: 01: 09). In spite of her 194 Alberto Lena distress at hearing the news, Elsa does not allow Paul to leave the village. She hides the truth about Paul to Walter’s parents. She realizes that Paul’s presence has brought back good memories and a sense of peace to Walter’s parents. Moreover, Elsa is determined to marry Paul. She wants to start a new life with the French musician. She does not seem to be afraid of challenging the nationalistic prejudices of the local villagers. Moreover, she is able to transcend her own past by marrying Paul, the hated French enemy (Lubitsch, 2007: 1: 06: 46). In Lubitsch’s film, German women, such as Elsa and Dr Hölderlin’s wife, embody a powerful redeeming force, a symbol of a new Germany and a new Europe rising from the ruins of war. Ignoring local gossip, Elsa is not afraid of walking with the French musician around the village. The couple is observed by other villagers who regarded it with scorn (Lubitsch, 2007: 42: 31). Elsa is so in love that she gives up the attentions of a local businessman, Herr Schultz (Lucien Littlefield). When Schultz gathers with his friends at a local bar, he vents his anger on the French visitor. Schultz expresses his animosity not only against the stranger but against the French occupation of his country as well. In publicly declaring her love for Paul Renard, Elsa seeks to celebrate a new era of peace and love between Germany and France. In spite of its pacifistic approach and its dramatic intensity, The Man I Killed was a failure at the box office. As Andrew Kelly points out, its failure confirmed the view that the pacifist “subject had run its course” (Kelly, 1997: 139). However, in spite of its pacifism, the film shows an angry Germany that has not yet been able to heal the wounds of war. Edmund Goulding’s Grand Hotel (1932) examines the effects of the war on German society from a different perspective than that of Lubitsch’s film. This glamorous MGM production is based on Vicky Baum’s highly successful novel, Menschen im Hotel (1929). The novel met enormous success in the States during the 1930s. This success forms part of what Wulf Koepke considers as the American lifting of the German cultural blockade when German literature started to attract American writers and readers. Translations of works by Hans Fallada, Thomas Mann and Erich Maria Remarque and Franz Werfel, among others, started to appear in America. This issue represented change in terms of the most positive perception of German culture. The reception of German culture in the States had been another casualty of the war (Koepke, 1992: 82-94). Grand Hotel takes place in a luxurious Berlin hotel in which a hundred doors lead “to one hall, and no one knows anything about the person next to them” (Bern, Goulding, 2004: 04: 36). The hotel is crammed with flamboyant characters: a lonely Russian ballerina named Grusinkaya (Greta Garbo), a financially broke Baron Felix von Gaigern ( John Barrymore) and a disfigured war veteran named 195 Three Comrades Dr Otternschlag (Lewis Stone) who can afford to be a permanent resident and observer at the hotel. The film also features Flaemmchen ( Joan Crawford), a young, street-savvy, slightly cynical and beautiful stenographer. In spite of her skills, she makes her way through life by seducing rich men without taking heed of the fact that they could be “single or married, healthy or dying” (Li, 2014: 306). Highly ambitious, she looks forward to becoming a movie star and enjoying life to the fullest. Her stylish felt hat and curly bobbed hair symbolized a new era. The roaring 1920s had released many women of their inhibitions. Besides, Flaemmchen’s sheer opportunism and blatant materialism reflect the moral and economic decadence of postwar German society. The effect of the late 1920s economic depression in Germany was that the reduction of the salary of many men and women white-collar workers who perceived themselves as members of the middle class. As Jill Suzanne Smith remarks, the economic depression “placed them in closer proximity to the working class leaving them in a socioeconomic no-man’s-land” (Smith, 2013, 167). The film explores some of these aspects of this type of New Women emerging in the highly dynamic cosmopolitan environment of post-war Berlin. As Mat‐ thew Kennedy points out, “Grand Hotel is most extraordinary in its use of international scenery. The multinational hotel guests passing through are Japanese, Russian, Danish, Lithuanian, and Armenian”. It displays a “multiethnic exhibitionism otherwise unheard of in rich American movies of the 1930s” (Kennedy, 2004: 119). In such cosmopolitan environment, rich men like Preysing (Wallace Beery) abound and ambitious women like Flaemmchen feel particularly attracted to them. Preysing embodies a new kind of entrepreneur that has emerged out of the debris of the war. He is brutal, opportunistic, unscrupulous and amoral. He has reached the top of the social ladder cheating and defrauding other companies. Driven by sheer greed, he also exploits loyal employees like Otto Kringelein (Lionel Barrymore), a dying factory clerk (Bern, Goulding, 2004: 1: 03: 40). Flaemmchen incarnates a new type of woman who accepts male dominance in order to achieve her social goals living in an amoral world dominated by men like Preysling. This sort of materialist female character also mirrors the changing role of women in 1920s German society. It is a kind of woman “who neither believes in true love nor expects a man to sweep her off her feet” (King, 2000: 17). In addition, Flaemmchen’s blatant personality also fits into the profile of the New Woman appearing in 1930s films, for instance the ambitious Lillian Andrews ( Jean Harlow) in Jack Conway’s Red-Headed Woman (1932). Yet, in spite of Flaemmchen’s opportunism and materialism, the end of the film places especial emphasis on a sentimental side of Flaemmchen’s personality. Although 196 Alberto Lena initially introduced as a woman ruled by the desire for money, her character gradually transforms as the film unfolds. She is sentimental enough as to fall in love with Baron von Gaigern, a ruined and desperate hotel burglar. Then, when Preysing is finally arrested and accused of causing the Baron’s death, she shows sympathy for an underdog like Kringelein. At the end of Grand Hotel, she goes with the melancholic clerk to Paris after insisting that she is not interested in Kringelein’s money. Rather, she wants to join forces with him in order to find a doctor that may cure his illness (Bern, Goulding, 2004: 1: 42: 03). The film ends up showing how modern women like Flaemmchen prefer the company of average men like Kringelein instead of the attentions of unscrupulous entrepreneurs like General Director Preysing (Bern, Goulding, 2004: 1: 46: 16). Through the changes taking place in the development of Flaemm‐ chen’s character, the film sentimentalizes the type of ruthless and materialistic women emerging in 1920s Germany as depicted in Vicki Baum’s novel. Namely, the film’s dramatic narrative climax is evidence of how a gold digger woman like Flaemmchen can also become a source of moral regeneration for a desperate male such as Otto Kringelein. Another 1930s Hollywood production, Franz Borzage’s Little Man, What Now? highlights the pivotal role played by women in post-war Germany from a rather different point of view. The film is an adaptation of a novel entitled Kleiner Mann, was nun? (1932) written by Hans Fallada (Rudolf Ditzen). Fallada was one of the new German authors whose work enjoyed popularity in the States during the 1930s (Koepke, 1992: 95). The story takes place at the end of the Weimar Republic when inflation and unemployment were high. Indeed, 4.4 million people were without work in 1930, 5.6 million in 1931, and 6 million in 1932 (Dumont, 2006: 215). Borzage’s film places emphasis upon the role of women in helping men to adapt to severe economic conditions. Universal Pictures’ head production, Carl Laemmle Jr., introduced the film to the American spectators in terms of being “a plea for Everyman, who, though suffering, can find salvation through a woman’s love” (Borzage, 2013: 01: 41). Little Man, What Now? features a character, a young pregnant woman, Emma Merceau, nicknamed Lammchen (little lamb). She stands as a symbol of never-ending optimism, especially for her husband, Hans Pinneberg (Douglass Montgomery). Hans embodies the desolation suffered by many members of the German middle class discouraged and disoriented by the pessimistic reality of the country. Above all, he appears as a victim of the First World War. He lost his father during the conflict, and the post-war economic recession severely damaged his family’s fortune. When facing the hollow environment of post-war Germany, Hans seems to be psychologically paralyzed (Borzage, 2013: 02: 02). 197 Three Comrades Sometimes his reactions seem infantile as though he were, unconsciously, grieving a lost childhood. Little Man, What Now? is a compelling film that illustrates the detrimental effect of war on German society. In spite of his discouragement and despair, Hans gradually finds a new vitality and a horizon of hope thanks to the staunch support of his young wife. Both practical and romantic, Lammchen embodies a kind of woman who succeeds in stamping out the violent forces threatening the young couple. Similar to other female characters appearing in 1930s Hollywood dramas, like Trina (Loretta Young) in Borzage’s Man’s Castle (1933), Lammchen makes the home environment a kind of sacred fortress against the outside world’s deprivation. Yet, unlike Trina, Lammchen’s power expands beyond the domestic sphere. Through her unflinching hope and mysterious beauty, Lammchen helps Hans survive the violent and demoralized realm of the last years of the Weimar Republic. It is in fact an economic realm dominated by grotesque characters such as Emil Kleinholz (De Witt Jennings), a grain merchant in small-town Ducherow. He is Hans’ patron. A grotesque character, Kleinholz indulges in exploiting and terrifying his employees, three young accountants (Borzage, 2013: 12: 06). A faint sneer of satisfaction crosses his face whenever he addresses the young men in humiliating terms. For, the three employees work for Kleinholz because he needs a husband for his daughter, Marie (Muriel Kirkland). Marie likes Hans Pinneberg. That is the reason why Hans keeps his marriage with Lammchen a secret. Eventually, the whole Kleinholz family comes across Hans and Lammchen kissing in the park. Hans gives up the job when Kleinholz insults Lammchen (Borzage, 2013: 31: 58). After three weeks of unemployment, Hans is deeply sunk in despair. He ignores that Lammchen has secretly written a letter to his stepmother, Mia Pinneberg (Catherine Doucet), asking her to find a job for Hans. Finally, the couple abandons Durcherow and heads for Berlin when they receive a letter from Mia promising Hans a job in a clothing store. In Berlin, Lammchen protects her husband from Mia’s amoral world. The young couple soon realizes that Mia’s social respectability is just a façade. She runs a sort of brothel for decadent high class members at her luxurious flat introducing “lonely men to lovely women” (Borzage, 2013: 1: 05: 23). As John Belton points out, Mia’s “perverse relationship with her dog and wild degenerate parties mirror the larger, all-consuming depravity that she and her world represent for the young couple” (Belton, 1974: 96). While staying in Mia’s flat, Lammchen recurs to her charming personality to make friends with Holger Jachmann (Alan Hale), Mia’s lover. This sort of gentleman-crook adores and respects Lammchen. Jachmann obtains for Hans 198 Alberto Lena an interview with the head of personnel of a lavish store which allows the young man to find a job in the men’s clothing department. Finally, when Hans decides to leave Mia’s apartment because he cannot stand Mia’s parties any longer, Lammchen manages to get an attic for a moderate sum in a working class district of Berlin. To get the attic, she makes a deal with an old furniture salesman, Puttbreese (Christian Rub) (Borzage, 2013: 1: 10: 18). As a down-to-earth woman, Lammchen also embodies spontaneous solidarity and generosity. When sitting on a park bench waiting for the arrival of Hans during a lunch work break, she doesn’t mind giving her two remaining sandwiches to a desperate unemployed worker Karl Goebbler (Fred Kohler) and his wife (Mae Marsh), a wretched couple, victims of Germany’s economic depression, who have not eaten in forty eight hours (Borzage, 2013: 51: 34). Lammchen symbolizes the spontaneous creativity and generosity of life against the gloomy economic outlook of an era. Above all, Lammchen’s regenerative power serves to protect a desperate Hans Pinneberg from his destructive impulses and inner anxieties. He is a male character constantly assailed by doubts. As Hervé Dumont indicates, the film was originally understood “not so much as a narrative about a woman’s integrity as about a man’s weakness” (Dumont, 2006: 225). Hans’ personality deeply differs from that of other male characters appearing in Hollywood productions. These characters also face the effects of economic depression while struggling to ease the psychological wounds of war. In this respect, Hans stands in opposition to Tom Holmes (Richard Barthelmess), the ex-combatant featured in William A. Wellman’s Heroes for Sale (1933). Although homeless and without money in post-war America, Tom Holmes does not give up hope and keeps on struggling: he believes in the future embodied in the promises of the new Roosevelt Administration. Like the other dramas mentioned above that explore the condition of Ger‐ many after the First World War, Borzage’s Little Man, What Now? showed Hollywood’s cinematic sympathy toward the country that it had condemned a decade earlier in propaganda films such as D. W. Griffith’s Hearts of the World (1918). This changing perception of the German population went hand in hand with a negative assessment of American intervention in the recent conflict. The delusions brought about by the failure of the Versailles Treaty had deeply altered the perception of the First World War in the States, and public opinion had stressed the sheer futility of the last war (Cooper, Jr., 1990: 142-144). Moreover, the box office success of films such as Grand Hotel and Four Sons, gave proof that American audiences’ interest in issues regarding contemporary Germany had not waned. For, like many Germans, Americans were also the victims of economic depression and social upheaval, especially during the early 199 Three Comrades 1930s. However, in 1934, when President Hindenburg’s death paved the way for Hitler’s control of political power, Hollywood gradually started to represent Germany from a different perspective. MGM’s production of Remarque’s Three Comrades is a case in point of this new cinematic approach to the representation of German society. 3 The Importance of Comradeship Like other Hollywood films mentioned above, Borzage’s adaptation of Remar‐ que’s Three Comrades is a woman drama that also explores some aspects of Germany’s social and political background after the First World War. In fact, from the very beginning of the film’s production, the adaptation of Three Comrades was controversial because of the political content inherent in that novel. Universal Studios had faced enormous controversy in Weimar Germany. It happened on December 5th, 1930, during the Berlin premiere of All Quiet on the Western Front the film version of Remarque’s novel, Im Westen nichts Neues (1929). There were riots outside the cinema and mice, stink bombs and sneezing powder were released in the cinema. Joseph Goebbels orchestrated this campaign of violence against that Hollywood film (Kelly, 1997: 51). When Hitler seized power Remarque’s entire work was immediately banned by the Nazi government. No wonder that in 1937 Universal Studios had met again intense political pressure from German authorities when trying to adapt another Remarque’s novel, The Road Back (Der Weg zurück, 1931). Before being released, this film directed by James Whale, had been severely amputated by its producers in order to avoid political controversy with the Nazis. The German market was exceedingly lucrative for many Hollywood companies during the 1930s. In addition, as Michel E. Birdwell points out, “most Hollywood studios believed the Nazis to be merely a temporary economic inconvenience, no substantial threat to either the industry or the world” (Birdwell, 1999: 15-16). Not surprisingly, MGM was aware of the political difficulties they could face when they decided to produce the film. In the fall of 1936, the German consul at Los Angeles, George Gyssling had written a letter to Joseph Breen, the head of the Production Code Administration (PCA) in which he did not hide his concern regarding a film production of Three Comrades. For the screen adaptation of Three Comrades, MGM initially chose the British dramatist R. C. Sheriff. Sheriff had previously worked in the film adaptation of The Road Back. Conscious of the political pressure which could affect the production of the film, he sought to eliminate the political content of the novel. Sheriff managed to adapt the text 200 Alberto Lena very faithfully, although he eliminated some of the most politically controversial passages of Remarque’s novel. In spite of Sheriff ’s efforts, the producers did not seem happy with his work. They hired F. Scott Fitzgerald to do a second adaptation. Fitzgerald’s work placed emphasis upon the novel’s political background. His first script is crammed with allusions to early teen’s demonstrations in the street and to remorseless Nazi leaders. These issues irritated German authorities. They put pressure on the Production Code Administration which suggested to MGM that the script be rewritten. In this regard, Steven Carr points out, “the PCA suggested making the communist heavies so that several of the original impassioned speeches, originally indicating Nazism, ‘could stay as they are’” (Carr, 2001: 158). The film’s producer, Joseph L. Mankiewicz refused to accommodate the PCA’s suggestions. He felt so furious and humiliated that he threatened to resign from MGM if the studios would not accept his ideological conditions. Apart from Fitzgerald, several writers also collaborated in preparing the script: Edward E. Paramore, Waldo Salt, Lawrence Hazard and David Hertz. Eventually, the script was completed in March 1938. Joseph L. Mankiewicz made its final revision, although he did not get screen credit. In spite of these changes, a third of Fitzgerald’s original script appeared in the completed version. In order to avoid political controversy, however, the final script version substantially altered the historical context of the novel. Instead of starting in 1928 (when Germany suffered from antisemitism and unemployment), the film unfolds between November 1918 and December 1920. By then, the Nazi party was still in its infancy (it was founded in August 8, 1920). Moreover, the script’s final version avoided identification of the demonstrators and rioters with any political party (Bruccoli, 1978: 262-266; Doherty, 2013: 224-226). Frank Borzage started shooting the film on February 4, 1938. Borzage was a consummate Hollywood director who had achieved world success with melodramas such as 7 th Heaven (1927) and A Farewell to Arms (1932). As Hervé Dumont remarks, Frank Borzage’s direction of Three Comrades manages to confer upon the final work a stylistic unity, imbuing it, “aesthetically and thematically, with a personal touch all of his own” (Dumont, 2006: 261). In this regard, as Kenneth L. Geist suggests, by focusing on the melodramatic potential of Remarque’s narrative, Borzage’s final touch tends to isolate the characters from the rich social tapestry of the novel. Also, the final cinematic version obscures the political affiliation of the violent insurrectionist that crammed the streets of post-war Germany (Geist, 1974: 91-93). As Sam B. Girgus points out, the film eventually alludes to the situation in Europe “so vaguely and indirectly as to guarantee a level of skepticism for some about their validity” (Girgus, 2007: 207). 201 Three Comrades As I have mentioned above, in spite of its political connotations, the film adaptation of Three Comrades is also a woman’s drama very much like 7 th Heaven. It centers on the romantic relationship between a sophisticated high middle-class woman, Patricia Hollmann (Margaret Sullavan), and a disillusioned war ex-combatant, Erich Lohkamp (Robert Taylor). Unlike Remarque’s novel which is more focused on the development of Erich’s personality, the film sticks to Fitzgerald’s original idea: placing especial emphasis on the importance of Patricia’s ethereal character and personal drama. When she goes for a ride in the country in the company of Breuer (Lionel Atwill) Patricia comes across Erich and his two other war comrades, Otto Koster (Franchot Tone) and Gottfried Lenz (Robert Young). Breuer is a powerful war profiteer. The fact that Erich’s fast-racing car “Baby” tries to overtake his vehicle particularly fascinates the powerful entrepreneur. Eventually, the whole group stops at the same inn and they all end up enjoying a drink together. During the meal, they celebrate Erich’s thirtieth birthday. From that very moment, Erich and his friends seem to be paralyzed by the mysterious presence of Patricia (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 12: 34). On the other hand, Patricia feels an irresistible attraction for Erich, a member of a generation shattered by the political troubles of a country in ruins. In spite of eliminating a great part of Remarque’s political content, the film portrays the grim atmosphere of Germany during the early 1920s. Erich Lohkamp earns his living working with his comrades in a car repair shop. Given the precarious economic situation of the country after the war, Erich and his friends also work as taxi drivers. They belong to a generation unable to heal the moral wounds of the conflict and they do not hide their pessimistic mood. On the other hand, the very beginning of the film highlights that Patricia’s existential horizon is not less bleak than that of the three comrades. She has lost her German father during the war. Besides, her English mother died soon after the military event. Given that background, the first stages of the film reveal Patricia’s lack of inner vitality. She is in sharp contrast with other 1930s American female characters that, although trapped by the effects of the Great Depression, nonetheless do not seem to give up hope. For instance, the chorus girls appearing in Mervin Leroy’s Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933) still brim with energy in spite of being unemployed and facing the grim economic conditions for show business after the stock market crash of 1929. Three Comrades presents Patricia and the comrades as the remains of a kind of German lost generation. This notion had been especially highlighted by Remarque in a previous work, All Quiet on the Western Front. While witnessing the horror of the Front, a young German soldier (the novel’s narrator), Paul Bäumer meditates about the future of Germany after the war. He states that the 202 Alberto Lena old generation will return home after the war broken, rootless and without hope. It is a generation that is unable to find home anymore. As the main character of All Quiet on the Western Front points out: “We will be superfluous even to ourselves, we will grow older, a few will adapt themselves, some others will merely submit, and most will be bewildered; - the years will pass by and in the end we shall fall into ruin” (Remarque, 1970: 247). But, before showing post-war Germany, the very beginning of Three Com‐ rades features a more optimistic atmosphere that had surrounded the end of the war. On November 11, 1918, Erich, Otto and Gottfried appeared in a pilots’ mess hall celebrating the end of the war. The comrades’ celebrations are suddenly broken when Otto hears that German authorities are planning to dismantle his war airplane, “Baby” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 04: 53). A subsequent scene shows how Otto surreptitiously destroys the beloved plane with a grenade. The destruction of “Baby” symbolized the end of an era for Otto and his friends. It was in fact an era of useless courage and self-sacrifice for Germany. On the other hand, the beginning of the film suggests that the end of the conflict seems to announce a new period in German history which could bring peace to a devastated country. Thus, before leaving the barracks, Gottfried makes a toast expressing his hope that a new Germany could emerge after the conflict leaving the violent past war behind, a past in which “many heads have fallen, and many hearts have stopped”. In a very short time, however, the film shows how the comrades witness how the new post-war era has shuttered all their hopes and dreams. Returning from work, Otto and Gottfried appreciate how fanatic protesters storm the streets throwing stones and breaking store windows. Blind violence spreads like a virus among the German population (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 05: 12). The very first scenes of Three Comrades underline the political environment during the early years of the Weimar Republic as characterized by widespread civil chaos and terror. More to the point, the film highlights that, in that bleak environment, the only solution available to the comrades is in taking no heed of Germany’s political turmoil. Plainly, the comrades should focus on their work only keeping a small garage in the city “because mechanics are needed”. As Otto reminds an outraged Gottfried who witnesses the horror perpetrated by some political demonstrators: “Look Gottfried, we’re eating. We got a place to sleep and a job! We’re running a repair shop, not a country”. In fact, Otto, with dismay, realizes that violent mobs are actually running the country, whereas the German middle-class “close their doors and windows and they seem to keep whistling in the dark” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 05: 30). In such a demoralizing political atmosphere in which “the new heroes of the Fatherland” are “poisoning the 203 Three Comrades drinking water”, the only solution is that of remaining silent and looking away. Like many 1930s Hollywood socialconsciousness films, the beginning of Three Comrades follows a common ideological strategy pointed out by Tino Balio when analysing 1930s social films such as those produced by Warner Brothers Studios: the studio typically sidestep issues by “resolving problems at the personal level of the protagonist rather than at the social level” (Balio, 1995: 281). The beginning of the film, indeed, highlights that this is an effective way of keeping alive. There is no hope for the old veterans when there are so many things to repair in Germany - not only cars, but “souls, consciences” and “broken hearts” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 06: 15). In such desperate national conditions, the three comrades indulge in drinking and enjoying high speed racing in the country with their car mascot “Baby”. Indeed, the racing car, Baby, is the only way to liberate the three ex-combatants from the present ugly reality. Like other Hollywood characters devastated by war such as James Allen (Paul Muni), the rebellious ex-combatant and ex-convict featured in I am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1933), the comrades cannot expect any kind of social and economic change that could improve their desperate condition. Moreover, unlike Muni’s James Allen, who eagerly struggles for change in American penitentiary laws, Erich, Otto and Gottfried are only ravaged and devastated people. They seem to be unable to forge a new meaning out of life. After their first meeting with Patricia, everything seems to change for the three comrades. For, in spite of her initial pessimism and self-doubts, Patricia represents a source of life, a character endowed with a sort of mysterious charm. Very soon, she is able to convey a new existential meaning to the comrades’ wretched existence. She incarnates a type of female character without hope who manages, however, to shed light on the world around. All of a sudden, she injects optimism into Erich’s life (reversing his comrades’ previous perception of him as a “drifter”). Indeed, Patricia represents a profound source of regenerative power capable of lessening Erich’s existential despair. Both Fitzgerald’s script and Borzage’s final mise-en-scene try to obscure Erich’s internal damage in the form of a strong sense of emptiness highlighted in Remarque’s novel. Irrespective of his love relationship with Patricia, all through the novel Erich’s voice expresses very often a deep existential and political scepticism. For instance, when he states his inner doubts in these terms: “Sometimes I used to think that one day I should wake up, all that had been would be over, forgotten, sunk, drown. Nothing was sure, not even memory” (Remarque, 2013: 394). On the other hand, the film version of Three Comrades transforms Erich into an assertive character from the very beginning. His only doubts stem from his awareness of the social gap 204 Alberto Lena that separates him from Patricia’s high-class companions like Breuer. In fact, Patricia introduces herself as a “superficial and frivolous person” during her first date with Erich (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 20: 08). She explains to him that, after losing her wealthy parents, she found out that her finances were gradually sinking and decided to live a kind of gay life, in spite of being frightened sometimes: “As if I’d taken somebody else’s seat at the theatre” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 20.38). Like many of the 1920s flapper characters appearing in Fitzgerald’s early fiction such as “Bernice Bobs her Hair” (1920) and Hollywood films such as Patricia Harrington (Marion Davies) in King Vidor’s The Patsy (1928), Patricia Hollmann seems to have frittered away much of her youth leading a frivolous life. Patricia’s motives for such behaviour are, however, quite different from that of the 1920s American flappers. Patricia suffers from undernourishment in her growing years, a legacy from the war. Her parents died years ago, and she has spent much of her youth in bed because of her illness. Her careless attitude regarding money can be seen not so much as a moment of wild behaviour as an existential answer to her blind fate. No wonder that, in hearing her words, Erich suddenly considers Patricia as another victim of the war. For, he judges Patricia’s behaviour as “courageous” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 20: 32). She becomes another comrade for Erich. Thus, the film follows very closely Remarque’s notion of romantic love as comradeship. In analysing Remarque’s use of this term, Brian Murdoch points out, “a normal love between a man and a woman is couched in terms of war: just a Kameradschaft, comradeship, meant during the war standing by your comrade in any life and death situation” (Murdoch, 2006: 86). The film also places emphasis upon the fact that the other two comrades deeply approve of Patricia’s influence on Erich. Thus, in spite of his political radicalism, Gottfried doesn’t mind that his younger friend hobnobs with a member of the higher classes such as Patricia. On the contrary, the political rad‐ ical insists that Erich should court Patricia and get married. A morally damaged Otto embraces with generosity and enthusiasm the young couple’s nascent affair (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 42: 57). Moreover, the rootless comrade struggles to persuade Patricia to marry Erich. For all of Otto’s enthusiasm, Patricia expresses her doubts about the future of such a relationship. She confesses that she has not thoroughly recovered from her illness. Completely untouched by Patricia’s scepticism, Otto insists that the young woman should “take that gamble” and “aim at the stars” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 45: 45). Furthermore, Otto and Gottfried join forces to solidify Patricia and Erich relationship. They help Erich to patch up a suitable tailcoat in order to go with Patricia to a smart night club 205 Three Comrades under Breuer’s invitation. Unfortunately, when dancing with Patricia, Erich’s patched-up tailcoat was far too narrow for him. His ripped coat provoked hilarious laughter from Breuer’s high-class companions. Deeply humiliated, Erich left the night club without Patricia. Then, Erich takes refuge at Alfons’ where he meets up with his other companions and confesses that he did not hope to live up to Patricia’s social expectations. He seems to bridge the social gap separating him from Patricia. However, when he returns home that cold evening, Erich finds Patricia waiting for him on his doorstep. Shivering and coughing, Patricia confesses her love for Erich, sighing: “Let’s stay right here forever” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 42: 25). In falling in love with Erich and going to live with him, Patricia abandons her upper-class origins and the comforts of the two rooms left to her of what was once her huge family villa. 4 The High Cost of Love In falling in love with Erich, high-class Patricia not only transcends social barriers but puts in danger her future as well. For her love, Patricia rejects Breuer’s extremely generous job offer. He has found a lucrative job for her at a phonograph shop. Implicitly, Patricia turns down the job because she does not want to be Breuer’s kept woman. Deeply disappointed by the fact that Patricia has turned down his offer, Breuer thinks that she does not comprehend the consequences of the decision: “Pat, I tell you, I don’t know what to do with all my money. You’d be safe Pat. Germany’s a pretty rough sea right now. And you are drifting…You’ve got no port, no destination” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 27: 46). In choosing Erich instead of Breuer, Patricia, indeed, internalizes that she has also become a drifter. Thus, she challenges Breuer’s discourse in these terms: “There are so many drifters. And we might all drift together. And someday we might even find pleasant seas! ” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 28: 00). Plainly, Patricia’s decision has also political connotations. In joining Erich and his comrades, she implicitly rejects Breuer’s political view. In this respect, the film differs from Remarque’s novel in terms of stressing the political implications of Patricia’s decision. No wonder that Patricia and Erich’s wedding stands as a symbol of a new moral and political beginning for the other comrades. During the wedding ceremony held at Alfons’ café, Otto remarks to Gottfried: “Remember that happy life you were going to come back from the war? It is starting now” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 48: 14). For Patricia, her relationship with Erich represents a radical life change. It means she will no longer be alone in the evening when it grows dark. In addition, by joining the comrades, she will no longer be a solitary decision maker. The film places emphasis on the 206 Alberto Lena importance of being part of a group in the face of personal and political adversity. It also suggests to a 1938 audience that the complex politics emerging in Europe requires adopting new political strategies transcending merely individualistic solutions. In spite of the auspicious wedding, Patricia soon realizes that she has been unable to recover from her illness and her future actually exists from day to day. During the couple’s honeymoon on the Baltic coast, Patricia suffers from an internal haemorrhage and is about to die. She is saved thanks to the help of Otto who brings Dr Jaffe (Monty Woolley) to the sea resort. Dr Jaffe recommends that she should enter a sanatorium in the Alps for the purpose of improving her health (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 57: 48). Patricia’s new outbreak of tuberculosis changes Erich’s life and that of the other comrades. As Patricia’s illness becomes more serious, Erich desperately looks for another job in order to pay the sanatorium expenses. However, the economic outlook in Germany is so grim that he cannot find it. To make things worse, the comrades have to compete with other mechanics for clients. The film shows that this commercial competition could suddenly turn into a violent fistfight in the streets. Against this background of social upheaval and street violence, Patricia either remains at Erich’s home or walks alone along the streets. In spite of her high-class indifference to what is going on in Germany, she seems to convey to the comrades a constant source of hope. Thus, when she asks the group what she can give to them, Otto answers: “Just being there, that’s what…Where you walk, we three walk beside you now” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 1: 03: 04). Yet, when winter comes to the city, the tight-knit group begins to split. Winter symbolizes social confusion and moral chaos. By introducing the symbolic image of the wind assailing the countryside and the city, Borzage seems to stress the fact that the war has not ended at all for the characters and for Germany. The arrival of the winter means for Patricia that she has to go to the Alps sanatorium. In leaving the comrades, she will have to be again alone. In the meantime, daily violence erupts on the streets. Gottfried is not indifferent to the political situation of the country and does not seem to be deterred by the violent crowds. In fact, he joins Dr Becker’s (Henry Hull) pacifist group. Such a choice turns out to be fatal for him. When leaving a political meeting, Gottfried is eventually shot down by a young gunman in front of Erich and Otto (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 1: 09: 59). Gottfried’s death diminishes the economic resources of the group. Thus, Otto has to sell the mechanic repair shop, whereas Erich works as pianist at Alfons’ café in order to pay Patricia’s sanatorium charges. Three Comrades is a romantic drama in the same fashion as Camille (George Cukor, 1937). It can also be 207 Three Comrades considered a precursor of Dark Victory (Edmund Goulding, 1939) featuring a high-class Long Island millionairess who finds a sort of moral regeneration after struggling with a terminal illness. However, Borzage’s adaptation of Remarque’s novel differs from the later dramas in terms of exploring in full the economic and existential implications of a woman’s decision. More to the point, Patricia gradually becomes aware that in choosing Erich instead of Breuer, she has made not only a romantic decision but an existential choice as well. By rejecting the affluent entrepreneur’s offer, she has indeed shortened her life. Having the support of a rich man could have allowed her to pay the expensive clinic’s bills for her treatment. 5 A Tragic End Indeed, the final scenes of the film avoid fully developing the melodramatic possibilities of Patricia’s tragic end. In this regard, the contrast between the Borzage’s film ending and that of Remarque’s novel could not be more striking. In the novel, the impending illness sinks Patricia into a condition of loneliness and despair. For, in the end, Patricia can escape the final effects of the war and its overwhelming physical and moral destruction. She is increasingly weak and desperately wants to die alone. In the film, however, she is aware of the moral support and company of the remaining comrades. Thus, right after the operation, she receives Otto’s visit. Gottfried makes Patricia realize the value of her mere existence for the group. She has given a new life to Erich, political courage to Gottfried and happiness to Otto who had completely lost all hope after the end of the war. Then, when Otto leaves the room, Erich stays with her. In Remarque’s work, the moment she becomes aware of the overwhelming deterioration of her health, Patricia tries to make Erich leave the room. She knows her final end seems to be very close and, like other Remarque characters appearing in his novels, wants to die alone. However, in Borzage’s film, Patricia wants to be close to Erich. When Erich finally leaves the room, he does it in order to say good-bye to Otto, who is about to take the train back to the city. Alone in her room, it is only then that Patricia decides to push back the sheet and starts walking toward the balcony (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 1: 31: 45). Implicitly, with such a gesture, Patricia decides to put an end to her own life. In abandoning her bedside, she disobeys the doctor’s instructions given the fact that her operation requires absolute immobility for two weeks. In gathering energy and opening the balcony, she exposes herself to the freezing cold wind of the winter Alps and, inevitably, embraces death. When Erich looks up and notices how Patricia extends her arms out into the open in a final goodbye, he 208 Alberto Lena becomes aware of her impending death. When he reaches her in the room, it is too late; she has collapsed on the ground. While lying on the hospital floor in agony, Patricia gathers enough energy to declare: “It is right for me to die, darling. It does hurt, but I’m so full of love” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 1: 32: 37). Following very closely Fitzgerald’s script, the film underscores that, before the last breath before death, Patricia has become aware of the spiritual meaning of love. Therefore, in spite of its brevity, her life has been fulfilled. The film lays stress upon the romantic dimension of Patricia’s death. As I have mentioned above, Patricia’s exposure to the freezing cold winter finale could also be considered a death sacrifice. Previously, right after the operation, Patricia has shared with Otto her fear of becoming a burden on Erich and the latter: “I’ve been lying here alone for so many hours, I’ve figured it out. If you asked yourselves, perhaps I might live a few months longer. If you sold your repair shop, a few more weeks … Perhaps, if you sold your fingers, one by one, the blood in your veins, the marrow in your bones … Perhaps, even a year or two … So that, I could still breathe a little” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 1: 26: 38). Like other German women in 1930s Hollywood films, Patricia makes a courageous and also practical decision that benefits the group. The last scene of the film stresses the symbolic meaning of Patricia’s sacrifice. We see a vision of her spectral figure joining that of the other deceased comrade, Gottfried. They are both flanked by Erich and Otto as they walk away from a desolate city cemetery where it could be heard machine guns firing in the distance. Patricia is no longer a frivolous sophisticated woman to be protected. She has plainly become a comrade. Her existence has dramatically changed the lives of two desolate men making their lives something meaningful to fight for. In both Borzage’s film and Fitzgerald’s script, Patricia represents a romantic sacrifice inspiring group cohesion beyond the grave, whereas in Remarque’s novel Patricia’s death conveys a sense of utter desolation. Thus, in the hospital room at Patricia’s bedside, Erich contemplates how she grows old and her face alters. Finally, he laconically reports: “I sat beside her and could not think. I sat on the chair and stared at her. The dog came in and sat with me. I watched her face alter. I could do nothing but sit vacantly and watch her. Then morning came and it was she no longer” (Remarque, 484). Erich’s final loneliness is very close to that of another novel exploring the moral and physical effects on individuals impacted by war: Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms. Indeed, the last scene of Hemingway’s novel also takes place in a hospital ward when a desolate Red Cross American officer, Frederic Henry, contemplates how his lover turns into a stone after having experienced bitter pain. 209 Three Comrades Moreover, in Remarque’s novel Patricia’s struggle with her sickness could have political connotations. As Brian Murdoch points out, it could be possible to draw a symbolic parallel between Patricia and the Weimar Republic itself “brought about by the war and still suffering from its effects” and sustained by hope (Murdoch, 2006: 80-81). Patricia’s short life in Remarque’s novel epitomizes what Peter Gay described as the “concealed insidious symptoms” of a decadent republic on the brink of chaos in the late 1920s (Gay, 2001: 133). Against Remarque’s novel pessimism, the last scenes appearing in Frank Borzage’s version celebrate a dynamic and vibrant new beginning for all comrades. Erich and Otto gather in a city cemetery and together express their desire of leaving Germany for good. Thus, while giving the last good-bye to his lover, Erich comments, “South America is very far away. I wish they were going with us! ” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 1: 33: 08). Yet, in spite of the fact that the remaining comrades are determined to start a new life far away from Germany, the film stresses their political awareness of the political situation they are about to leave behind. In this regard, as a machine gun rattles, Otto could not ignore that “there is fight in the city” (Mankiewicz, Borzage, 2009: 1: 33: 18). The war has not come to an end. Then, the comrades walk away from the cemetery. They are joined by the shadowy figure of Lenz and that of Patricia. Through her sacrifice, she has also become another victim of the war and another soldier standing for a comrade in any life and death situation. The end of the film obliterates Remarque’s dark approach to the political events that had gradually destroyed German democracy and the life of Patricia. In this regard, Scott Fitzgerald bitterly complained about the ideological end of the film because it should show Otto and Erich’s stark political commitment. Namely, they should return to the city and fight against the Nazis. Yet, in spite of this, the film’s ending is very close to Fitzgerald’s optimistic end “showing the march of four people, living or dead, heroic and unconquerable” as a symbol of a new life for the surviving characters (Bruccoli, 267). Against Remarque’s scepticism and nihilism, by celebrating group cohesion and love beyond the grave, the Hollywood production of Three Comrades lays stress on the fact that the life of Patricia and the three comrades should keep on inspiring the audience, in spite of the tragic end. 6 Conclusion In many respects, Patricia Hollmann stands apart from other German woman characters featured in previous Hollywood productions dealing with German 210 Alberto Lena women such as Isn’t Life Wonderful, Four Sons, Little Man, What Now? , Grand Hotel and The Man I Killed. Unlike the courageous female characters featured in those films, Patricia is initially introduced as frivolous and pessimistic. Moreover, unlike sophisticated independent women like Flaemmchen in Grand Hotel, Patricia seems to display strong emotional dependence on men. However, as Borzage’s film unfolds, Patricia gradually emerges as a powerful female figure thanks to Erich’s love and her positive interaction with the rest of the comrades. Eventually, she becomes a source of inspiration for all her friends. In addition, like other characters such as Mother Bernle, Elsa and Lammchen, Patricia becomes a courageous character: her final decision of dying affecting deeply and spiritually the lives of Erich and Otto. Indeed, she constitutes a case in point of the special role conferred upon German women in Hollywood dramas as instruments of social and political regeneration. In this regard, Patricia Hollmann could be seen as the forerunner of some of the 1940s courageous American women characters capable of inspiring hope in psychologically and physically-disturbed returning soldiers, akin to those in 1946’s films such as Elmer Davis’s Pride of the Marines, or William Wyler’s The Best Years of Our Lives. Moreover, from the political point of view in preferring the comrades instead of Breuer, Patricia can be considered the precursor of other German women who will appear in anti-Nazi films from 1940s onwards, such as Freya Roth (Margaret Sullavan) in Frank Borzage’s Mortal Storm, Liesel Roeder ( Jessica Tandy) in Fred Zimmermann’s The Seventh Cross (1944) and Alicia Huberman (Ingrid Bergman) in Alfred Hitchcock’s Notorious (1946). As Steven Carr points out, Borzage’s film sheds light “on both the production and reception of the 1930s Hollywood anti-Nazi film” (Carr, 2011). Despite being conceived as a mere vehicle for entertainment by MGM’s producers, the film still represents the drama of Patricia Hollmann as heralding the beginning of a new era in German history - a new era built upon the foundations of trust, comradeship and authenticity against Nazi totalitarianism. Bibliographical References Balio, T. (1995). Grand Design: Hollywood as a Modern Business Enterprise, 1930-1939. Berkeley, USA: University of California Press. Belton, J. (1974). The Hollywood Professionals: Howard Hawks, Frank Borzage, Edgar G. Ulmer. London, UK: The Tantivy Press. Bern, P. (Producer) & Goulding (Director). (2004). Grand Hotel. USA: Turner Entertain‐ ment Co. 211 Three Comrades Birdwell, M. E. (1999). Celluloid Soldiers: Warner Bros.’s Campaign against Nazism. New York, USA: New York University Press, 1999. Bogdanovich, P. (1967). John Ford. London, UK: Studio Vista. Borzage, F. (Producer) & (Director). (2013). Little Man, What Now? USA: Universal Studios. Bowser, E. (1989). “Isn’t Life Wonderful”. In R. D. MacCann (Ed.). The First Film Makers. (216-217). Iowa City, USA: The Scarecrow Press. Bruccoli, M. (Ed.). (1978). F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Screenplay for Three Comrades by Erich Maria Remarque. Carbondale and Edwardsville, USA: Southern Illinois University Press. Carr, S. (2001). Hollywood and Anti-Semitism. A Cultural History up to World War II. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Carr, S. (2011). “Just a Sad Love Story”: Three Comrades (MGM. 1938) and the 1930s Hollywood Anti-Nazi Film - Paper Accepted for the 11 th International F. Scott Fitzgerald Conference, Lyon, France, 4-9 July 2011. http: / / stevenalancarr.pbworks. com/ w/ page/ 34142124/ threecomrades? mode=embedded. (Accessed on 15 August 2013.) Cooper, Jr. (1990). Pivotal Decades: The United States, 1900-1920. New York, USA: W. W. Norton. Doherty, T. (2013). Hollywood and Hitler, 1933-1939. New York, USA: Columbia University Press. Dumont, H. (2006). Frank Borzage. The Life and Films of a Hollywood Romantic. Jefferson, North Carolina, USA: McFarland. Fox, W. (Producer) & Ford, J. (Director). (2007). Four Sons. USA: Twentieth Century Fox. Gay, P. (2001). Weimar Culture: The Outsider as Insider. New York, USA: W. W. Norton. Geist, K. Pictures Will Talk. The Life and Films of Joseph L. Mankiewicz. New York, USA: Da Capo Press. Girgus, S. B. “Movies and Whistling in the Dark”. In I. R. Hark (Ed.). American Cinema of the1930s. (182-205). New Brunswick, USA: Rutgers University Press. Griffith, D. W. (Producer) & (Director). (2015) Isn’t Life Wonderful. USA: Flicker Alley. Kelly, A. (1997). Cinema and the Great War. London, UK: Routledge. Kennedy, M. (2004). Edmund Goulding’s Dark Victory. Hollywood’s Genius Bad Boy. Madison, USA: The University of Wisconsin Press. King, L. J. (2000). “Menschen im Hotel/ Grand Hotel: Seventy Years of a Popular Culture Classics”. Journal of American and Comparative Cultures, 23 (2), 17-23. Koepke, W. “Lifting the Cultural Blockade: The American Discovery of the New German Literature after World War I: Ten Years of Critical Commentary in the Nation and the New Republic”. In W. Effe, J. Hardin, G. Holst (Eds.). The Fortunes of German Writers in America. (81-98). Columbia, USA: University of South Carolina Press. 212 Alberto Lena Li, D. (2014). “Grand Hotel: Portrayal of Women in Golden Age Hollywood”. International Journal of Social Science and Humanity 4 (4), 303-307. Lubitsch, E. (Producer) & (Director). (2007). Broken Lullaby. USA: Universal Pictures International. Mankiewicz, J. A. (Producer) & Borzage, F. (Director). (2009). Three Comrades. USA: Turner Entertainment Co. Murdoch, B. (2006). The Novels of Erich Maria Remarque. Sparks of Life. Rochester, USA: Camden House. Pine, L. (2001). “Women and Family”. In P. Panikos (Ed.). Weimar and Nazi Germany: Continuities and Discontinuities (199-217). Harlow, UK: Longman. Remarque, E. M. (1970). All Quiet on the Western Front. Translated by A. W. Wheen. London, UK.: Heinemann. Remarque, E. M. (2013). Three Comrades. Translated by A. W. Wheen. New York, USA: Random House. Smith, J. S. (2013). Berlin Coquette: Prostitution and the New German Woman, 1890-1933. Ithaca, USA: Cornell University Press. 213 Three Comrades 1 “Zwar was mich anbetrifft / Habe ich da ein Prinzip, / Und ein ganz bestimmtes, festes Ideal: / Doch wenn heut einer kommt, / Der mir sagt: ‘Ich hab’ dich lieb! ’ / Ist mir alles ganz egal…/ In der Nacht ist der Mensch nicht gern’ alleine, / Denn die Liebe im hellen Mondenscheine, / Ist das schönste, sie wissen was ich meine” (Unspecified producer, Jacoby, 1944). 2 The oft-quoted historian Atina Grossman points out that the number of rapes varies wildly “from 20.000 to 100.000, to almost one million, with the actual number…higher because many were attacked repeatedly” (1995: 46). “WIE OFT? ” OR LOVE IN TROUBLED TIMES? : The Cinematographic Adaptation of A Woman in Berlin Manuel Almagro-Jiménez 1 A Night at the Movies The inhabitants of Dresden that, on a February night in 1945, decided to watch the film Die Frau Meiner Träume had the opportunity to see and listen to how, in the initial scene, the protagonist, Marika Rökk, with the familiar impudence and moral ambiguity of musical comedy, sang a song that said the following: As far as I’m concerned/ I have my principles / and firm and very concrete ideals: / but if some man arrived today / who told me: I love you, / none of that would matter to me… / No one likes to be alone at night, / because love in the clear moonlight / is the most beautiful thing, you know what I mean 1 . Those citizens did not know that that night, the 13 th of February 1945, one of the worst nightmares of their life would start. That was the night chosen by the Allies to begin the bombings that destroyed the city of Dresden. Marika Rökk, from the security endowed by cinematographic fiction, could sing that she would accept any man who told her he loved her, but months later, during another climatic moment of the Second World War, namely the fall of Berlin at the hands of the Red Army, there was an estimated hundred thousand women in that city who were unable to adopt the same cynical and frivolous attitude in the face of sexual relationships with men 2 . Indeed, 3 A sombre description of this period of mass rape can be found, for example, in Macdonogh, 2007: 98-103. Many intentional abortions were carried out as a result of this process but, even so, “it is estimated that between 150.000 and 200.000 ‘Russian babies’ survived to see the light of day” (Macdonogh, 2007: 102). For an exhaustive study of this, including an analysis of Eine Frau in Berlin see Halley, 2008. A wider focus on rape in armed conflict can be found in Hynes 2004. 4 All quotations from the diary will refer to this edition. 5 See the complete reference in the Bibliography at the end. 6 For a summary of issues regarding the authorship, authenticity and reception of the diary, see Redmann, 2008: 194-202. what these women received was not a proposition but a forceful and violent imposition that culminated in rape, which scarred many of them forever and drove some of them to the point of suicide 3 . Even so, these women’s pragmatism and sense of reality led them to coin a saying that relativized that violence, especially if it was compared with the aforementioned case of Dresden and all the other bombed cities: “Better a Rusky on top than a Yank overhead” (Anonyma, 2005: 257) 4 . An anonymous woman collected these women’s stories in real time, regis‐ tering in her diary the day to day of an ignominy that takes place within the context of all sorts of hardships characteristic of a state of war, especially for the civilian population. When this diary was published for the first time in 1959 with the title Eine Frau in Berlin  5 (there was a previous edition in English in 1954), that anonymous woman’s effort to bring to light those terrible events was initially faced with the rejection of a German society that refused to accept that reality or the behaviour of those women trying to survive to the best of their ability in such circumstances. The fact that the publication was anonymous is not a trivial one, rather it has acquired a certain symbolic meaning, as it indicates that this is a story in which the silencing begins with that of the author, that is to say, ultimately with the origin of that voice which did not dare to openly identify herself, being conscious of the repercussions of her denouncement 6 . This silencing would be followed by another wider and more profound one, but this time in the field of reception, and which could have been the result of diverse factors. Pötsch (2012: 18) points out that the historical memory of traumatic events did not fit in dominant post-war discourse, due to various reasons: these women’s trauma could be seen as a relativizing of Nazi crimes during the war; furthermore, the dominant desire to start from zero meant a restitution of masculine hegemony which the experience of these women could undermine and question; finally, the creation of the German Democratic Republic and its fraternal ties with the 216 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez 7 Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008. Actually, there is a commercial version and then another extended version released on DVD with a “making of ” and other extras. Quotations from the film, unless otherwise stated, will refer to the commercial version. The opinions of the director, the producer and the leading actress are obviously taken from the “Extras” in the DVD version. 8 An example of this, amongst others, can be found in Anderson 2009. Soviet Union impeded inquiries of this type into crimes committed by Russian troops. Following a second publication in 2003, which obtained a more favourable reception, the diary was taken to the screen 7 , in a different political context and with different possible discourses to draw from, and this form of widening the scope of the denouncement achieved a significant vindication of the diary and completed the condemnation intended by the author, as if, by simply changing the medium of expression, identical narrated events acquired much more veracity and relevance. Reviews of the film celebrate the adaptation of the diary to its cinemato‐ graphic version, because of its documental importance, some even going as far as to praise its rigor 8 . Nevertheless, many fail to mention that the plot of this adaptation focuses on a story that is practically non-existent in the diary and which, regardless, carries the weight of the film to the point of becoming the main pillar on which the filmic narration stands. That is to say, while it is true that Anonyma exists in the diary, and that she had a relationship with a major (as well as with other men), the story that the film presents us with does not exist in the diary. Indeed, if we abide by a purely quantitative description, the relationship between Anonyma and the major in the diary is limited to a sequence of 9 visits between the 2 nd and the 9 th of May. In the book those dates occupy 25 % of the total diary and the description of the relationship with the major during his visits occupies some 30 pages of that altogether (that is to say, less than 10 % of the total diary), and not all of those pages discuss said relationship. Furthermore, the story of the major disappears from the diary two thirds of the way in and is not mentioned again. In other words, we could say that the additive structure of the diary, where the days and events are succeeded without any special emphasis on any of them, is substituted in the film by a structure organised around climactic peaks that lead to the final “downfall” of the figure of the major, transformed by this point into a tragic figure, which minimises the traumatic experience of the female protagonist and will lead us, the viewers, to ask ourselves if the film is really about feminine vicissitudes or rather about the tragedy of one man. However, once again, this is something 217 Love in Troubled Times 9 “Das Thema dieser Geschichte sind auch nicht die Vergewaltigungen, sondern es ist in erster Linie das, wie die Frauen damit umgegangen sind. Es ist [sic] vielmehr, die, sozusagen, die Kräfte und Überlebensstrategien, die diese Frauen entwickelt haben, um damit fertig zu werden, als den Finger darauf zu halten, was das Leiden selbst ist”. (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008, DVD version). that is not in the actual diary and is rather a reflection of the narrative clichés of Hollywood cinema, to the point that we could conclude that the film is not in fact a dramatization of the diary but a melo-dramatization of the same, and, without a doubt, nullifies the strength of the denouncement of the ignominy suffered by the female population in the original story, although perhaps this leads to a more favourable reception by the public, as is indicated by Kreye (2010) in his review of the film, in which he highlights those problems in the cinematographic adaptation of the diary and the subsequent degradation of its historical value. 2 Love in Troubled Times Initially, the fabrication is quantitative, as the film is organised around a minor fragment of the diary. The result is that the story told by the film is in fact based on a “composition” or a “construction” of materials of different origins, within the diary and outside of it (other diaries or narrations of diverse natures). This means that the film introduces material from other sources (a fact that the director explicitly mentions in the “making of ” of the DVD version). It may be suggested, however, that the most important falsification is an ideological one, as it transforms the crude experience of rape, and later survival through prostitution (a term used by the protagonist), into a melodrama of impossible or truculent love, possibly following the words of the protagonist, who, after hearing a story about how a girl avoids being raped by hiding under a sofa, without knowing whether or not to believe it, says “our lives are all rumours and melodrama, one big kitschy novel” (Anonyma, 2005: 131). To describe some of the moments in the film’s plot also serves to point out the cinematographic codes that function as referents within the film and that explain the misrepresentation that occurs in the same. One indication of the twist the film takes to adapt the diary can be found in the director’s own opinion (again in the DVD version) when he says the following: “the film is not about the rape of women, but mainly about the way they dealt with it. Rather than emphasizing the pain of the experience it’s more about the vital force and the survival strategies that they had to develop to get past it” 9 . One must agree with the director on this point in the sense that the diary is not 218 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez a catalogue of rapes, as some have tried to present it in reviews, but much more. In fact, the issue of sexual harassment and eventual rape does not begin in the book until it is 20 % into the narration. This does not reduce the seriousness of the issue but, paradoxically, does underline the morbid curiosity with which it is emphasized in the film, where it appears almost from the beginning, hence challenging the director’s opinion that has just been mentioned. But once again it is not the question of emphasis that in my opinion constitutes the greatest problem in the diary’s adaptation. And this is why my analysis focuses on two main points: the story that is told by the film (and especially the tone with which it is told), and the examination of certain questions posed in the diary and which the film does not sufficiently address. If we listen to the opinion of the director of the film, indeed, it deals with how the women face those rapes and the strategies they develop to overcome said experience. This is masterfully summarised by the expression “wie oft? ”, the question which the women asked each other when they met after not having seen each other in months (in Anonyma, 2005: 192, for example), to find out not if they had been raped but how many times it had happened. This appears in the diary and is represented in more than one scene in the film. However, the film ends up looking more like a sentimental melodrama and the impact of the denouncement, which for me is synthesized in that brief question, is lost, or at least weakened. The misinterpretation found in the film can be perceived if we focus, for example, on the relationship that the film establishes between the protagonist and the Russian major, and that, we recall, is based on something that occupies only 10 % of the diary. It is first important to mention the construction of the character of the major. Despite the fact that the diary presents the major as “so unfinished” (Anonyma, 2005: 143), in contrast the film attempts to portray him as having a complex, almost tormented, personality. In this way, the major, who is initially depicted as reticent regarding the women’s problems (“Those few minutes. So what? ” he says with respect to the rape [Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 36: 59]), is later shown as compassionate with them and their situation, giving the impression that he is acting tough only because there are other officers around. At another point (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 11: 27) we are shown the dissensions between Russian soldiers with regard to the dilemma of whether or not to obey an order (something that is not represented in the diary either, and that is unimaginable in the context of a war), the intention of the scene being to emphasize the personality of the major as possessing many facets and being trapped between two loyalties. At other points we are shown shots of the major looking pensive and reflecting, sometimes enigmatic, as in during the 219 Love in Troubled Times 10 The point to which this is a cliché of how much Communists love culture is for the viewer to decide. But remember the scene in 1,2,3, (1961) by Billy Wilder where the young GDR Communist, who wants to leave for Moscow with his American girlfriend that very evening, points out that he does not need much time to pack his bags as he celebration of peace (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 16: 55), where everyone shows their joy while he looks serious and taciturn. Anonyma describes him as speaking very educated Russian (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 02: 07), and another character, the widow, emphatically points out that he is so old-fashioned (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 02: 23), leaving him doubly singled out for his language and manners. This complexity in the personality of the major seems to be caused, at least partially, by his acceptance of the complexity of the real world, even in times of war. This leads him to a growing acceptance of the humanity of the enemy, in this case the German civilian population, who we see him taking pity on, even though the Germans hanged his wife (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 14: 54), a fact which is mentioned to increase the melodramatic impact, despite being an invention since in the diary all that we are told is that they were separated. The figure of the major is used to promote cultural fraternization that serves to show the humanity of the Russians, and that they do not all want to rape women (“I want to go home to my wife and kids”, says one of them [Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 53: 53]), much less participate in a war that they have been dragged into (1: 32: 54). Said fraternization culminates in a moment of celebration (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 03: 20) in which a toast is made in Russian, including the breaking of glasses, which contrasts with the toast (“Auf die Männer”) that Anonyma makes and that is shown in a flashback of the beginning of the war. The relationship between Andrei (that is the name of the major) and Ano‐ nyma is presented as one based on respect, even in the given circumstances. Andrei and Anonyma address each other as “Sie”, another sign of distinction, and he does not want her to give herself to him as if she were just another victim of rape. She undresses in front of him and shows him the physical pain she has undergone (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 46: 38), which, after that point, causes him to leave her alone. In this way she affirms her control over the relationship. Only from a place of respect do they manage to be together. That control on her part can also be seen paralleled in the major’s surrender to all of Anonyma’s charms, and so at another point they enjoy a special night together that consists of a “good conversation” (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 09: 40) 10 . 220 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez only needs to get “my chessboard, my extra shirt and 200 books” (Diamond, Wilder, 1961: 37: 33). 11 The symbolism is clear: it is the city in which the decisive battle took place that definitively changed the course of the war on the Eastern front: thus began the decline of the German Army as well as the subsequent advance of the Soviet Army that would culminate in their taking over Berlin. This creation of intimacy between them primarily leads to his protection and providing for her. This is commonplace in literature of this genre, and can also be found in the diary, and is summarized in the escalation from forced rape to rape as protection, or even prostitution. In this process, she begins to recognise the human qualities of the Russian people (“A lot of Russian men like to play Santa Claus”, she says [Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 01: 54]). But he is also rewarded and, in this way, when he defends the German civilians they can at last kiss as two sincere lovers (that is, when he begins to “switch sides” or to see the “humanity” of the German civilian population). In this context of progressive affinity surrender and the end of the war are logically presented as a problem for the lovers, as it will separate them. But before that happens, in a scene only in the DVD version, Part 2 (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 55: 24), he, an invader, gives her a gift full of symbolism: a handful of earth from the Russian city of Kursk 11 . The major’s surrender to an enemy like Anonyma does not go unnoticed amongst other Russian soldiers. First of all amongst other lower-ranking soldiers than the major, who, because of his presence in the house, realize that this woman has become taboo (to use the same term as that which appears in the diary). But this is not just a problem of competing for women’s sexual favours. In the film there is also a subtext of professional jealousy, so to speak, that has its own development, and that adds a certain melodramatic element. Hence, in a pivotal scene in the movie (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 56: 50) the major confronts his own comrades in defence of the German woman. This will eventually bring about his downfall, as he puts his fraternization with the “enemy” before his duty as a Russian soldier. Notably, in a later scene the major confronts his men again, and the Uzbek assistant, another symbol of loyalty that borders on cliché, restores the major’s authority by giving him back his cap with the red star. The film at this point leans towards the subgenre of the choice between two loyalties. The major’s heart is divided: “They will never forgive you for this” (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 58: 10), she warns him. And finally they are able to kiss “almost” as lovers. Indeed, in this scene that is central to the film (despite not being in the diary), the major is caught between two loyalties: that to his men or his army, and to his 221 Love in Troubled Times 12 For example, when he asks her whilst pointing out of a window: “What do you see? ” She says “soldiers”. But he adds “Russians, beasts, animals, as you say” (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 32: 26). feelings as a man. He confronts his men to defend his lover (who has in fact lied about the cause of the fight). Hence, later, due to this confrontation the major’s destitution comes about, as he loses his position and his honour for a woman who had lied to him, and the viewer does not miss the reference to Carmen, a femme fatale who provokes the downfall of the poor unwary man, but adapted to a German taste, that is to say, in a self-restrained manner and addressing each other as “Sie”. In the end, as in so many other melodramas, the origin of a man’s disgrace is a woman. But to add further melodrama to the story, and based on the surprise expressed in the diary at there being women soldiers amongst the Russian troops (Anonyma, 2005: 89), in the film there is a third person added in discord: it is no other than a female Russian soldier who appears throughout the film with an attitude that displays evident admiration for the major, bordering on love. This soldier is, in turn, divided between her solidarity with the German woman and the jealousy that she feels due to the major’s preference for Anonyma. This additional plotline has its climax during the long scene in which they all celebrate the German surrender (including a political commissar and the Russian female soldier, with close-ups showing their joy), except the major (in the background, lost in the crowd) and his loyal Uzbek assistant. At one point during this scene (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 20: 34) the Russian female soldier takes her chance and kisses the major, but he rejects her. This, as can be imagined, is connected to a later scene of jealousy between the Russian female soldier and the German woman in which the former warns the latter to “keep your hands off him”, (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 14: 40), and is shown, together with the commissar, to seemingly conspire against the major: she due to jealousy, the other perhaps due to professional envy awaiting the definitive dismissal of the major. Although the major insists on the common humanity of all 12 , his attitude is increasingly perceived as a type of betrayal or a sign that he has switched to the other side. Hence, he is characterized as someone who has lost his sense of reality and steals a Russian soldier’s bicycle to give it to Anonyma (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 30: 33), another argument against him, although a detail that characterizes him as a lover. The major definitely seems to have switched sides and that he has become a traitor. The film at this point seems to belong to the spy subgenre: the major has been captured by an agent of the West (Anonyma). His subsequent dismissal is the explicit proof that his “betrayal” has been discovered. 222 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez Indeed, the death of the hidden German soldier (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 26: 45), which caused the previous confrontation between the major and his men, strengthens the position of the political commissar: the film at this point acquires the features of a political thriller, affecting the protagonists in various ways: the major, trapped between his loyalty as a member of the military and, on the other hand, his humanity as a person/ his fidelity as a lover; Anonyma, who has found herself trapped between her obligation as a citizen during an invasion and her humanitarian conscientiousness in helping the persecuted (which is criticised by her neighbours [Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 29: 06]). Both lovers find themselves in an increasingly tragic situation: whatever they do they will lose, but in the end the major will lose more. In their last moments together Anonyma and the major dance at last to a Russian melody (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 38: 05), and they make plans that are impossible to carry out, or they realize the impossibility of even making plans. She confesses that she wants her husband to return (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 42: 32), in the face of which he wants to leave (after all, he is a gentleman), but she stops him and kisses him passionately, and for the first time they make love as lovers: she turns around at the door to smile at him in the bed, but the magic moment is frustrated by the suicide of the downstairs neighbour (Ilse’s husband, recently arrived from the front and a symbol of male frustration in this new situation). Once more reality imposes itself on the lovers’ desires, and the film becomes a version of West Side Story. The major seems to finally lose everything, (“damn Russian idealist”, the protagonist herself calls him [Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 46: 31]), but she admits that she likes him very much (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 46: 44). Following a ride on the bike that the major gave her she goes back to find him but finds herself face to face with the political commissar (“Andrei is no longer here”, [Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 47: 34]) and with Gerd, her returned husband, to whom she shows the diary. Gerd insults her after reading her diary (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 52: 17) and she runs away in a last attempt to see the major. When she arrives at the troops’ headquarters she crosses paths with the jealous Russian female soldier, once again with the political commissar, and with the major as he leaves apparently under arrest (although in the diary he goes to Leningrad on leave to recover from a knee injury [Anonyma, 2005: 183]). And then the final conversation with the major (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 54: 02): “I want to thank you […] for being allowed to know you”, says Anonyma. They hold hands: “How do we go on living? ” she asks, but the viewer is not clear on whether she refers to the post-war period or their separation. 223 Love in Troubled Times 13 It is not the first time that we see a group of rough people responding emotionally to piano music: in the film The Deer Hunter (1978) there is a similar scene in which the violence of the hunt is transformed into peace in the face of piano notes; and another version of the same cliché can be found in Pretty Woman (1990), when the sensitivity of the protagonist is emphasized by the tears an opera scene (significantly from La Traviata) causes her to shed. After them everyone seems greatly affected: the Uzbek assistant, the envious commissar, the jealous Russian female soldier, and the silent troop who seem to be saying goodbye to a hero: “an honourable transfer”, she says crying (creating a certain ambiguity since honour contradicts with his appearing under arrest). She leaves the bicycle abandoned on the ground (with an emphatic close-up of the same [Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 55: 41]), as a final symbol of the impossibility of their relationship. In addition to what has been outlined, the film shows some scenes that refer more to other filmic texts than the anonymous original. For example, when the piano played by the major is heard (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 21: 28), everyone, Russians and Germans alike, stop the clamour to listen closely and with deep sensitivity, showing a common appreciation for music, which in this scene functions as a symbol of culture 13 . Also, in a game of sexual compensation, when the major leaves the house, a former Russian “lover” demands his visiting rights (not to mention the figure of the young Russian soldier in love with the elderly woman whose husband had just returned from the front and who ends up becoming another member of the family): rape or the dispensing of sexual favours passes through a comic filter and the film acquires features of a sitcom, of entries and exits (as the widow says [Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 02: 55]), becoming a sequence of lovers that hide from each other, or creating suspense about what will happen if a higher-ranking lover arrives. Furthermore, in this world in which some men have been replaced by others, the film also includes a scene (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 05: 20) in which the women find a common cause and come together to make jokes about rape, husbands, compensation for sex, or word games about rifles and penises, or to comment that the Russians are poor lovers, to conclude with a toast “To us” (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 06: 32: another toast in the film, which contrasts with the previous ones), thus showing that they no longer have to wait for their husbands, and that men are now the weaker sex, undoubtedly an echo of a comment in the diary: “Among the many defeats at the end of this war is the defeat of the male sex” (Anonyma, 2005: 62). A special case is that of the somewhat flat characterisation of Anonyma’s husband. She remembers when she met Gerd and how he approached her: “Give me 30 minutes and you 224 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez 14 Once more we can refer to another story of impossible love, in the middle of another sinking, Titanic (1997), for example, where the catastrophe resolves the impossibility of interclass love. 15 Much like in another film, A Passage to India (1984), or in Die weisse Massai (2005), a film based on the culture clash protagonized, precisely, by the actress Nina Hoss, also protagonist of the film currently discussed. will never leave me” (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 21: 40), emphasizing the cliché of the husband as a presumptuous lover. The major’s affirmation when he proposes that Anonyma go with him to Moscow also borders on the kitsch: “I want to embrace you all my life” (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 36: 18), although from her perspective she would be going to Moscow as a trophy 14 . As we have seen, much of the film is based on the “loving” relationship between Anonyma and the major. The director falls back on an obvious cliché or leitmotif from films of the genre in which the relationship between the invader and the invaded are dramatized and where each ends up valuing the qualities of the other: after all we are all people and despite any differences we are essentially the same. This is seen in the diary but is emphasized in an exaggerated way (perhaps because the film was shot after the Berlin Wall had already fallen and the Russians were no longer the same enemies as before? ). Someone who had not read the book and had only seen the film would think that the story is about impossible love in the context of extreme difficulty, the war or the end of it, and where the issue of rape is marginal or peripheral to the story, as what is really being told is how, even under those circumstances an emotional and even romantic intimacy is produced based on respect and mutual loyalty. This manipulation of the original text turns the film into another story about the clash of different cultures 15 . The protagonists are turned into a kind of Romeo and Juliet, trapped by the cultural and ideological machinery of their respective sides. For the Russian this is worse and he ends up acquiring a tragic quality as, trapped in this dilemma of loyalties, whatever it is he chooses to do and whatever he decides, he will end up losing something, condemned by his superiors or by his own conscience, whilst she appears at the end as a free woman who only follows her feelings and her heart. Thus, the representation of trauma is disguised or buried beneath the afore‐ mentioned trappings of the commonplaces of cinematographic narration, which is also highlighted by the fact that the film revolves around the relationship least associated with the idea of rape. In fact, it is the most “loving” and she is almost the one who chose him, with which the film drifts towards sentimentalism in the face of the violence of the experience of rape. The trauma of rape, then, is 225 Love in Troubled Times 16 One could ask oneself what this film would be like if M. Haneke had made this version? diluted in a narrative structure based on impossible loves more typical of the Cold War than the reality of the fall of Berlin 16 . 3 Wie Oft? The melodramatic bias that the film acquires minimizes, to the point of silencing it, the most important question that is sometimes asked (in Anonyma, 2005: 139, for example) by the protagonist of the diary, and this question is simply: why do they rape women? This question can be answered on two different levels. Firstly, we can answer why these women are raped: in the film this question is replied to with the idea that “what we did was worse” (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 25: 50), that the Russians do to us what we did to them. And in the DVD version Nina Hoss adds another perspective when she refers to Anonyma as expressing the feeling that it is not her individual fate but a collective debt that must be paid, which turns the violence of rape into a type of war compensation. This idea is illustrated in the film in a scene (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 10: 30) in which a Russian soldier tells the story of the massacre of Russian children at the hands of German soldiers, a scene which is manipulatively countered by a later scene (Moszkowicz, Färberbröck, 2008: 1: 13: 04) in which another Russian soldier takes a woman against her will, presumably to rape her. How should this combination of scenes be interpreted? Is the second scene a consequence of the story of the killings? Or does the second scene compensate and equalize the violence of the story? There is a certain moral ambiguity on the part of the director on this point, as Anonyma, and all the others, hold back and do nothing to help, as if they accepted that woman’s destiny as scapegoat. Thus, the film appears to pose a solution of mutual understanding as a way to resolve the conflict portrayed (even with Andrei’s “tragic” ending), or perhaps indicating that under these circumstances that understanding is impossible. It also argues that Andrei is now committing a “crime” for which he is punished, as a parallel to the “crimes” of the Germans. Another explanation revolves around the idea, partly resultant of propa‐ ganda, of the brutality of the Red Army, to which one would have to add the abundance of alcohol which disinhibits Russians, as is pointed out in the diary (Anonyma, 2005: 203-204), which combined would justify the number of rapes that took place in Berlin. That brutality is exemplified in a scene in which a Russian spits in the protagonist’s mouth (Anonyma, 2005: 84), probably, and 226 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez 17 In his opening address to the Nazi Party Congress in Nuremberg in 1934, Rudolph Hess states that, thanks to Hitler’s leadership, Germany will reach its goal of being home to all Germans throughout the world. The exact phrase he uses is “Heimat zu sein” (Riefenstahl, Riefenstahl, 1935: 25: 15). 18 “Ein Volk, das nicht auf die Reinheit seiner Rasse hält, geht zugrunde”. paradoxically, the most violent sexual aggression. But this explanation based on brutality ignores that, despite the 20 million victims caused by the war on the Russian side, there was no comparable massacre of Germans in Berlin, as is pointed out by the director of the film in an interview included in the DVD version. A not insignificant explanation is that which refers to the territory of the symbolic. Remember that we are discussing the assault of a city, the taking of a city. On the level of collective imagination or the subconscious, rape implies the penetration of the enemy into the heart of the Heimat, if I am permitted this figurative language 17 , and entails the challenging of masculine strength whose ability to defend that which is closest and most intimate is revealed to be inadequate: the authority of the phallus is exposed, and finally disappears, leaving a disorganised space dominated by chaos, or defined by its chaotic quality, that affects the (alleged) original “purity”, as the film attempts to indicate with images of soldiers with lost stares, lacking a clear objective, which the protagonist sees. Hence the fetishized nature of rape. It is not only physical aggression per se but what this comes to symbolize in this case: the impregnation in an Aryan body of an impure, damned, subhuman force. Remember the Nazi quest to “purify” the race with projects like Lebensborn. Rape then has a value that goes beyond the purely factual and seems to be more serious than the final solution applied to the Jews. Thus, in the context of an ideology that emphasises racial purity, German women’s uteruses are established as the last stronghold, as the true Heimat, as not only the “origin of the world” (to use the words of Gustave Courbet), but as the ultimate origin of identit/ Aryan signifieds of a community defined by its racial traits. And in this context we find the confrontation between two discourses that can be illustrated by the words of Julius Streicher, editor of Der Stürmer: “a people that does not care about the purity of its race will perish” (Riefenstahl, Riefenstahl, 1935: 28: 51) 18 , compared to those of Ilya Ehrenburg, leading Soviet propagandist of the Red Army during World War II, who in a much disputed statement wrote: “Kill! Kill! In the German race there is nothing but evil; not one among the living, not one among the yet unborn but is evil! Follow the precepts of Comrade Stalin. Stamp out the fascist beast once and 227 Love in Troubled Times 19 In https: / / en.metapedia.org/ wiki/ Ilya_Ehrenburg? (Accessed on 14 January 2020.) An opinion confirmed by Solszhenytsin, quoted by Amis in his book on Stalin: “Solzhe‐ nitsyn, an artillery officer in East Prussia at the time of his arrest (1945), later wrote: “All of us knew very well that if the girls were German they could be raped and then shot. This was almost a combat distinction” (Amis, 2003: 135). Likewise, Beevor, in his well-known description of the fall of Berlin, mentions the playwright Zakhar Agranenko’s rather cynical opinion that “Red Army soldiers don’t believe in ‘individual liaisons’ with German women….Nine, ten, twelve men at a time--they rape them on a collective basis” (Beevor, 2002: 18). 20 The idea that the invasion of a territory involves a process of racial mixing is illustrated tragicomically in the so-called “Sicilian Scene”, in the film True Romance (1993). A Sicilian mafioso is told that he probably has African racial origins, which is, as insinuated in this scene, the worst of possible insults. And this is corroborated by the reaction of Tony Soprano in the series The Sopranos (1999-2007), when the protagonist meets his daughter’s boyfriend and the latter turns out to be half Jewish and half African-American, a pairing that is completely intolerable in the opinion of the mafioso. 21 Regarding this see the study by Schneider 2010. For more information one can also consult Kundrus 2002. Annosse 2011 also emphasizes the unexpected irony of 200.000 children being born from these mixed relationships in the context of a war based partly on the assumption of a racial superiority (Houzelle, Annose, 2011: 45: 10). for all in its lair! Use force and break the racial pride of these German women. Take them as your lawful booty” 19 . Hence, the ludicrous ideal of the Lebensborn project is undermined by the reality of enemy penetration and the subsequent hybridisation 20 . However, sometimes undermining the ideal of purity is merely the result of a historical irony. Indeed, due to the shortage of men the Nazis had to submit up to eleven million foreign workers to forced labour between 1939 and the end of the war to help with quotidian tasks and the German war economy. Under those circumstances relationships developed between these workers and the local female population, to the point that the regime was forced to establish sanctions to prevent this intimate contact, which it considered “rassisch unerwünscht”, measures which were doomed to fail 21 . Add to this the number of children born of rape and compare it with the meagre success of the Lebensborn project. In other words, the determined effort of the Nazi regime to purify the race failed on the other side due to the necessities created by the war and later as a result of losing it. This chaotic context immediately raises the question: where are our men? Recall the toast and the beginning of the film, “Auf die Männer”. Firstly, one should note the ambiguity of the term “Mann”: man/ soldier, which marks the configuration of man as (exclusively) a soldier and that of the soldier as (exclusively) a man (hence Anonyma’s surprise at there being female soldiers in the Red Army). Hitler, in Triumph des Willens, speaks of how, the year before, 228 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez 22 The dynamic that begins here develops throughout post-war Germany and has an accomplished representation in two films by German filmmaker Rainer Werner Fass‐ binder, Angst Essen Seele Auf (1974), and Die Ehe der Maria Braun (1979). Regarding relations between German women and soldiers, in this case Americans and in times of peace, see the study by Petra Goedde, 2003, particularly chapter 3 “Villains to Victims: The Cultural Feminization of Germany”. the “general call” was attended by “zweihunderttausend Männer” (Riefenstahl, Riefenstahl, 1935: 55: 22). That new man that is shown in that same film is a young man with a Hitler Youth uniform and his family (mother and sister, there is no father) that watch the parade from a window (Riefenstahl, Riefenstahl, 1935: 1: 27: 11), symbolizing the protection of the home by the young man, a projection of the future. But now our men, those that did not perish at Stalingrad (Anonyma, 2005: 94) are dirty men (Anonyma, 2005: 96) and a shift becomes apparent in how Anonyma’s “feelings towards men - and the feelings of all the other women - are changing. We feel sorry for them; they seem so miserable and powerless. The weaker sex” (Anonyma, 2005: 62). Indeed, in this story of survival, in which women not only suffer rape but must also be silent on the subject to avoid suffering rejection from “their” men, adding to the violence against them (Anonyma, 2005: 176), the protagonist goes from seeing herself as a victim of rape to seeing herself as someone performing a sort of prostitution (Anonyma, 2005: 141), which is based on the necessity of taking a high-ranking lover (Anonyma, 2005: 85), as our men can no longer defend us. Even in reference to the rapes (Anonyma, 2005: 139), the women create exclusive territories or taboo zones. What is seen in the diary therefore, and is not sufficiently emphasized in the film is that this part of the women’s story, which gives the women a voice (unlike other more canonical stories), and which appears more evidently in the diary, despite being merely a subtext, shows the capacity of these women to organize themselves without men, perhaps impelled or forced by the circumstances, or, conversely, precisely by taking advantage of those circumstances 22 . 4 The Same Old Story However, the above only answers part of the question raised, so let us slightly change the question: why do they rape, not these women, but women in general? The protagonist in the diary at a given moment reflects on the “naturalization” of rape in the period covered by the diary. She wonders at how the population, in particular the female part, has internalized the presence of such violence against women and compares it to what a similar act would result in during a 229 Love in Troubled Times 23 In the novel by Philip Roth, The Human Stain, this incident is alluded to. The protagonist, Coleman Silk, a Professor of Latin and Greek, begins his lessons by asking his students: “You know how European literature begins? With a quarrel. All of European literature springs from a fight”, and after relating to them the intricacies of the fight between Achilles and Agamemnon concludes: “A quarrel, then, a brutal quarrel over a young girl and her young body and the delights of sexual rapacity: there, for better or worse, in this offense against the phallic entitlement, the phallic dignity, of a powerhouse warrior prince, is how the great imaginative literature of Europe begins…” (Roth, 2001: 4-5, emphasis in the original). time of peace and how quickly it would be punished (Anonyma, 2005: 174), an example of how, to use the terminology proposed by Agamben, these women’s existence has passed from the category of bios to that of zoe: “We’re no longer a people, only a population, present and accounted for but representative of nothing” (Anonyma, 2005: 224). At an earlier point the protagonist had already expanded the focus on the reflection on the rape of Roman women by the invading Teutonic troops (Anonyma, 2005: 99), establishing an implied parallel between that fact and her present situation. This enables us to contrast the depth of the diary’s reflection with the localist superficiality of the film. War is only epic in literature or cinema, and even then not always. In real life it is dirty, sordid and seedy. War is not, as is traditionally stated, something between men, but rather something that sets men against the rest of the civilian population (children, the elderly, and women) and this is increasingly the case. Hence, from a certain point of view, the rape of these German women is not merely a question of vengeance for the millions killed in the attack of the Nazi troops on Russian soil. If war is a mere continuation of policy by other means, according to the well-known statement by Clausewitz (On War, chapter 1), then we could also say that rape is no more than a continuation of war by other means, one more part of war operations. In other words, raping women is just one more activity implicit in war, as civilians in areas of transit or conflict are well aware. A quick look at this issue gives us all types of evidence illustrating this phenomenon. The history of Western literature begins with a narrative, The Iliad, in which the trigger is a problem with Achilles’ sexual spoils 23 . This conceptualisation of women as war booty anticipates the question the readers may ask themselves at the end of Homer’s poem and this is simply: what happened to the Trojan women at the end of the Trojan war? The Greek playwright Euripides raises this question in his work Trojan Women and Esteban Santos (2007) makes an exhaustive account of these women’s various fates. However, in order not to expound at length examples from across the ages, let me jump to the present and mention how the last war that took place on 230 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez 24 One example is how the Japanese “recruited” Korean women during World War II, or the brothels in Southeast Asia for the soldiers in Vietnam, or what we are shown in another movie again related to the war in the Balkans, The Whistleblower (2010). 25 Also von Kronsbein, 2003, in his review celebrating the reissue of the original diary, emphasizes this interpretation of the events that are reflected in the book. 26 “…the unbridled raping sprees of the first few days are over. The spoils are now in short supply”, writes Anonyma in her diary (Anonyma, 2005: 139). 27 See the study by Mary Louise Roberts 2013, which documents such events. 28 Regarding this scandal and its aftermath, see for example Browne, 2007. European soil, the Balkan war, has inspired a few films in which this issue takes on a central role and is conveniently illustrated in films such as The Secret Life of Words (2005), or Venuto al mondo (2012). Although it may seem otherwise due to the eroticization of consumption in capitalist societies, sex, as a weapon used for social control, is scarce, and much more so in times of war. For this reason, soldiers take advantage of the collapse of that social control in order to satisfy what may be more a biological necessity than an ideological imperative. Sex is part of the sacking that the conqueror infringes on the defeated population. It is a men’s war (once again, “Auf die Männer”) that undeniably women end up paying for. Remember also that in war sex is part of the logistics of supply that an army needs 24 . Woman, indeed, is war booty, as is highlighted by the film’s producer, who speaks of women in that regard (in the DVD version) 25 . Those German women were spoils 26 , but it was not a singular or unique case as is already anticipated in the diary with the crude allusion to the size of Ukranian women’s vaginas in comparison to that of German women (Anonyma, 2005: 151 and elsewhere). Indeed, there were also French women who were raped by American soldiers (a case less publicized but equally real) 27 . Even in times of peace, women suffer sexual attacks from soldiers of their own army, as is shown, symptomatically, by the so-called Tailhook Scandal, in 1991, in which an officer of the American Air Force was sexually attacked by a group of fellow soldiers as part of a ritual that evidenced their rejection of women in the army, 28 this incident being only the tip of the iceberg of a situation in which American soldiers are more likely to be raped by their peers than to be shot down by enemy fire. This fact was illustrated more recently by the documentary The Invisible War, in which a court dismisses a law suit, ruling that rape is an occupational hazard of military service (Boxer, Dick, 2012: 1: 30: 00). Hence, given these antecedents, the answer to the question of why these women were raped is even more simple, and it is so simple that it reveals the implicit falsification in the previous answers: these women were raped because women are always raped in certain circumstances, not only in times of war (in 231 Love in Troubled Times 29 A broader approach to rape in armed conflict can be found in Hynes, 2004. 30 That this is a matter or choice is clear when this adaptation is compared to the work of Erika Fehse 2000, who chooses the documentary format to denounce a less serious situation with greater historical emphasis: the degrading official treatment received by German women who during the war had sustained intimate relationships, in this case voluntarily, with foreigners. In the diary these prisoners are mentioned when Anonyma sees a group of German prisoners with whom she compares them: “They didn’t look like Germans at all to me. They resembled the Russian POWs we used to see while the fighting was still on, the ones forced to clear the rubbish from the ruins. This, too, is a logical reversal” (Anonyma, 2005: 252). 31 Also, we must add as a secondary effect the later “commercial vampirism” that the diary suffers at the hands of the film, for example in the use of the film’s poster as the cover for new editions of the book, or its predominance in Google searches. the case of those German women it is only the latest link in a long chain that continues until the present day) 29 , but also in times of peace (as attested by the numerous cases of women raped in the U.S. Army, for example, by their peers in a non-war context, in other words, in the apparent safety of the barracks of their headquarters, not in the front but at home). In other words, it is clear that the rapes of these German women took place, and it is likewise clear that the individual and collective pain they caused was also very real, but if we accept that it is not only a question of facts but also of interpretations, it is also possible to suggest that certain answers to the question of why the rapes occurred imply a certain concealment of the general perspective of the situation of women in that period, before and also now. 5 Forgotten Faces The cinematographic adaptation of A Woman in Berlin made these women’s story, at least partially, more widely recognized. Nevertheless, as I have attempted to show, a detailed analysis of the adaptation reveals the film’s manipulation of the diary and the subsequent falsification of the original text, and therefore also of the story of the women’s suffering. This could be simply due to the film codes that the director chooses to use in his version of the story 30 . The filmic adaptation submits the original story to frames of reference that have nothing to do with what the reader finds in the anonymous diary, and these frames of reference unfortunately detract from the denouncement that was intended in the original text 31 . In the justification for awarding the Nobel Prize to Günther Grass, the Swedish Academy spoke of his ability to construct “frolicsome black fables [to] 232 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez 32 In http: / / www.nobelprize.org/ nobel_prizes/ literature/ laureates/ 1999/ grass-facts.html. (Accessed on 21 November 2019.) portray the forgotten face of history”. 32 The notion of rape as simply part of the collateral damage of war can lead to the silencing of these women’s true history if it is masked in a narration that, like it or not, ends up hiding the true nature of their experience. As a traumatic event, that experience has not yet found its proper place in collective memory and runs the risk of being another forgotten face of history when from the tragic reality of rape, which is summarized with extreme and stark simplicity by the expression “wie oft? ”, we have ended up going through a jumble of melodramatic clichés more characteristic of love in times of war, a war, any war, in a kind of soap opera. Bibliographical References Agamben, G. (1998). Homo Sacer. Sovereign Power and Bare Life. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Almodóvar, A. et al. (Producers) & Coixet. I. (Director). (2005). The Secret Life of Words. Spain: El Deseo S.A. Amati, P. et al. (Producers) & Castellitto, S. (Director). (2012). Venuto al mondo. Italy & Spain: Medusa Film et al. Amis, M. (2003). Koba The Dread. London: Vintage. Anderson, J.M. (2009). “A Woman in Berlin: Rape of Wrath”. In www.combustiblecellulo id.com/ 2009/ womanberlin.shtml. (Accessed on 24 March 2020.) Anonyma (1959). Eine Frau in Berlin. Genf: Kossodo. Anonyma (2005). A Woman in Berlin. London: Virago. Beevor, A. (2002). The Fall of Berlin. New York: Viking. Bekerman, D. et al. (Producers) & Kondracki, L. (Director). (2010). The Whistleblower. Samuel Goldwyn Films et al. Boxer, N. et al. (Producers) & Dick, K. (Director). (2012). The Invisible War. USA: Chain Camera Pictures / Rise Films. Brabourne, J. et al. (Producers) & Lean, D. (Director). (1984). A Passage to India. USA: EMI Films. Browne, K.R. (2007). “Military Sex Scandals from Tailhook to the Present: The Cure Can Be Worse Than the Disease”. Duke Journal of Gender Law & Policy, 14, 749-789. Bruestle, M. et al. (Producers) & Van Patten, T. et al. (Directors). (1999-2007). The Sopranos (TV Series). HBO. Cameron, J. et al. (Producers) & Cameron, J. (Director). (1997). Titanic. USA: Paramount Pictures; 20th Century Fox; Lightstorm Entertainment. 233 Love in Troubled Times Chapli, S. et al. (Producers) & Wise, R., Robbins, J. (Directors). (1961). West Side Story. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Cimino, M. et al. (Producers) & Cimino, M. (Director). (1978). The Deer Hunter. USA: EMI Films. Clausewitz, C. (1874). On War. www.gutenberg.org/ ebooks/ 1946 (Accessed on 16 Feb‐ ruary 2020.) Diamond, I. A. L. et al. (Producers) & Wilder, B. (Director). (1961). One, Two, Three. USA: United Artists. Ehrenburg, I. (1945). “Quotes”. https: / / en.metapedia.org/ wiki/ Ilya_Ehrenburg? (Accessed on 14 January 2020.) Esteban Santos, A. (2007). “De princesas a esclavas. En Troya”. Cuadernos de Filología Clásica, 17, 45-75. Fehse, E. (Director). (2000). Für eine Liebe so bestraft - Deutsche Frauen und Zwangsar‐ beiter. Germany: WDR. Goedde, P. (2003). GIs and Germans: Culture, Gender, and Foreign Relations, 1945-1949. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Grossman, A. (1995). “A Question of Silence: The Rape of German Women by Occupation Soldiers”. October, 72, 42-63. Halley, J. 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Verbotener Umgang: Ausländer und Deutsche im Nationalsozialismus. Baden-Baden: Nomos. UFA (Unspecified Producer), & Jacoby, G. (Director). (1944). Die Frau meiner Träume. Germany: Universum Film (UFA). Weinstein, B. et al. (Producers), & Scott, T. (Director). (1993). True Romance. USA: Warner Bros. Von Kronsbein, J. (2003). „Die Frau als Kriegbeute.“ www.spiegel.de/ spiegel/ print/ d-268 56197.html. (Accessed on 22 April 2020.) Ziskin, L. et al. (Producers) & Marshall, G. (Director). (1990). Pretty Woman. USA: Touchstone Pictures. 235 Love in Troubled Times 1 Dieser vorliegende Beitrag wurde vom spanischen Departamento de Filología Alemana (US) subventioniert und erfolgte im Rahmen des Forschungsprojektes „Constelaciones híbridas. Transculturalidad y transnacionalismo en la narrativa actual en lengua alemana“ (PGC2018-098274-B-I00). 2 In seiner historisch-linguistischen Analyse, schlägt Koselleck (1979) Begriffe als Indi‐ katoren vor, die man mit dem ideengeschichtlichen und gesellschaftlichen Kontext ihrer Entstehung identifizieren kann, sowie auch als Faktoren, die „im diskursiven Gebrauch außersprachliche Veränderungen bewirken“ (Brünger, 2006: 5). Anhand der Begriffe von Koselleck könnte man literarische Werke ausfindig machen, die nicht nur als Spiegelbild sondern auch als Motor der Veränderungen im kulturellen Raum und sogar in der Gesellschaft fungieren. VERFILMUNG VON ERINNERUNGSLITERATUR. Zur Darstellung der Figur Hanna Schmitz aus Bernhard Schlinks Der Vorleser  1 Leopoldo Domínguez 1 Einleitung Unter der Annahme, dass die Beziehungen zwischen Literatur und Film un‐ tersucht werden können, behauptet Stefan Neuhaus (2008: 10), dass Literatur‐ verfilmungen „den offensichtlichsten Bezug der beiden Medien zueinander darstellen“. Die Übertragung von Literatur auf Film beinhaltet Möglichkeiten und gleichzeitig Einschränkungen, die ohnehin mit den Eigenarten der zwei Kunstformen verbunden sind. Die Probleme, die im Umsetzungsprozess zwi‐ schen den beiden kulturellen Artefakten infolge der verschiedenen Codes sowie auch der Ziele, die seitens der Autor*innen, der genauen Analyse des Hintergrundes und der Auslegung der Textvorlage entstehen, werden in der vorliegenden Arbeit näher erklärt. Neben seiner weltweiten Resonanz gehört der Roman Der Vorleser zu den wenigen Werken, die sowohl als Indikator als auch Faktor der deutschen Erinnerungskultur interpretiert werden können 2 . Der Erinnerungsdiskurs, der sich seit 1945 in der Bundesrepublik über Jahrzehnte hinweg entwickelt, umfasst 3 Laut Fischer und Lorenz (2007: 193) ist allgemein unter dieser Bezeichnung „die meist autobiographische Auseinandersetzung der nachgeborenen Generation mit der nationalsozialistischen Vergangenheit ihrer Väter zu verstehen. Der überwiegende Teil der (meist männlichen) Autoren der deutschsprachigen Väterliteratur wurde zwischen 1930 und 1950 geboren. mehrere Phasen, die ebenfalls in der Literatur und anderen kulturellen Formen ihre Spuren hinterlassen. Laut Autoren wie Beßlich, Grätz und Hildebrand (2006: 11) leiten der Berliner Mauerfall und die deutsche Wiedervereinigung erneut eine „Wende des Erin‐ nerns“ ein, die sich zugleich in der Literatur widerspiegelt. Die Veränderung im Hinblick auf die Wahrnehmung von Täter und Opfer, die das Erinnerungs‐ paradigma ändert und eine neue Periode eröffnet, bestimmt das literarische Feld. Themen wie der Generationswechsel und der Betrachtungswandel der Nachgeborenen hinsichtlich der Rolle ihrer Vorgänger im Nationalsozialismus werden zum ersten Mal veranschaulicht. Die neue Perspektive, die die markante autobiographische „Väterliteratur“ 3 der 1970er und 1980er ersetzt, wird vorbild‐ lich im Werk des Bielefelder Juristen Bernhard Schlink (1944) dargestellt. Es ist aber kein Zufall, dass Autoren wie Richard Kämmerlings (2011) das Jahr 1995 als einen zentralen Einschnitt betrachten. Zum einen konzentriert sich in diesem Zeitraum die Veröffentlichung von literarischen Verkaufserfolgen (Schlafes Bruder, 1992; Der Vorleser, 1995; Crazy, 1999), die die deutschsprachige Literatur erneut nach außen öffnen (Herrmann, Horstkotte, 2016: 28-29). Zum anderen wird mit Schlinks Roman eine grundlegende Tendenz erkennbar, die zu einer neuen Zeitepoche in der Nachkriegsliteratur führt. Darüber hinaus wird ab Mitte der 1990er Jahre in der deutschsprachigen Literatur von einer „Rückkehr des Epischen“ gesprochen (Gansel, Zimniak, 2010: 11). Die neuen Impulse des Erzählens treffen mit einer Zeit zusammen, in der das literarische Schaffen mit allen seinen Erscheinungsformen besonders von einem Erinnerungsprinzip geprägt ist. Die Entwicklungen nach 1989, der Einstieg der neuen Generationen sowie die zeitliche und/ oder räumliche Distanz gegenüber den historischen Ereignissen führen zu neuen Auslegungen der Vergangenheit. Gansel (2010: 22-30) differenziert zwischen einer Gedächtnis- und Erinnerungsliteratur. Zur ersten Kategorie gehören die Werke, in denen verdrängte Geschichten und Traumata aus dem kollektiven Gedächtnis ans Licht gebracht werden. In diesen gibt es zumeist einen Ich-Erzähler, der sich aus der Gegenwart an eine vergangene Zeit erinnert. Die Inszenierung von der Erinnerung (entweder aus einem Erwachsenen- oder Kinderblick) erfolgt durch die Form von Analepsen. Im Wechselspiel zwischen einer Basiserzählung und den Rückwendungen herrscht in den Texten die Vergangenheit, d. h. die 238 Leopoldo Domínguez 4 Bernhard Schlinks Der Vorleser wurde in mehr als 50 Sprachen übersetzt und das erste deutsche Buch (unter dem Titel The Reader, 1997), das auf Platz 1 der Bestsellerliste der New York Times stand. 2004 schaffte das Buch es auf Platz 14 der ZDF-Lieblings‐ bücher. Außerdem wurde der Roman mit dem Hans-Fallada-Preis 1998, dem Prix Laure Bataillon 1997, dem WELT-Literaturpreis der Tageszeitung Die Welt 1999, dem Evangelischen Buchpreis 2000 und dem Eeva-Joenpelto-Preis 2001 ausgezeichnet. Das Buch fand auch im spanischsprechenden Raum eine große Beachtung. So wurde in einer Rezension von 1998 (1997 erschien die Übersetzung auf Spanisch) darüber berichtet, dass der Roman zu dieser Zeit in allen Buchläden in der Stadt Buenos Aires auslag. (https: / / www.revistadelibros.com/ articulos/ el-lector. (Letzter Zugriff am 30. April 2020.). Noch heute wird das Buch in vielen Ländern im Schulunterricht gelesen. zurückliegende Handlung oder die diegetische Ebene, vor. Ungeachtet einer vergleichbaren Grundstruktur differenziert sich in der zweiten Kategorie die Unsicherheit des Erinnerungsaktes. Nach Gansel stellt dieser Modus des Erin‐ nerns „einen höheren Grad an Reflexivität“ dar (Gansel, 2010: 26). Zusätzlich wird die Gegenwartsebene viel komplexer ausgebaut und spielt eine größere Rolle. Das Vergangene präsentiert sich meist als ein unvollständiges Mosaik, dessen Teile der Ich-Erzähler zu sammeln versucht, indem er sie reflexiv ein‐ schätzt. Bei den Überlegungen trifft er auf Grenzen, die nicht übertreten werden können. Die zeitliche Distanz sowie seine beschränkte Perspektive lassen viele weiße Lücken, die vom Leser zu füllen bleiben. Oft sind die Rückblenden nicht chronologisch strukturiert auf Grund der Schwierigkeiten des Erinnerns. Im Gegensatz zur Geschlossenheit, die die Gedächtniserzählungen charakterisiert, zeigen sich in der zweiten Form die Erinnerungen als etwas „brüchig, nur teilweise vorhanden und nur ansatzweise rekonstruierbar“ (Gansel, 2010: 29). Der Mangel an Sicherheit des Erzählers wirkt auf die Zuverlässigkeit seines Diskurses, was nicht unmittelbar eine Verfälschung des Geschehens bedeutet. Damit ist eher beabsichtigt, dem Leser vorzustellen, wie unvollkommen und mehrdeutig die Erinnerungen sind. 2 Unheimliche Liebe oder imaginiertes Konstrukt Zwischen 2007 und 2008 wird Der Vorleser  4 verfilmt. Die Regie von The Reader übernimmt der britische Theater- und Filmregisseur Stephen Daldry und das Drehbuch verfasst David Hare. Die englischsprachige Kinoadaption mit Kate Winslet sowie David Hume und Ralph Fiennes in den Hauptrollen wird mit zahlreichen Nominierungen für einige der renommiertesten Filmpreise ausge‐ zeichnet und wird ein beachtlicher Erfolg. Besonders wird die Darstellung von der Protagonistin gelobt, für die die britische Schauspielerin unter anderen mit dem Oscar 2009 geehrt wurde. 239 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur 5 Am 22.03.2002, nach dem Erscheinen der englischen Übersetzung von Schlinks Lie‐ besfluchten (2000), schreibt Jeremy Adler, Sohn eines Holocaust-Überlebenden, einen polemischen Brief im Feuilleton der Times. Zwar bleibt sein Angriff auf Schlinks Roman in der englischen Presse fast unbeachtet, aber er führt zu einer leidenschaftlichen Rezeption in deutschen Zeitungen. Die erste Debatte findet 1997 in den USA statt, als die englischsprachige Übersetzung von Der Vorleser veröffentlicht wird. Cynthia Ozick, Eva Hoffman sowie später Oer Bartow übten bereits am Autor des Textes heftige Kritik. Während die Amerikaner den Verweis des Analphabetismus in der Darstellung Hannas, als ein Mittel ihre Verbrechen gegen die jüdische Gemeinde zu mindern versuchen, vorwerfen, entstellt Adler das Werk als „Kulturpornographie“ oder „Schundroman, der Solidarität mit einer Täterin wecke“ (vgl. Feuchert, Hoffmann, 2005: 5). Auch Willi Winkler bezeichnet es in der Süddeutschen Zeitung als „Holo-Kitsch“ und, im Anschluss an Adlers Worte, äußert dieser: „Es wirft ein trauriges Schlaglicht auf unsere verkehrte Welt, dass diesen Schundroman ausgerechnet ein deutscher Richter ausgebrütet hat.“ (Fischer, Lorenz, 2007: 346) In Schlinks Romanvorlage beginnt die Handlung Ende der 1950er Jahre mit den sexuellen Begegnungen zwischen dem 15-jährigen Gymnasialschüler Mi‐ chael Berg und der über zwanzig Jahre älteren Straßenbahnschaffnerin Hanna Schmitz. Die Affäre zwischen den beiden Hauptfiguren steht im Mittelpunkt und gehört zu „den umstrittensten Aspekten des Werkes“ 5 . Mohr (2014) spricht von einer „unkonventionellen Liebesbeziehung“, während Autoren wie Rodeck (2009) der Meinung sind, dass „es für beide nicht wirklich Liebe, für ihn eher die Entdeckung der eigenen Sexualität und für sie ein Ausbruchsversuch aus der selbst gewählten Isolation [ist]“. Eine andere These ist, dass sie ihren unerfahrenen Sexpartner missbraucht. Wie Egle (2005) argumentiert, ist Hannas wiederholende Verwendung des Diminutivs „Jungchen“ ein Zeichen dafür, dass sie Michael nicht gleichberechtigt ansieht. Er wird „zu deren bloßem Objekt degradiert und damit auch Opfer sexualisierter Gewalt […]“. Ein anderes Beispiel von Hannas beherrschender Stellung wird im Roman geäußert, als Michael erzählt, er war „für sie nur da, weil sie sich mit [ihm], an [ihm] Lust machte. Nicht dass sie nicht zärtlich gewesen wäre und [ihm] nicht Lust gemacht hätte. Aber sie tat es zu ihrem spielerischen Vergnügen […]“ (Schlink, 1995: 42). Darüber hinaus lassen sich Michaels spätere gescheiterte Beziehungen und sexuelle Kontakte mit Frauen als direkte Folge von psychischen Belastungen dieser Früherfahrung interpretieren. Anders als im Roman fängt die erste Szene des Filmes tatsächlich mit einem Morgengespräch zwischen dem bereits erwachsenen Michael und einer Frau, mit der er zusammen die Nacht verbracht hat, an. Sie zeigt sich verwundert, dass er bisher nichts von seiner Tochter erwähnt hat und stellt ihm die Frage, ob jemand lange genug in seinem Leben geblieben ist, um den Grund seines In-sich-versunken-seins herauszufinden. Auf diese Weise wird die filmische 240 Leopoldo Domínguez 6 Nach Featherston (2009: 21) ist der Grad an Glaubwürdigkeit, die diesem Ich-Erzähler gewährt werden kann, der erste Grund für die Fragestellung der Geschichte „trotz seiner hypnotischen Ausstrahlung“. Adaption auf Michaels sexuelle bzw. sentimentale Problematik der weiblichen Hauptfigur fokussiert. Im Text wird Hannas Gestalt nur mit den Augen des homodiegetischen Erzählers dargestellt. Sogar die Aussagen anderer Figuren hinsichtlich der Protagonistin, die der Ich-Erzähler mit den Lesern teilt, sind subjektiv und muss deshalb immer in Zweifel gezogen werden. Ob er sie jemals wirklich geliebt hat, sein missglücktes Verhältnis idealisiert oder sich als Opfer ihrer Manipulationen und sexueller Ausbeutung fühlt, bleibt offen. In diesem Sinne ist der Titel des Romans mehrdeutig. Einerseits bezieht er sich auf Michaels Betätigung als Vorleser für Hanna. Andererseits beruht dieser auf sein Lebenszeugnis vor den Lesern. Parallel zum gerichtlichen Forum, in dem die weibliche Figur neben anderen Angeklagten strafrechtlich verfolgt und verurteilt wurde, lässt sich der unglaubwürdige Ich-Erzähler durch die Beurteilung des Publikums bewerten. Ebenso kann seine Bereitschaft zu erzählen als Teil einer Therapie betrachtet werden, durch die er sich von den Traumata der Vergangenheit zu befreien versucht. Im Text nennt der Ich-Erzähler eine Reihe von Argumenten, die als Dialog mit einem Empfänger angesehen werden kann: „Gerade weil sie mir auf so freie Weise sowohl nah als auch fremd war wollte ich sie nicht besuchen.“ Er wirft sogar Fragen auf, als ob er darauf wartet, dass sein Gesprächspartner diese beantwortet: Wie sollten wir uns von Angesicht zu Angesicht begegnen, ohne dass alles hochkam, was zwischen uns geschehen war. […] Aber schließlich fiel die Entscheidung, dass Hanna begnadigt und entlassen werden sollte, und die Leiterin rief mich an. Ob ich jetzt kommen könne? In einer Woche komme Hanna raus. (Schlink, 1995: 230) Ob Hanna in Schlinks Roman eigentlich existiert, hängt letzten Endes von der Annahme des Lesers und des Grades an Glaubwürdigkeit ab, die er der erzählten Geschichte gewährt. Mit der Aufhebung des Paktes bleibt jedoch die weibliche Figur eine bloße Erfindung 6 . Die These, dass der Ich-Erzähler unter Gedächtnisstörungen und der Verzerrung der Realität leidet, wäre leicht zu belegen. Zu Beginn des Werkes erinnert er sich an das Gebäude, in dem vermutlich seine Liebhaberin wohnte. Nachdem er das Haus beschrieben hat, berichtet er von späteren Träumen, in denen sich die räumlichen Koordinaten des Wohnhauses als Irrtum erweisen. Ferner sind seine Erinnerungen voller Lücken: „Ich erinnere mich nicht, im Treppenhaus jemals einem anderen Bewohner begegnet zu sein. Ich erinnere mich auch nicht mehr, wie ich Frau 241 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur 7 Man kann im Text zahlreiche Überschneidungen zwischen der fiktiven und realen Figur finden. Im 14. Kapitel des ersten Teils des Romans vergleicht Michael Hanna mit einem Pferd. Dieser Parallelismus, wie nachfolgend aufgezeigt wird, lässt sich aber auch anders interpretieren. Überdies wird in der Aussage der Tochter einer der überlebenden Jüdinnen der Verweis auf eine KZ-Wächterin, die als „die Stute“ bekannt war und deren Verhalten mit dem der Protagonistin übereinstimmt, verknüpft (vgl. Iribe, 2009: 54-56). Der Ich-Erzähler erkennt die vermutliche Verbindung, indem er sich selber fragt: „Hatten auch andere den Vergleich gezogen? Wusste Hanna davon, erinnerte sie sich daran und war sie darum betroffen, als ich sie mit einem Pferd verglich? “ (Schlink, 1995: 145). Solche Ergänzungen in der Gestaltung der Figur fehlen in der filmischen Adaption. Schmitz begrüßt habe. Vermutlich hatte ich mir zwei, drei Sätze über meine Krankheit, ihre Hilfe und meinen Dank zurechtgelegt und habe sie aufgesagt.“ (Schlink, 1995: 16-17). Die Aussage des Ich-Erzählers beruht nicht nur auf Selbstbetrachtungen und Vermutungen, sondern es gibt auch keine Zeugen, deren nachprüfbare Berichte zur Verfügung stehen könnten. Während der Film die Distanz des Zuschauers zu den Figuren und ihrem Handeln verringert und damit ihre Glaubwürdigkeit erhöht, wird im Roman die ganze Geschichte durch den Filter dieses Ich-Erzählers und seiner einzelnen Perspektive aufgezeigt. Für Rodeck (2009) stellt die literarische Erzählerstimme, die in der Adaption von Schlinks Roman abgeschafft wird, „fast immer eine unfilmische Krücke“ dar. Neben der Reduzierung der Sichtweise des Ich-Erzählers und der damit verbundenen Distanzierung des Zuschauers zu den Figuren und der Handlung des Filmes, ist die Rekonstruktion der Romanprotagonistin besonders auffällig. 3 Hannas Charakterisierung und Darstellung Die Wahl einer weiblichen Figur als Täter gehört zu den originellsten und erfolgreichsten Elementen des literarischen Werkes (Iribe, 2015: 54). Zum einen ermöglicht es die Figur Hannas, die Mitarbeit vieler Frauen im Dritten Reich in den Mittelpunkt zu rücken. Der Autor wurde wahrscheinlich von der Gestalt Hermine Braunsteiner-Ryans inspiriert, bekannt als die „Stute aus Majdanek“ 7 . Diese historische Person erhielt den Beinamen von Kobyla (Stute auf Polnisch). Angeblich stammte er von ihrer Brutalität sowie der Gewohnheit, ihre Opfer mit Stiefeln zu treten, die mit Metall beschlagen waren. Zum anderen trägt die Einführung der Figur und ihrer Beziehung zu Michael zu einem Bruch mit der Tradition der „Väterliteratur“ bei. Wie der Ich-Erzähler äußert, spielte bei der Studentenbewegung der Generationskonflikt eine wichtigere Rolle als die kritische Revision über die nationalsozialistische Vergangenheit. Die Anklage an die Vorfahren war der einfachste Weg, sich von diesen zu distanzieren 242 Leopoldo Domínguez 8 Nach Schlink (2002) wurde das Selbstbewusstsein der 68er-Generation „vorschnell und bereitwillig gegenüber der vorherigen Generation vorangestellt“. und in gleicher Weise von Verantwortung und Schuld zu befreien 8 . Schlinks Roman veranschaulichte aber, wie dieser beschuldigende Diskurs der neuen Generation schon bald ein „gewaltiges Stigma“ (Geyer, 1997: 10) wird, dem sie nicht entfliehen konnte (Vargas, 2015: 159). Der Ich-Erzähler, der zu Beginn der Geschichte die Befindlichkeit seiner ganzen Generation (Vogt, 1998) verkörpert, wird durch den Prozess erleben, wie sich der Finger der Anklage gegen ihn wendet: Der aufklärerische Eifer, in dem ich seinerzeit als Teilnehmer des KZ-Seminars meinen Vater zu Scham verurteilt hatte, war mir vergangen, peinlich geworden. Das aber, was andere aus meinen sozialen Umfeld getan hatten und womit sie schuldig geworden waren, war allemal weniger schlimm, als was Hanna getan hatte. Ich musste eigentlich auf Hanna zeigen. Aber der Fingerzeig auf Hanna wies auf mich zurück. Ich hatte sie geliebt. Ich hatte sie gewählt. Ich habe versucht, mir zu sagen, dass ich, als ich Hanna wählte, nichts von dem wusste, was sie getan hatte. Ich habe versucht, mich damit in den Zustand der Unschuld zu reden, in dem Kinder ihre Eltern lieben. Aber die Liebe zu den Eltern ist die einzige Liebe, für die man nicht verantwortlich ist. (Schlink, 1995: 202-203) Anders als die Elternliebe ist die Liebe zu Hanna schwerer zu rechtfertigen. Sie bedeutet ein aktives Vorgehen, welches das unvermeidliche, biologische Erbe übersteigt: Damals habe ich die anderen Studenten beneidet, die sich von ihren Eltern und damit von der ganzen Generation der Täter, Zu- und Wegseher, Tolerierer und Akzeptierer absetzten und dadurch wenn nicht Scham, dann doch ihr Leiden an der Scham überwanden. Aber woher kam die auftrumpfende Selbstgerechtigkeit, die mir bei ihnen so oft begegnete? Wie kann man Schuld und Scham empfinden und zugleich selbstgerechnet auftrumpfen? War die Absetzung von den Eltern nur Rhetorik, Geräusch, Lärm die übertönen sollten, dass mit der Liebe zu den Eltern die Verstrickung in deren Schuld unwiderruflich eingetreten war? Das sind spätere Gedanken. Auch später waren sie kein Trost. Wie sollte es ein Trost sein, dass mein Leiden an meiner Liebe zu Hanna in gewisser Weise das Schicksal meiner Generation, das deutsche Schicksal war, dem ich mich nur schlechter entziehen, das ich nur schlechter überspielen konnte als die anderen. (Schlink, 1995: 203-204) 243 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur 9 Die Parallelen zwischen Schlinks Biographie und die seines Erzählers sind sichtbar. Schlinks Vater verliert auch seine Stelle als Dozent an der Fakultät in der Zeit des Na‐ tionalsozialismus. Außerdem absolviert er, wie Michael, das Jurastudium, arbeitet an der Universität, ist im gleichen Alter und verbringt seine Jugend „in einer Universitätsstadt im Rhein-Neckar-Gebiet, die den Straßennamen und Ortsangaben zufolge leicht als Heidelberg zu identifizieren ist“ (Köster, 2005: 15). Anders als in der Romanvorlage ist Michael im Film von Beruf Anwalt. Ansonsten gibt es keine bedeutenden Änderungen in seiner Figur. Diese vom erzählenden Ich aufgeworfenen Fragen über die Protagonistin, die für das Verständnis des Werkes von Bedeutung sind, fehlen in der filmischen Adaption. Hannas Figur ermöglicht es, den Generationskonflikt zu erfassen und zugleich ein ethisches Dilemma aufzuzeigen, das ungelöst bleibt. Schlink (2002) stellt damit die Schwierigkeit der Liebe der zweiten Generation zur ersten dar, welche in der Nachkriegsliteratur neuartig ist, wie auch seine inszenierte Form von Liebe. Laut Egle (2005) erscheint die Liebesaffäre mit Hanna ein Aufbegehren gegen die herrschende Moral jener Zeit. Michaels aufwühlende Phantasien nach seinem Erlebnis beim ersten Besuch bei Hanna führen zu nächtlichen Erektionen. Sie erzeugen im Jüngling ein schlechtes Gewissen (Schlink, 1995: 25). Obwohl er sich dessen bewusst ist, dass „die Bilder und Szenen“, von denen er nachts träumt moralisch fragwürdig sind, beschließt er, die Frau wieder zu besuchen. Der Ich-Erzähler sagt: „Ich erfuhr Tag um Tag, dass ich die sündigen Gedanken nicht lassen konnte. Dann wollte ich auch die sündige Tat.“ (Schlink, 1995: 26) Seine Entscheidung, Hanna noch einmal zu sehen, sowie sein darauffolgendes Liebesabenteuer, stehen für den Versuch über die ethischen und sozialen Normen hinauszugehen, sowie sich innerhalb des familiären Umfeldes gegen die elterliche Autorität aufzulehnen. Im Kontext des Generationskonfliktes ist die Affäre mit Hanna das Element, das Michael benutzt, um sich seinen Vorgängern zu widersetzen. Michaels Vater wurde im Nationalsozialismus von seiner Professur entbunden, nachdem er ein Seminar über den jüdischen Philosophen Spinoza geplant hatte 9 . Da er ihm somit die Frage nach der Mittäterschaft nicht vorwerfen konnte, wäre das Verhältnis zu Hanna seine Art gewesen, gegen das Familienoberhaupt zu rebellieren: „Mir wär, als säßen wir das letzte Mal gemeinsam um den runden Tisch […] Ich fühlte mich schon wie bei einem Abschied. […] Zugleich hatte ich das Gefühl, jetzt sei der Abschied vollzogen.“ (Schlink, 1995: 40) Das Risiko, das Michael in seinen Begegnungen mit der älteren Frau eingeht, wird in jenem Moment von sich selbst als positiv empfunden: „Ich war froh […] Ich mochte nicht, wie ich aussah, wie ich mich anzog und bewegte, was ich zustande brachte und was ich galt. Aber wie viel Energie war in mir, wie viel Vertrauen, […] wie viel Erwartung […].“ (Schlink, 1995: 40, 48) Hanna gibt ihm Stärke und 244 Leopoldo Domínguez Selbstbewusstsein sowie das Gefühl, seine Volljährigkeit erreicht zu haben. Aus der zeitlichen Distanz betrachtet und aufgrund der nachfolgenden Ereignisse, muss er dagegen feststellen, dass Hanna in seiner Biographie eine verzerrende Wirkung auslöst. Wegen Hanna isoliert er sich nicht nur von seiner Familie und seinem Freundeskreis, sondern von der Generation, der er, bedingt durch seine Verbindung, nicht mehr angehören kann: „Gleichwohl hätte es mir damals gutgetan, wenn ich mich meiner Generation hätte zugehörig fühlen können“, schließt der Ich-Erzähler (Schlink, 1995: 204). Ungeachtet der Thematisierung des Generationskonfliktes, gilt Schlinks Roman als Vorbild für den „Familienroman“ und die „Erinnerungsliteratur“ der nachfolgenden Jahre. In diesen werden das vorherrschende Gefühl von Bruch und Abrechnung der „Väterliteratur“ durch die Suche eines Dialogs ersetzt. Die Erkundungen des Ich-Erzählers im Rahmen der Geschichte und der Familie entstehen aus dem Wunsch heraus, die Vergangenheit zu verstehen und sich mit dieser wieder zu versöhnen (Assmann, 2006). Das Verstehenwollen des Vergangenen benötigt die Betrachtung beider Perspektiven von Opfer und Täter (Köster, 2005: 13). Des Weiteren wird die Komplexität der Erinnerung aufgezeigt, in der Opfer und Täter nicht mehr ausschließliche Kategorien sind. Das trägt dazu bei, dass das Porträtieren der literarischen Figuren neutraler wird. Im ersten Teil der Vorlage versucht sich der Ich-Erzähler Hannas Bild ins Gedächtnis zu rufen. Die Probleme bei der Rekonstruktion ihrer Gestalt erweisen sich als Folge von Schwäche und Ungenauigkeit der Erinnerungen sowie auch als Spiegelbild des mentalen Scheideweges, auf dem er sich befindet: „Über ihr damaliges Gesicht haben sich in meiner Erinnerung ihre späteren Gesichter gelegt. Wenn ich sie vor meine Augen rufe, wie sie damals war, dann stellt sie sich ohne Gesicht ein.“ (Schlink, 1995: 17-18) Die Unfähigkeit, die Figur präzise zu beschreiben, entspricht der Schwierigkeit, eine fundierte Beurteilung über sie abzugeben. Michaels widersprüchliche Gefühle sowie seine Unbestimmtheit hinsichtlich einer moralischen Bewertung haben großen Einfluss darauf, wie Hanna dargestellt wird. Wie bereits erwähnt, lässt sich im Text eine beabsichtigte Neutralität in der Charakterisierung Hannas erkennen. In dieser treten positive und negative Aspekte abwechselnd auf. So stehen sich z. B. die Blässe ihrer Arme (17) und Augen (18), die Schwerfälligkeit ihrer Bewegung und Haltung (22) der Grobheit (8), der Kälte sowie der Härte (62) ihrer Persönlichkeit gegenüber. Darüber hinaus ist in der Beschreibung mehrmals von ihrer Kraftlosigkeit die Rede: „Sie sah müde aus“ (30); „Ihr Blick ist müde“ (77); „[…] von einer erschöpften Hanna […]“ (89). Auffällig ist, dass es in der filmischen Adaption eine Vereinfachung in der Gestaltung der Figur stattfindet. In den Einstellungen wird der Fokus auf ihre weniger brillanten Eigenschaften 245 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur 10 Wie Egle (2005) feststellt, ist dieses Reinigungsritual bei Michael auch ein Moment des Erkundens des weiblichen Körpers. Der Ich-Erzähler selbst bezieht sich mehrmals darauf in seiner Erzählung. Beispielsweise sagt er im gleichen Kapitel: „Jetzt war ich auch über das Duschen froh. Die Lust, mit der ich gekommen war, war über dem Vorlesen vergangen. […] Unter der Dusche wuchs die Lust wieder. Vorlesen, duschen, lieben und noch ein bisschen beieinanderliegen - das wurde das Ritual unserer Treffen.“ (Schlink, 1995: 64) Ein solches Ritual ist im Film nicht zu sehen. Entweder ist es Hanna in den Einstellungen, die Michael von außen wäscht, oder beide liegen voneinander getrennt in der Badewanne, während er ihr vorliest. gerichtet, mit dem klaren Ziel, schon von Beginn an das Porträt der später entlarvten Mörderin aufzubauen. Zum einen führt die nahezu vollständige Ausblendung der Perspektive des Ich-Erzählers zur Auflösung der Unklarheit über die Figur. Die Direktheit der Bilder verdrängt seine subjektive Sicht, aus der Hanna in der Originalquelle gezeichnet wird. Zum anderen werden viele Nuancen in der Beschreibung weggelassen, wodurch die Komplexität der Figur entschärft werden soll. Diese fehlenden Details im Film sind für ihre Bewertung aber von Bedeutung. Eine der am meisten kommentierten Charakterzüge von Hannas Gestalt ist ihre übertriebene Sauberkeit. Nach Featherston (2015: 27) fungierte sie als Metapher der Besessenheit einer ganzen Generation, ihre Vergangenheit zu verschweigen und zu tilgen. In der ersten Szene des Filmes wischt Hanna das Erbrochene von Michael ab. Außerdem reinigt sie Michaels Körper als unverzichtbaren Teil des nachfolgenden Geschlechtsverkehrs. Dafür benutzt sie Schürze und Badebürste, von denen in der Romanvorlage nicht berichtet wird. So wird im Film Hannas Makel betont. In gleicher Weise wird die folgende Meinung des Ich-Erzählers gestrichen, in der er ihr Verhalten etwas positiver betrachtet. Er sagt: „Ich hätte das Duschen lieber gelassen. […] ich möchte den Geruch nach Parfum, frischem Schweiß und Straßenbahn, den sie von der Arbeit mitbrachte.“ Und er fügt hinzu: „Aber ich möchte auch ihren nassen, seifigen Körper; ich ließ mich gerne von ihr einseifen und seifte sie gerne ein, und sie lehrte mich, das nicht verschämt zu tun, sondern mit selbstverständlicher, besitzergreifender Gründlichkeit.“ (Schlink, 1995: 41) Wie sich aus dem Zitat ersehen lässt, wurde das gemeinsame Baden (was im Film ebenso verändert wird), das anfangs den Jüngling störte, zu einem Ritual des Geschlechtsaktes, welches beide gleich genossen hätten 10 . Die Bedeutung der Objekte spielt gleichzeitig eine Rolle in der Vorlage. Als der Ich-Erzähler Hanna zum ersten Mal besucht, trägt sie „eine ärmellose Kittelschürze, blau mit kleinen, blassen, roten Blüten“ (Schlink, 1995: 17). Die Blässe der Farben ihrer Bekleidung ist mit der bereits erwähnten Farblosigkeit der Gliedmaßen sowie der Iris der Augen der Figur verbunden und trägt dazu 246 Leopoldo Domínguez bei, Hannas Porträt einen Hauch von Sanftheit zu geben. Es überrascht nicht, dass aus den vorher genannten Gründen dieses Detail im Kleidungsstück, das Kate Winslet im Film trug, ebenfalls übersehen wurde. Demgegenüber ist es paradox, dass der Gürtel, mit dem Hanna Michael ins Gesicht schlägt, als sie im Hotel übernachten, in der filmischen Adaption fehlt. In dieser gibt Hanna Michael nur eine Ohrfeige. Anders als im Roman, findet sie auch in einer anderen Szene statt. Die Wichtigkeit des Buches und der Akt des Vorlesens ist wiederum im Film offenkundiger. Beim ersten Besuch des Ich-Erzählers, erwähnt er vor der fremden Frau, dass er während seiner Krankheit „noch nicht mal Lust zu lesen“ hatte (Minguella, Pollack, Gigliotti, Morris, Daldry, 2008: 7: 49). In diesem Augenblick ergibt sich eine Verhaltensänderung bei Hanna, die bisher den Jüngling mit Gleichgültigkeit behandelt hat. Erst dann beschließt sie, ihn bis auf die Straße zu begleiten. Das Vorlesen sowie das Duschen werden seit den ersten Treffen Teil der Anforderungen, die Michael für sie bedingungslos erfüllen muss. Sie sucht sogar die Titel einiger der literarischen Werke aus, von dem in der Vorlage nie die Rede ist. So wird eine Verbindung hergestellt zwischen Hannas Zeit im KZ und der Art und Weise, wie sie es damals mit den jüdischen Opfern und danach mit Michael tut. Dieser Zusammenhang wird im Roman vom Ich-Erzähler nur als eine Überlegung aufgezeigt, während im Film die Meinung des Zuschauers über die Figur Hannas von Beginn an beeinflusst wird. Alle Szenen des ersten Teils des Romans richten sich im Film an den Profilaufbau der nachträglich verurteilten Täterin. Die eher unpräzise und mehrdeutige Beschreibung der Gestalt in den gesammelten Erinnerungen des Ich-Erzählers wird gelöscht zugunsten eines einfacheren und eindeutigeren Bildes des weiblichen Charakters. Aus diesen Gründen erfolgen in der filmischen Adaption Veränderungen sowie eine Verkürzung der Anzahl der Szenen. Einer der Textauszüge, die im Film nicht berücksichtigt wird, ist die Einladung von Hanna bei Michael. Der Abend, den sie zusammen verbringen, gehört zu den glücklichsten und schärfsten Erinnerungen an Hanna, die er von ihr behält: „Es ist eines der Bilder von Hanna, die mir geblieben sind. Ich habe sie gespeichert, kann sie auf eine innere Leinwand projizieren und auf ihr betrachten, unverbraucht.“ (Schlink, 1995: 76-77) Hier wird eine andere Facette von Hanna gezeigt. Zum ersten Mal erkennt der Leser, wie sich Hanna nach außen öffnet und sich für Michaels Welt interessiert. Der Ich-Erzähler vergleicht die Begeisterung und Detailliertheit, mit der die Figur die Möbel und Objekte des Familienheimes ihres Gastgebers erkundet, mit dem Genuss des Lesens eines Textes. Erneut taucht ein Verweis auf die Bedeutung des Buches im Werk auf, jedoch unter einem ganz anderen Blickwinkel. Anders als im Film, kann man in dieser 247 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur Textdarstellung eine Parallele erkennen. Dieses Erkunden, das mit dem Lesen eines Buches gleichgesetzt wird, enthält einen aktiven Vorgang. Dies könnte als ein Vorzeichen für die spätere Entwicklung Hannas interpretiert werden, in der sie nach ihrer Verurteilung im Gefängnis das Lesen lernt. Ferner werden in der filmischen Adaption einige Momente ausgespart, in denen Hanna vor Michael zerbricht. Es gibt nur eine Szene, in der Hanna eine gewisse Schwäche offenbart und die in der Romanvorlage auch nicht stattfindet. Diese Szene trägt sich in einer Kapelle zu, die Hanna während ihres Fahrradausfluges mit Michael betritt. Während der anwesende Chor singt, fängt Hanna an zu weinen. Das Bild in dieser Kapelle, das einen kleinen Riss in der Persönlichkeit der Figur aufdeckt, wird noch einmal als Mittel genutzt, um eine Retrospektive auf die vorherige Zeit der Figur im Nationalsozialismus sowie die Ankündigung ihrer Mittäterschaft sichtbar zu machen. Aufschlussreich ist im Buch auch die Szene im Schwimmbad. Bevor Hanna die Stadt verlässt, da sie im Eisenbahnbetrieb eine wichtige berufliche Stelle annehmen soll, geht Hanna ins Schwimmbad, in dem Michael sich mit seinen Schulfreunden aufhält. Im Text ist es Michael, der die Chance eines Abschiedes von Hanna, obwohl er ihre Anwesenheit wahrnimmt, verpasst. Er wusste nicht, dass Hanna sich verabschieden wollte. Da im Film Hanna von einem auf dem anderen Tag aus Michaels Leben, ohne dass es vorher ein Signal gegeben hat, verschwindet, vollzieht sich eine Drehung in der originalen Geschichte. Auf diese Weise gewinnt die These der Ausbeutung des Jünglings an Bedeutung. Offenbar war die emotionale Verbindung doch nicht so groß. Die bereits erwähnte Vereinfachung in der Gestaltung der weiblichen Figur, die im Film stattfindet, beschränkt ihre Interpretationsmöglichkeiten. Nach Gondouin (2013) stellt die Vieldeutigkeit eine der charakteristischen Eigen‐ schaften des Archetypus der femme fatale dar. Wie Ostriker (1981: 71) behauptet, „it is thanks to myth we believe woman must be either ‚angel‘ or ‚monster‘“. In der Romanvorlage erkennt man deutlicher, wie sich Hanna zwischen diesen beiden Polen bewegt. Außerdem zeigen sich mehrere Anspielungen auf die mythische Figur. In diesem Sinne spielt der Hinweis auf Homers Odyssee eine größere Rolle. Anders als im Film, ist in der Erzählung von Nausikaa die Rede. Als Odysseus auf der Insel des Phäakenkönigs Alkinoos landet, begegnet er der Königstochter Nausikaa. Sie ist mit ihren Mägden an den Strand gekommen, um Wäsche zu waschen. Nausikaa weist Odysseus den Weg zum Palast ihrer Eltern, in dem er großzügig empfangen und bewirtet wird. Ähnlich wie der Ich-Erzähler im Schlinks Werk, übernimmt Odysseus im zentralen Teil des Epos „selbst die Rolle des Erzählers und berichtet dem Hofstaat von seiner Vergangenheit“ (Heigenmoser, 2005: 27). In Homers Odyssee gelingt es dem Helden, die richtigen 248 Leopoldo Domínguez 11 Nach Heigenmoser (2005: 27) ist Michaels Unmöglichkeit zu reden eine Folge seiner Schuldgefühle. Aus diesem Grund ist er noch Jahre später nicht in der Lage, wie Odysseus, von seiner Irrfahrt mit Hanna zu erzählen. Worte zu finden. Seine Rede wird von den Anwesenden als eine Probe ihrer Ehrlichkeit und seinem guten Willen betrachtet. Michaels Sprachlosigkeit im Roman ist aber ein Zeichen dafür, dass er einen geheimen Gedanken verbirgt, der ihn lähmt 11 : Als der Lehrer mich mit Sophie aufgezogen und die Klasse zu lachen aufgehört hatte, stotterte ich wegen etwas anderem. Nausikaa, den Unsterblichen an Wuchs und Aussehen gleichend, jungfräulich und weißarmig - sollte ich mir dabei Hanna oder Sophie vorstellen? Es musste eine von beiden sein. (Schlink, 1995: 83-84) Nausikaa teilt einige Merkmale mit Hanna und Sophie. Für Reisner (2001: 58-59) wird Nausikaa in Homers Odyssee als „hohe, blühende Jungfrau“ (Homer, VI, 109) und als „lilienarmige Jungfrau“ (Homer, VI, 186) beschrieben, wobei die Bezüge zu Sophies „goldenen Härchen auf den nackten Armen“ (Schlink, 1995: 81) ersichtlich werden. Wie Nausikaa stellt Sophie die Reinheit und Virtuosität dar. Zudem interessiert sie sich für den Helden und bietet ihm die Möglichkeit, ihre Hilfe zu leisten, die er jedoch ablehnt: „‚Vielleicht kann ich ein andernmal darüber reden‘, sagt er. ‚Aber es kam nie dazu.‘“ (Schlink, 1995: 94) Ursache dafür wäre vielleicht, dass in den Augen Michaels Homers Figur nicht mit Sophie, sondern mit Hanna verbunden ist. Zum einen werden „ihre nackten [blassen] Arme“ (Schlink, 1995: 17) zur weissarmige[n] (Homer, VII, 239) Nausikaa offenkundig. Zum anderen zeigen Hannas Reinigungsrituale Parallele zu Homers Text. Daneben gibt es weitere Überschneidungen von Schlinks Hanna und anderen weiblichen Figuren in Homers Odyssee. Sowohl mit der Nymphe Kalypso als auch mit der Zauberin Kirke hat Homers Held nicht nur sexuellen Kontakt, sondern wird zugleich von beiden Figuren gebadet und „mit duftenden Kleidern“ (Homer, V, 264) angezogen. Vor allem schafft der Roman eine stoffliche Nähe zur „schöngelockten Göttin“ (Homer, X, 220, 330). Neben der Dauer der Liebesaffäre zwischen Michael und Hanna, die dem Zeitraum, in dem Odysseus bei Kirke bleibt, ähnelt, lassen sich die zwei männlichen Gestalten von den Frauen verführen. Von der Verlockung, die Hanna gegenüber Michael anwendet, wird bereits in der Erzählung bei Michaels erstem Besuch berichtet. Während ihres Gespräches in Hannas Küche wird seine Aufmerksamkeit auf ihre Kleidung, Frisur und ihre Unterwäsche, die sie vor seinen Augen bügelt, gelenkt. Auch als Michael im Flur auf sie wartet, beobachtet er durch einen Türspalt, wie sie sich ihre 249 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur 12 Der Ich-Erzähler spricht im Roman über eine Unfreiwilligkeit seines Handelns bzw. einen unheimlichen Trieb, welcher aus einer unvermeidlichen, höheren Kraft stammte. So sagt er: „Ich weiß nicht, warum ich es tat. […] Ich denke, komme zu einem Ergebnis in meiner Entscheidung fest und erfahre, dass das Handeln eine Sache für sich ist und der Entscheidung folgen kann, aber nicht folgen muss. […] Es, was immer sein mag, handelt; es fährt zu der Frau, der ich nicht mehr sehen will […] Ich meine nicht, dass Denken und Entscheiden keinen Einfluss auf das Handeln hätten. Aber das Handeln vollzieht sich einfach, was davor gedacht und entschieden wurde. Es hat seine eigene Quelle […].“ (Schlink, 1995: 27-28) Strümpfe überzieht. Trotz seiner Bemühungen nicht hinzusehen, kann er den Blick nicht davon abwenden. Nach Egle (2005) wird es auffällig vom Ich-Erzähler mit „voyeuristischer Genauigkeit“ beschrieben, obwohl er sich an andere Details dieser Szene nicht mehr erinnert. Der Anblick erregt seine sexuellen Phantasien, denen er nicht entkommen kann. Als Michael aus der Distanz den erotischen Moment zu rekonstruieren versucht, spricht er von einem „Rätsel“. Er sagt: Warum hatte ich die Augen nicht von ihr lassen können? Sie hatte einen sehr kräftigen und sehr weiblichen Körper, üppiger als die Mädchen, die mir gefielen und denen ich nachschaute. Ich war sicher, dass sie mir nicht aufgefallen wäre, wenn ich sie im Schwimmbad schon gesehen hätte. Sie hatte sich nicht nackter gezeigt, als ich Mädchen und Frauen im Schwimmbad gesehen hätte. (Schlink, 1995: 21) Da er sich fragt, warum seine Wahrnehmung an die Frau so gebannt wurde, er‐ gibt sich die Möglichkeit, diese als eine Art Zauberei zu lesen, die, ungeachtet der Selbstbetrachtung des Ich-Erzählers, eine bewusste Reaktion in ihm auslöste 12 . Ein Grund, der diese These unterstützt, ist, dass Hanna nicht verwundert war, als Michael Tage später vor ihrer Tür stand (Schlink, 1995: 30). Außerdem ist es klar, dass sie von ihrer sexuellen Anziehungskraft weiß, als sie die Initiative übernimmt, sich vor Michael auszuziehen und dabei sein „steifes Geschlecht“ zu berühren (Schlink, 1995: 34). Aus dieser Perspektive betrachtet, wären seine vagen Erinnerungen auch eine Folge der Betäubung des Ich-Erzählers in diesen ersten Begegnungen mit Hanna. In der Romanvorlage ist weiterhin die Anspielung auf Tiere erkennbar. In Homers Odyssee lebte Kirke mit wilden Tieren zusammen. Vermutlich waren diese ihre männlichen Opfer. In einem Gespräch am Ende des ersten Teils des Werkes schlägt Hanna Michael vor, ein Tier auszuwählen, welches er mit ihr gleichsetzen würde. „‚Ich könnte‘, sagt er, ‚Cheval zu dir sagen oder Hottehüh oder Equinchen oder Bukeffelchen. Ich denke bei Pferd nicht an Pferdegebiss oder Pferdeschädel oder was immer dir nicht gefällt, sondern an etwas Gutes, Warmes, Weiches, Starkes‘“ (Schlink, 1995: 88). Die geäußerte Doppeldeutigkeit der Figur, die auch bei der Gestaltung von Homers Kirke zusehen ist, wird 250 Leopoldo Domínguez bei Michaels Begründung seiner Wahl wiederholt erläutert. Des Weiteren kann man in der erwähnten Szene zum Streit im Hotel eine Parallele zu Kirke entdecken. In dieser schlägt Hanna Michael ins Gesicht mit ihrem „schmalen, ledernden Gürtel“ (Schlink, 1995: 68). Neben der Darstellung der devoten Rolle der männlichen Figur in der gewalttätigen Demonstration Hannas („Ich war furchtbar erschrocken“, Schlink, 1995: 68), erinnert dieses Bild von Hanna mit dem Gürtel in der Hand an die Malerei Pornocratès (1878) von Félicien Rops. Hier wird Homers Figur durch eine halbnackte und korpulente Frau, die mit einem an der Leine geführten Schwein spazieren geht, gezeigt. Diese Aspekte, die bei Schlink und Homer verglichen werden könnten, wurden im Film nicht berücksichtigt. 4 Gedächtnis- oder Erinnerungsroman Barthes (1970) unterscheidet zwischen lesbaren (lisibles) und schreibbaren (scriptibles) Texten. Erstere beschränken die Rolle des Lesers aufgrund der klaren Festlegung seiner Bedeutung auf ein passives Betrachten. Zweitere enthalten eine Komplexität, deren Entzifferung einen aktiv-produktiven Leser verlangen, der alle seine Sinne einsetzt. Die Abschaffung des Ich-Erzählers, die hinzukommende Reduktion des Zusammenspiels von der Gegenwarts- und Vergangenheitsebene sowie die Vereinfachung in der Gestaltung von Hannas Figur, die in der filmischen Adaption stattfinden, führen dazu, dass die Interpre‐ tationsvielfalt der Romanvorlage in einen lesbaren Text nach Barthes verkürzt wird. Hinsichtlich des Generationskonfliktes wird dieser im Film anders als im Roman dargestellt und rückt in den Hintergrund. Wie der Ich-Erzähler in Schlinks Werk erwähnt, entwickeln die Studen*innen, die am Seminar über die Gerichtsverfahren teilnehmen, „eine starke Gruppenidentität“ (Schlink, 1995: 112). Sie sehen sich als „Avantgarde der Aufarbeitung“ (Schlink, 1995: 110) und sind alle der Meinung, dass Urteile nötig waren und das als einen ersten Schritt: „Die Generation, die sich der Wächter und Schergen bedient oder sie nicht gehindert oder sie nicht wenigstens ausgestoßen hatte, als sie sie nach 1945 hätte ausstoßen können, stand vor Gericht, und wir verurteilten sie […].“ (Schlink, 1995: 111) Die allgemeine Begeisterung und der Eifer, die sie während des Semesters teilen, fehlt in der filmischen Adaption. Obwohl Michael im Laufe des Prozesses gegen Hanna Schuldgefühle erlebt, die ihn vom Rest der Studentengruppe distanzieren, wird er von den anderen weder ausgeschlossen noch erhält er einen Vorwurf. Erst auf der Beerdigung des Seminarleiters wird Michael von einem ehemaligen Mitstudenten nach dem 251 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur Grund seines ungewöhnlichen Interesses an den Sitzungen des Gerichts und sein Verhältnis zu Hanna gefragt. Wie der Ich-Erzähler vom angeblichen Gespräch berichtet: „Wir alle haben uns gefragt, was mit dir und ihr ist, aber dich fragen hat sich keiner getraut.“ (Schlink, 1995: 212) Die Figur Hannas sowie der Verdacht von Michaels Verbindung zu ihr sind im Film dagegen ein Element, das den lockeren Zusammenhalt der Seminargruppe zerbrechen lässt. Außerdem wird die im Roman gezeigte kollektive Anklage an die Generation der Eltern aufgrund ihrer Mittäterschaft in der filmischen Adaption auf eine individuelle und einzigartige Stellungnahme reduziert. Zusätzlich wird diese Auffassung viel extremer inszeniert. „[…] warum habt ihr euch nicht umgebracht“, fordert einer der Seminarteilnehmer, „als ihr es erfahren habt? […] Weißt du, was ich täte? Die Pistole in die Hand nehmen und sie selbst erschießen. Ich würde sie alle erschießen“ (Minguella, Pollack, Gigliotti, Morris, Daldry, 2008: 1: 05: 03). Der Radikalismus der Filmszene, von dem die Väterliteratur geprägt ist, wird aber in Schlinks Werk zurückgelassen. Im Roman ändert sich die Haltung des Ich-Erzählers während des Semesters. Er bereut nicht nur das Gebaren und Überlegenheitsgefühl seiner Generation, sondern er macht den Versuch, sich seinem Familienoberhaupt zu nähern. Ein Beispiel dafür ist der gescheiterte Dialog mit dem Vater, als Michael ihn wegen Hanna um Hilfe bittet. Im Film wird der Vater durch den Professor ersetzt. Wie bereits erwähnt, wird im Film die These der sexuellen Ausbeutung der Protagonistin und ihre darauffolgende Wirkung in Michaels Leben besonders hervorgehoben. Als Michael gemeinsam mit seinem Kind Julia nach seiner Scheidung seine Mutter besucht, äußert sie ihr Bedauern darüber, warum er zur Bestattung seines Vaters fehlte. Als Michael Ausreden sucht, um sich dafür zu entschuldigen, sagt die Mutter erstaunlicherweise, es ging nicht um seinen Vater sondern um ihn. Seine Abwesenheit bereitete ihr große Sorgen. Michael ist noch zu sehr mit der vergangenen Zeit verbunden, sodass er Hanna über Tonaufnahmen weiter vorliest. Damit versucht er auch seine Schuldgefühle zu beruhigen. Er hatte im Gerichtsverfahren dem Richter nicht über Hannas Analphabetismus berichtet. Als Michael den Anruf von der Leiterin des Gefängnisses bekommt (in der Romanvorlage erhält er die Mitteilung durch einen Brief), wird er erneut daran erinnert. Er hatte gehofft, sich nicht mehr mit seinen Traumata auseinandersetzen zu müssen. Nach Featherston (2015: 34) hat Michael eigentlich kein Interesse daran, in einen Dialog mit der Vergangenheit zu treten. Aus diesem Grund macht er keine Bemerkungen in den Tonaufnahmen und antwortet nicht auf Hannas Briefe. In Schlinks Werk sitzt Hanna beim Besuch von Michael im Gefängnis auf einer Bank mit einem Buch in den Händen. Als er Hanna fragt, ob sie in diesen 252 Leopoldo Domínguez Jahren über ihre begangenen Taten nachgedacht hat, erklärt sie ihm, dass die Toten sie ständig in ihrer Zelle heimsuchten. Nach ihrem Selbstmord erfährt er durch die Leiterin, dass sich Hanna, nachdem sie mit dem Lesen begann, in der Bibliothek der Anstalt einige Bücher über den Holocaust ausgeliehen hat: „Primo Levi, Elie Wiesel, Tadeusz Borowski, Jean Améry - die Literatur der Opfer neben den autobiographischen Aufzeichnungen von Rudolf Höss, Hannah Arendts Bericht über Eichmann in Jerusalem und wissenschaftliche Literatur über Konzentrationslager.“ (Schlink, 1995: 243) Weiterhin hat sie Michaels Tonaufnahmen anderen, blinden, Strafgefangenen zum Hören über‐ lassen. Diese Informationen, die in der filmischen Adaption fehlen, unterstützen im Roman die Darstellung der Vielschichtigkeit Hannas. Im Film führt es dazu, dass der Zuschauer diese Multiperspektivität über die Figur nicht wahrnehmen kann. So entsteht ein schwarz-weißes Bild von der Gestalt, welches mit der Textvorlage nicht übereinstimmt und nur dem Aufbau eines Profils als Mörderin dienen soll. Als Michael Hanna in der filmischen Adaption fragt, ob sie irgendwann an das Vergangene gedacht hat, reagiert sie eher gleichgültig. Sie sagt: „Es kommt nicht darauf an, was ich fühle. Es kommt nicht darauf an, was ich denke. Die Toten sind immer noch tot.“ (Minguella, Pollack, Gigliotti, Morris, Daldry, 2008: 1: 37: 14) Darüber hinaus behauptet sie, im Gefängnis nicht mehr als das Lesen gelernt zu haben. Das bedeutet, dass sie nur für den persönlichen Ehrgeiz zu lesen gelernt hat und nicht in der Lage ist, den Opfern gegenüber Mitleid zu empfinden. Durch das Lesen wächst in der Romanvorlage das Bewusstsein Hannas für die historischen Ereignisse. Infolge dieser Entwicklung beginnt sie sich selbst zu vernachlässigen. Während sie früher peinlichst auf Sauberkeit achtete, interessiert es sie jetzt nicht mehr. Dieses Aufgeben könnte ein Zeichen dafür sein, dass sie sich damit abgefunden hat, die Vergangenheit endlich zu akzeptieren und sie nicht ständig zu verdrängen zu versuchen. „Aber die Seife hat die Gerüche nur überdeckt, und nach einer Weile sind sie immer wieder da“ (Schlink, 1995: 233), beschreibt der Ich-Erzähler. Auch die Leiterin des Gefängnisses äußert sich dazu: Sie [Hanna] wirkte dabei nicht unglücklich oder unzufrieden. Eigentlich war es, als hätte der Rückzug ins Kloster nicht mehr genügt, als gehe es selbst im Kloster noch zu gesellig und geschwätzig zu und als müsse sie sich daher weiter zurückziehen, in eine einsame Klause, in der niemand mehr sieht und Aussehen, Kleidung und Geruch keine Bedeutung mehr haben. Nein, dass sie sich aufgegeben hat, war falsch gesagt. Sie hat ihren Ort neu definiert, in einer Weise die für sie gestimmt […] hat. (Schlink, 1995: 247) 253 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur 13 Um sich das Leben zu nehmen, wird in der filmischen Adaption, anders als in der Vorlage, gezeigt, wie Hanna dafür einen Stapel Bücher benutzt. Unter diesen sind einige Werke zu erkennen, aus denen Michael ihr vorlas. Darüber hinaus findet Michael, als er nach Hannas Selbstmord ihre Zelle besucht, ein an der Wand befestigtes Fragment von Anton Tschechows Die Dame mit dem Hündchen. Am Ende des Werkes treffen sich heimlich die Liebenden wieder. Die Erwartungen Hannas, die Michael erneut in ihr weckt, werden aber bei ihrem letzten Treffen im Gefängnis nicht so wie in der Erzählung Tschechows erfüllt. Das führte dazu, dass Michael nach Hannas Tod noch mehr Schuldgefühle entwickelt. Auf diese Art suchte Hanna durch den Selbstmord ihre Schuld zu sühnen. Eine andere Interpretation zu ihrem Tod könnte als Reaktion von Michaels Ablehnung verstanden werden. Im Text, anders als im Film, bleibt sie aber ohne große Bedeutung 13 . Der Roman endet mit Michaels Besuch an Hannas Grab. Während er hier alleine zum Friedhof fährt, begleitet ihn in der filmischen Adaption Julia. Diese letzte Änderung vom Buch zum Film ist auch nicht zu übersehen. Mit seiner Beichte will Michael sich seiner Tochter öffnen und zugleich die vergangene Zeit mit Hanna zurücklassen. Einerseits ersetzt die Tochter im Film den Kreis der Leser, welches ihn in ein besseres Licht stellen soll. Andererseits versucht er damit dieses Kapitel seines Lebens endgültig zu schließen. In der Romanvorlage erkennt der Ich-Erzähler, dass dieses nicht zu erreichen ist. Die Unmöglichkeit, seine Geschichte zu beenden, entspricht den Schwierigkeiten des Erinnerns. Das wird als ein immer noch offener Prozess betrachtet: Die Schichten unseres Lebens ruhen so dicht aufeinander auf, dass uns im Späteren immer Früheres begegnet, nicht als Abgetanes und Erledigtes, sondern gegenwärtig und lebendig. Ich verstehe das. Trotzdem finde ich es manchmal schwer erträglich. Vielleicht habe ich unsere Geschichte doch geschrieben, weil ich sie loswerden will, auch wenn ich es nicht kann. (Schlink, 1995: 258) Sein Erzählen kann zwar eine kathartische Wirkung haben, aber es gelingt ihm nicht, mit den Erinnerungen fertig zu werden. Des Weiteren wird in seiner Aussage deutlich gemacht, dass die Geschichte nur fragmentarisch zur Verfügung steht und aus diesem Grund seine Vision des Erlebten partiell und unvollendet bleiben soll: Den Vorsatz, Hannas und meine Geschichte zu schreiben, habe ich bald nach ihrem Tod gefasst. Seitdem hat sich unsere Geschichte in meinem Kopf viele Male geschrieben, immer wieder ein bisschen anders, immer wieder mit neuen Bildern, Handlungs- und Gedankenfetzen. So gibt es neben der Version, die ich geschrieben habe, viele andere […]. (Schlink, 256-257) 254 Leopoldo Domínguez 5 Schlussbemerkungen Ausgehend von Gansels Definition zur Gedächtnis- und Erinnerungsliteratur, folgt Schlinks Roman, anders als seine filmische Adaption, dem Modell der Erinnerungsliteratur. Während sich der Text auf die Schwierigkeiten der Erin‐ nerungsprozesse und der heutigen Betrachtung der Vergangenheit, in der Opfer und Täter nicht mehr antagonistische Kategorien sind, fokussiert, steht im Film die verbotene Liebe zwischen Michael und Hanna sowie ihr dunkles Geheimnis im Vordergrund. Außerdem führen der direkte Zugang zu den Figuren und deren Handlung sowie die Verkürzung des Wechselspiels zwischen der Basiserzählung und den Rückblenden zu einer größeren Bedeutung der diegetischen Ebene sowie der Erhöhung der Glaubwürdigkeit des Erzählten, was in der Vorlage nicht stattfindet. Darüber hinaus wird durch eine vereinfachte Darstellung Hannas, zugunsten des Aufbaus eines Täterprofils, ihre Interpretationsvielfalt und damit die Sinndeutung der Romangeschichte reduziert. Ein Grund dafür könnte sein, dass die Widersprüchlichkeit ihrer Person und die Rolle des Anal‐ phabetismus in Hannas Porträt deshalb begrenzt wurden, um die entstandenen Kontroversen des Romans nicht auf den Film zu übertragen. Andernfalls ginge es um eine fragwürdige Auslegung des kulturellen Kontextes, in dem Schlinks Werk konzipiert wurde. In diesem wird der Akzent nicht auf die Offenlegung neuer blinder Flecken der nationalsozialistischen Hinterlassenschaft gelegt, sondern eher auf die Thematisierung des neuen Blickes in der Erinnerungs‐ kultur bzw. der zitierten „Wende des Erinnerns“, die im Roman paradigmatisch und als Novum präsentiert wird. Bibliographische Referenzen Assmann, A. (2006). Generationsidentitäten und Vorurteilsstrukturen in der neuen Erinne‐ rungsliteratur (Wiener Vorlesungen im Rathaus, vol. 117, hg. von Hubert Christian Ehalt). Wien: Picus. Barthes, R. (1979). S/ Z. Paris: Seuil. Beßlich, B., Grätz, K., Hildebrand, O. (2006). „Wende des Erinnerns. Geschichtskonstruk‐ tionen in der deutschen Literatur nach 1989.“ In B. Beßlich, K. Grätz, O. Hildebrand (Hrsg.). Wende des Erinnerns. Geschichtskonstruktionen in der deutschen Literatur nach 1989 (7-17). Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag. Brünger, S. (2006). „Kriege der Erinnerung - Deutsche Erinnerungskultur zwischen Literatur und Geschichtswissenschaft anhand Günter Grassʼ Novelle Im Krebsgang“. (Magisterarbeit) https: / / madoc.bib.uni-mannheim.de/ 1350/ 1/ Magisterarbeit_Bruenger. pdf. (Letzter Zugriff am 15. April 2020.) 255 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur Minguella, A., Pollack, S., Gigliotti, D. Morris, R. (Produktion) & Daldry, S. (Regie). (2008). Der Vorleser (The Reader). München: Universum Film GmbH, 2011. Egle, G. (2005). „Sexueller Missbrauch oder einvernehmliche Einführung in heterosexu‐ ellen Praktiken? “. www.teachsam.de/ deutsch/ d_ubausteine/ aut_ub/ schl_ub/ schl_vor l_ub_17.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 15. April 2020.) Featherston, C. A. (2015). “El lector: relaciones entre narración, memoria y trauma”. In C.A. Featherston, N. G. Iribe, M. G. Mainero, (2015). Trauma, memoria y relato (9-36). La Plata: Editorial de la Universidad de La Plata. Feuchert, S., Hoffmann, L. (2005). Bernhard Schlink: Der Vorleser. Lektüreschlüssel. Stutt‐ gart: Reclam. Fischer, T., Lorenz, M. N. (2007). Lexikon der ‚Vergangenheitsbewältigung‘ in Deutschland. Debatten- und Diskussionsgeschichte des Nationalsozialismus nach 1945. Bielefeld: transcript. Gansel, C. (2010). „Formen der Erinnerung in der deutschsprachigen Literatur nach 1989.“ In C. Gansel, P. Zimniak, (Hrsg.). Das ‚Prinzip Erinnerung‘ in der deutschsprachigen Literatur nach 1989. (19-35). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Gansel, C., Zimniak, P. (2010). „Zum ‚Prinzip Erinnerung‘ in der deutschsprachigen Literatur nach 1989. Vorbemerkungen.“ In C. Gansel, P. Zimniak (Hrsg.). Das ‚Prinzip Erinnerung‘ in der deutschsprachigen Literatur nach 1989. (11-15). Göttingen: Vanden‐ hoeck & Ruprecht. Geyer, M. (1997). “The place of Second World War in German Memory and History”. New German Critique, 71, 5-40. Gondouin, S. (2013). „Circé l’ambiguë: quelques révisions d’une figure mythique dans la littérature hispano-américaine“. Cahiers d’études romanes, 27. http: / / journals.openedi tion.org/ etudesromanes/ 4078 (Letzter Zugriff am 15. April 2020.) Heigenmoser, M. (2005). Erläuterungen und Dokumente. Bernhard Schlink Der Vorleser. Stuttgart: Reclam. Hermann, L., Horskotte, S., (2016). Gegenwartsliteratur. Eine Einführung. Stuttgart: J.B. Metzler. Homer. Odysee. Griechisch/ Deutsch. Übersetzung von Johann Heinrich Voß. https: / / got twein.de/ Grie/ hom/ od01.php. (Letzter Zugriff am 15. April 2020.) Iribe, N. G. (2015). „La narración, la criba de la historia: El lector de Bernhard Schlink“. In C. A. Featherston, N. G. Iribe, M. G. Mainero, (2015), Trauma, memoria y relato (37-74). La Plata: Editorial de la Universidad de La Plata. Köster, J. (2005). Der Vorleser. Interpretation von Juliane Köster. München, Düsseldorf, Stuttgart: Oldenbourg. Koselleck, R. (1979). „Begriffsgeschichte und Sozialgeschichte.“ In R. Koselleck (Hrsg.). Historische Semantik und Begriffsgeschichte. (19-36). Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. 256 Leopoldo Domínguez Mohr, P. (4. Juli 2014). „Spagat zwischen Recht, Moral und Spannung. Zum 70. Geburtstag des Erfolgsschriftstellers Bernhard Schlink.“ Literaturkritik.de. https: / / literaturkritik. de/ id/ 19430. (Letzter Zugriff am 15. April 2020.) Neuhaus, S. (2008). „Vorspann.“ In S. Neuhaus (Hrsg.). Literatur im Film: Beispiele einer Medienbeziehung. (7-10). Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 7-10. Ostriker, A. (1982). “The thieves of language: Women Poets and Revisionist Mythmaking”. Signs, 8 (1), 68-90. Reisner, H.-P. (2001). Lektürehilfen. Bernhard Schlink, Der Vorleser: Stuttgart: Klett. Rodek, H.-G. (6. Februar 2009). „‚Der Vorleser‘ überzeugt trotz Hochglanz-KZ.“ Die Welt. www.welt.de/ kultur/ article3159478/ Der-Vorleser-ueberzeugt-trotz-Hochglanz- KZ.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 15. April 2020.) Schlink, B. (1995). Der Vorleser. Zürich: Diogenes Deluxe, 2017. Schlink, B. (2000). Liebesfluchten. Zürich: Diogenes. Schlink, B. (2. November 2002). “La culpa colectiva irá disminuyendo”. El País. http: / / elpais.com/ diario/ 2002/ 11/ 09/ babelia/ 1036802355_850215.html. (Letzter Zugriff 15. April 2020.) Vargas Álvarez, S. (2015). “La literatura como trabajo de memoria: disputas por la definición de pasados conflictivos en dos obras de ficción”. História da Historiografia, 8 (17), 153-170. Webseiten www.revistadelibros.com/ articulos/ el-lector (Letzter Zugriff am 15. April 2020.) 257 Verfilmung von Erinnerungsliteratur PART 4 DEMANDING THEIR OWN VOICE, STATING THEIR OWN NEEDS “O JAMESY LET ME UP OUT OF THIS”. Molly Bloom in Joseph Strick’s and Sean Walsh’s Films Margarita Estévez-Saá Molly Bloom, the female protagonist of James Joyce’s Ulysses, has become one of the most powerful and complex representations of a woman in fiction. Not‐ withstanding, her characterisation provoked endless debates and controversies that began almost as soon as the novel was published. The disputes about Joyce’s rendering of a woman’s condition were inaugurated by the writer’s own intimate circle, being his wife Nora Barnacle and his friend psychoanalyst Carl Jung early instigators of the controversy. It is well-known that Nora considered that her husband had no idea about women whereas Jung, after reading Ulysses, defended that “the devil’s grandmother knows so much about the real psychology of a woman, I didn’t” (Ellmann, 1983: 629). This debate has been perpetuated by Joycean scholars divided between those who consider Molly as the fictional representation of a woman by a misogynist and, especially from the 1980s, a series of revisions that welcomed Joyce’s multidimensional protagonist as the embodiment of the complexity of the woman condition in early-twentieth-century patriarchal Ireland, and even detected the deployment of a rebellious and vindictive New Woman. The staging of Molly Bloom in the film versions of Joyce’s Ulysses by Joseph Strick (Ulysses, 1967) and by Sean Walsh (Bloom, 2003) has not escaped the controversy. The present contribution delves into the visual rendering of Joyce’s female protagonist and argues that the differences that can be detected between the two performances by Barbara Jefford and Angeline Ball respectively illustrate two models of femininity. As we intend to demonstrate, they correspond, first, to the directors’ main objectives when filming Joyce’s novel, since Strick wanted to appeal both to Joyce specialists as well as novices, while Walsh’s main purpose was to address his film to a general audience unacquainted with the book. Second, despite the two actresses’ undeniably serious attempts at visualising a powerful character, we have detected how their performances are inevitably influenced, if not constrained, by the historical moment in which the filmings took place and thus, not only the directors’ ideological, political and cultural stances should be considered but also their respective target audiences’ contexts. Third, our analysis includes a study of the more or less successful rendering in both films of minor female characters such as Milly Bloom, Dilly Dedalus, Mrs Breen and, above all, Gerty MacDowell, as far as it is our contention that their presence contributes in Joyce’s novel to understand the complexity and even ambiguity of Molly Bloom’s attitudes and claims. Consequently, their omission or simplification in the films undoubtedly affects the spectators’ perception of Molly Bloom. 1 Women in James Joyce’s Fiction: The Controverted Molly Bloom The representation of women in James Joyce’s fiction has been the subject of a debate that has been maintained and perpetuated for the two centuries that have passed since the publication of his first work, Dubliners, in 1914. This debate has divided those critics who consider that Joyce deployed a misogynist reductive view of women, from other voices which interpreted the Irish writer’s female characters as early instances of gender and even feminist vindications in fiction. A sort of middle position would be the one defended by critics who deemed Joyce’s women as realistic renderings of the adverse circumstances of Irish women in patriarchal Catholic Ireland of the last decade of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century. This controversy has affected most of Joyce’s female protagonists and secondary characters, including the figures of old women (the Misses Flynn and the Misses Morkan sisters), mothers (Mrs Mooney, Annie Chandler, or Mrs Kearney), young girls (Mangan’s sister, Eveline Hill, Polly Mooney, Kathleen Kearney), middle aged women such as Gretta Conroy and Miss Ivors, in the case of Dubliners; Emma Clery and E-Cin Stephen Hero and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man respectively; Beatrice and Bertha in Exiles; Gerty MacDowell and Molly Bloom in Ulysses; and Issy and Anna Livia in Finnegans Wake. Notwithstanding, Molly Bloom has been, comparatively speaking, the most popular as well as the most recurrently discussed, debated and reinterpreted figure among the women who crowd Joyce’s fiction. Kathleen McCormick has deftly summarised the main critical views on the character till the 1970s: Seen as obscene by many reviewers in the twenties, an earth goddess in the thirties and forties, a whore in the fifties and sixties, a realistic product of her historical formation in the seventies, and most recently a symbol of ‘écriture féminine’, Molly Bloom has 262 Margarita Estévez-Saá been the subject of intense critical debate throughout the history of the reception of Ulysses. (McCormick, 1994: 17) It was precisely during the late seventies or rather early eighties when gender studies began to be systematically applied to the analysis of Joyce’s works. A series of critical works, which appeared in the 1980s, began to focus on gender concerns that could be detected in Joyce’s characterisation of women, and some of them went as far as to vindicate the feminist potential of Joyce’s protagonists. Therefore, Suzette Henke and Elaine Unkeless’s Women in Joyce (1982) and Bonnie Kime Scott’s Joyce and Feminism (1984) were the two contributions that opened a new line in Joycean criticism in relation to the assessment of his fictional representation of women and of the female condition. Thus, Henke and Unkeless began to seriously consider the importance of the social context of early-twentieth-century Ireland for understanding the representation of women in Joyce’s fiction, as well as vindicated the need of alternative readings of Molly Bloom that overcome reductive interpretations of the protagonist as a sex symbol or as an archetypal earth mother. Bonnie Kime Scott went even further and, by paying attention both to the real women who surrounded James Joyce, some of whom were active feminists, and to the fictional female characters in his texts, concluded that “He was interested in female Dubliners caught up in the familial, economic, and religious nets of their environment, as well as in more exceptional women who sought education, the vote, and an Irish Ireland” (Scott, 1984: 4). In reference to Molly, and to the final chapter of Ulysses that allows readers to have access to a female voice, Scott argues that although it “is not the last word on female consciousness, nor are its extensions in Finnegans Wake […] both works tentatively reorder a male-centered, rational world and make a female ‘other’ an immediate, insistent presence” (Scott, 1984: 183). Before proceeding to consider Joseph Strick’s and Sean Walsh’s respective renderings of Molly Bloom, it seems compelling to revise the female presence in Joyce’s Ulysses, which includes not only the famous protagonist but also a series of secondary women characters that the reader discovers in the text and who, despite occasional and brief apparitions, help us to understand many if not most of Molly’s ideas, attitudes and vindications in her famous soliloquy at the very end of the novel. In the seventeen chapters that precede Molly’s soliloquy, there are several female characters whom the reader sees in Joyce’s 1904 Dublin. Most of them are presented indoors, such as Stephen Dedalus’s hungry sisters in the kitchen at their home (in chapter 10, “Wandering Rocks”), the barmaids serving clients in “Sirens”, the prostitutes in the brothel in the “Circe” episode, or the nurses attending Mrs Purefoy’s delivery at the maternity hospital in “Oxen of the Sun”. 263 O Jamesy let me up 1 Quotations from the Ulysses Gabler edition are cited by episode and line number. See Bibliography for a full reference. And the few women who are seen walking through the streets of the city, in clear contrast with the greatest number of leisurely purposeless wandering male characters, have a definite task or objective that has prompted them outdoors. Therefore, an old milkwoman brings fresh milk to Stephen Dedalus and Buck Mulligan at the Martello Tower, a young woman buys meat at the butcher’s and Josie Breen follows her mentally unbalanced husband through the city. Dilly Dedalus, another of Stephen’s sisters, is anxiously in search of her father and asks him for money for food; and her desperate state turns out more dramatic when Stephen, who also encounters her, discovers that she has bought a second hand French grammar book, which symbolises the girl’s desire of education and plans for a better future. These brief scenes deploy the adverse condition of women in Joyce’s Ireland, and presents them as poorly dressed, underfed and yet yearning for education and for the possibility of improving their lives. All these circumstances will acquire further meaning and explain many of Molly’s views in her final soliloquy. Whenever we are provided with any sort of description of these women, they are mostly seen from the compassionate and sympathetic perspective of Leopold Bloom, the only male character who seems to regard them as more than mere sexual objects and who considers and sympathises with their circumstances. Therefore, Bloom offers us brief but powerful reflections on their shabby and desperate condition and appearance. He notices, for instance, that Stephen’s sister, Dilly Dedalus, whom he sees in the street, is underfed and poorly dressed: “Good Lord, that poor child’s dress is in flitters. Underfed she looks too. Potatoes and marge, marge and potatoes. It’s after they feel it. Proof of the pudding. Undermines the constitution” (U 8.41-43) 1 . Leopold Bloom is similarly sympathetic when he meets Mrs Breen (the formerly beautiful Josie Powell he has known for many years): “Same blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching. Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel. She used to be a tasty dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a year or so older than Molly” (U 8.265-268). References to women are therefore constricted to their familial or working context and they are recurrently represented in adverse circumstances that illustrate not only the limitation of their movements but affect also their poor ex‐ ternal appearance. This way, an attentive reader would inevitably deduce Joyce’s 264 Margarita Estévez-Saá deployment of a critique on the condition of women in early-twentieth-century Ireland. The only character we see in an open space is Gerty MacDowell, a young girl who acquires particular relevance in chapter 13 (“Nausicaa”). Gerty is by the seaside accompanying her friends Edy Boardman and Cissy Caffrey who are taking care of Cissy’s little brothers and Edy’s baby brother, and the narrative establishes a dramatic contrast between Gerty’s daydreamings and her real circumstances. Gerty, in contrast with her friends’ more carefree and talkative attitude, is lost in her own musings and reveries. The first part of the chapter employs the romantic adulterated language of sentimental novels and fashion magazines of the time, that is, it imitates the style of Gerty’s readings and of the cultural products that she and other early-twentieth-century girls consumed in Ireland. James Joyce referred to the tone and style of the chapter in a letter as “a namby-pamby jammy marmalady drawersy (alto la! ) style with effects of incense, mariolatry, masturbation, stewed cockles, painter’s palette, chitchat, circumlocutions, etc., etc.” ( Joyce, 1957: 135). The young woman’s thoughts revolve around her physical appearance and deploy her concern with beauty products announced in popular magazines such as The Lady’s Pictorial or Princess Novelette. She also projects her romantic expectations that she relates first with a young boy, Reggy Wylie, and then with the mysterious man she sees at the beach, who turns out to be Leopold Bloom. Gerty’s apparent idealism, her aspirations, and her romanticization of love and marriage are dramatically contrasted with her real circumstances that the reader progressively discovers. She belongs to a disfunctional family in which a drunkard and violent father has provoked the downfall of the family and worsened the condition of an infirm mother: Nay, she had even witnessed in the home circle deeds of violence caused by the intemperance and had seen her own father, a prey to the fumes of intoxication, forget himself completeley for if there was one thing of all things that Gerty knew it was that the man who lifts his hand to a woman save in the way of kindness deserves to be branded as the lowest of the low. (U 13.297-302) Gerty is described as both an innocent virginal figure and a consciously playful temptress. Thus, the chapter projects her as both a devout worshipper of the Virgin Mary (with whose color blue she is even associated), respectfully aware of the prayings that are taking place in a nearby church and that she can hear from the beach, at the same time that she deploys much more mundane thoughts related to her physical appearance as well as to relationships between men and women. 265 O Jamesy let me up Additionally, when she discovers a mysterious middle-aged man in black who is intently looking at her (Leopold Bloom), the young woman’s reaction is highly significant and it illustrates the ambivalence of her character. Gerty imagines him as a tormented suffering attractive foreigner, at the same time that she is consciously aware of the true nature of his interest in her, and of the sensual and sexual exchange that is taking place between them. Furthermore, the girl actively encourages his interest and reaction by leaning back so as to allow him to see her legs and knickers till both are clearly and mutually sexually aroused: She let him and she saw that he saw and then it went so high it went out of sight a moment and she was trembling in every limb […] and she wasn’t ashamed and he wasn’t either to look in that immodest way like that because he couldn’t resist the sight of the wondrous revealment half offered […] She would fain have cried to him chokingly, held out her snowy slender arms to him to come, to feel his lips laid on her white brow, the cry of a young girl’s love, a little strangled cry, wrung from her, that cry that has rung through the ages. And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind blank and O! then the Roman candle burst and it was like a sigh of O! and everyone cried Oh! Oh! in raptures and it gushed out of it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they shed and ah! They were out of it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they shed and ah! they were all greeeny dewy stars falling with golden, O so lovely, O, soft, sweer, soft! (U 13.733-740) Nausicaa offers the representation of an Irish girl’s desperate desire to transcend her adverse circumstances, to earnestly project an alternatively positive view of the future life that awaits her and to sublimate her own sexual urges. Notwithstanding, when at the end of the chapter Leopold Bloom, seeing the girl and being sexually provoked by her, masturbates, the exchange reduces the girl and her idealism to a mere instrument for bodily pleasure. Moreover, when the girl stands up so as to leave the beach, Bloom observes that she is lame. Critics have discussed whether this is a body impairment or if it is the consequence of her wearing fashionable tight new shoes, since the girl prides herself on them (“the newest thing in footwear”) as well as on the alleged small size of her feet: “Edy Boardman prided herself that she was very petite but she never had a foot like Gerty MacDowell, a five” (U 13.164-166). Despite the real reasons behind Gerty’s lameness, this detail further reinforces her condition as a victim of her time and circumstances. If she is wearing tight shoes because of fashion prescriptions, she is being victimised by a society in which women’s success depended on their acquiescence to beauty standards; and if she is really lame because of a physical impairment, her desperate situation is ostensibly increased since Gerty’s future depends solely, as the chapter illustrates, on her 266 Margarita Estévez-Saá marrying and establishing a home of her own. Thus, Gerty is an additional instance in Joyce’s novel of a woman character who anticipates and gives sense, as we are going to see, to many of Molly’s thoughts, laments and vindications. Similarly, to the previously mentioned female secondary characters the reader sees around Dublin, she serves to contextualise Molly’s attitudes, claims and even contradictions. Molly Bloom had been reduced to an almost merely indirectly alluded name for seventeen chapters, when she breaks in with full force in the last episode of the novel. And it is not precisely a marginal moment in the text when Joyce allows a woman’s perspective to rise above those of all the other male characters that the readers have had access to till that moment. Therefore, it is particularly important to see if Molly reproduces the ideas and attitudes previously deployed by the male Dubliners or if she adopts a different even emancipatory view with regards to Ireland and the Irish. Even so, Joyce’s Molly Bloom is not a character easily accommodated to either a conservative patriarchal conception of femininity or to the model of a feminist new woman. In the more than forty pages of the soliloquy that reproduces her thoughts when, at the end of the day, she is in bed, tired and sleepy, Molly will muse over the most varied issues, such as sex, men, marriage, motherhood, education, nature, bodies, books or clothes and beauty products, that is, the most important as well as the most prosaic topics that any male or female reader can think of. Molly does not seem to be very satisfied with her condition and circumstances as a woman. In terms of sex and sexuality, she laments that men take more pleasure than women in the sexual act, she considers that she does not receive enough affection, and she even laments the poor education that both she and her daughter Milly have received. She also regrets her loneliness and lack of freedom. Additionally, she mentions the scarcity of clothes that she has, the need of help with housework, and notices the effects of the passing of time on her appearance. These adverse circumstances lead her once and again to compare herself with other women, adopting sometimes a competitive attitude while on other occasions vindicating the possibility of a better world if ruled by women: I dont care what anybody says itd be much better for the world to be governed by the women in it you wouldnt see women going and killing one another and slaughtering when do you ever see women rolling around drunk like they do or gambling every penny they have and losing it on horses yes because a woman whatever she does she knows where to stop sure they wouldnt be in the world at all only for us they dont 267 O Jamesy let me up know what it is to be a woman and a mother how could they where would they all of them be if they hadnt all a mother to look after them. (U 18.1434-1442) Moreover, when Molly criticises female Dubliners, she tends to contextualise women’s flaws in their particular circumstances: “we are a dreadful lot of bitches I suppose its all the troubles we have makes us so snappy” (U 18. 1468-1469); and the reader has certainly had the opportunity to witness many of Irish women’s troubles through the secondary characters Joyce had previously included in his novel. Conversely, Molly is mostly and extremely judgemental toward men, and her critique covers many aspects of the male condition. She despises those men who dilapidate their money drinking or betting, those who do not take appropriate care of their families, even the ones who spend their days gossiping. In this sense she offers her negative opinion on many of the male characters who had appeared previously in the novel, such as Martin Cunningham, Paddy Dignam, Fanny McCoy’s husband, Mr. Breen, Mr. Purefoy, or Simon Dedalus. Her lovers are included in her revision although she adopts a more melancholic tone when referring to past admirers or lovers such as Lenehan, Bartell D’Arcy, Professor Goodwin, Lieutenant Gardner or Harry Mulvey, and is more severe with her present lover Blazes Boylan. In the case of Boylan she appreciates his sexual potency but she rejects his treating her irrespectfully, for instance slapping her bottom. Boylan seems to have satisfied her sexually but not affectionately. Comparatively speaking, her husband Leopold Bloom is more positively regarded, “because he has sense enough not to squander every penny piece he earns down their gullets and looks after his wife and family” (U 18.1277-1278). Molly certainly considers his rarities which include fetishistic practices and sexual obsessions, and even criticises his failed promises or his interest in other women. Notwithstanding, she appreciates some of his virtues such as his being a good father and husband, and she even highlights his attractive appearance and courteousness. Nonetheless, Molly does not seem to be completely satisfied and, at the end of the day, when she hears Bloom in her kitchen, accompanied by Stephen Dedalus, she projects her affectionate and intellectual aspirations onto an imaginary affair with the young man. Thus, despite her not knowing many things about Stephen, whom she saw eleven years ago for the last time, and whose age she does not know for certain, she fantasises with a possible relationship that would include both an affective and an intellectual exchange. Her idealisation of an affair with young Stephen Dedalus that would include his teaching her, reading poetry together, embracing 20 times a day and having sexual intercourse, is not that different from Gerty’s romantizisation of Leopold Bloom in the Nausicaa 268 Margarita Estévez-Saá episode. Both women clearly deploy affective shortages and express their active desire of alternative models of gender relationships. Despite Molly’s many protests and laments on her actual circumstances, she ends her soliloquy with the famous final “yes” which has been amply discussed by critics in the most diverse terms. Thus, while some consider that it is an expression of passive resignation and acquiescence to her present condition and state, others have interpreted it in more abstract terms as Molly’s active acknowledgement and welcoming of life, her past, present and future life, that she wants to live with full plenitude from now on. As we can see, even Molly’s last word can be interpreted from almost opposing points of view. Joyce’s characterisation of his female protagonist is, to say the least, complex and it involves, as in the case of male characters such as Leopold Bloom, the writer’s attempt at covering in fiction the most diverse, multiple and even contradictory aspects of the human condition. A friend of Joyce, Jacques Mercaton, mentioned that when men and especially women approached the writer and expressed that women were effectively as he had represented them through Molly, Joyce used to look up to the ceiling with resignation and indifference (1991: 13). This attitude on the part of the writer could very well describe his rejection of any possibility of encapsulating and essentialising what a woman is, a way of conveying that Molly simply embodies an attempt at rendering in fiction some among the multiple dimensions, inexhaustible aspects and endless ambivalences of the female condition. Likewise, as we are going to see, the character of Molly Bloom, as Joyce conceived it, already includes so many nuances, ambivalences and layers, that it is certainly difficult for any director and actress to capture all the aspects of the Joycean multifaceted protagonist. 2 Ulysses and/ in Film: Molly’s “Screen of Consciousness” James Joyce’s pioneer relationship with cinema has been amply documented, and critics have focused on the Irish writer’s knowledge of and interest in the developing art, studied the cinematographic quality that can be detected in his works, as well as detected the influence that some of his texts have had on some modern movies. Thomas L. Burkdall’s Joycean Frames: Film and the Fiction of James Joyce (2001) and John McCourt’s edited volume “Roll Away the Reel World”: James Joyce and Cinema (2010) are inevitable references for anyone interested in learning about Joyce’s involvement in the opening of the first cinema in Dublin, the Volta, in early-twentieth-century Ireland; in discovering 269 O Jamesy let me up analogies in topics and techniques between Joyce’s works and films of his time; and even for detecting the influence of Joyce on modern film adaptations. Many of Joyce’s works have been translated into films. It is particularly interesting that the first attempt at filming one of Joyce’s texts was Finnegans Wake, which Maria DiBattista rightly describes as the writer’s “least ‘filmable’ of his works” (2009: 360), by the American animator, producer and director Mary Ellen Bute who offered the feature film Passages from James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, screened at the Cannes Film Festival and distinguished as Best Debut of the Year in 1965. Joseph Strick filmed Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in 1977, Joyce’s short story “The Dead” was also adapted to the screen by John Huston (1987) and Dennis Courtney filmed the story “Araby” from Dubliners, in 1999. Notwithstanding, the work of the Irish author most recurrently associated with the visual arts in general and with cinema in particular, has been Ulysses, an association soon favoured by critics and readers who detected in Joyce’s novel the influence of the seventh art. Maria DiBattista recalls how the Honorable John M. Woolsey, the judge in charge of deeming whether Joyce’s novel was obscene, referred in 1933 to the Irish writer’s successful attempt at the “screen of consciousness” (2009: 358), becoming thus one of the first voices to apply the language of cinema to the appraisal of Joyce’s literary masterpiece. James Joyce himself always bore in mind the possibility that his novel could be filmed and even proposed directors such as the Russian Sergei Eisenstein or the German filmmaker Walter Ruttman as the best candidates for such an enterprise. The writer went as far as to consider that his novel could be more easily adapted to the screen than translated into any other language. Joyce’s desire was materialised in three film versions of his masterpiece by Joseph Strick (Ulysses, 1967), a highly experimental free adaptation by Werner Nekes (Uliisses, 1982), and the more recent movie Bloom by Sean Walsh (2002). Thirty-five years separate Joseph Strick’s film version of Ulysses (1967) from Sean Walsh’s Bloom (2002). Both were independent directors who found economic shortages and in both cases their products received ambivalent if not contradictory reviews by Joycean critics and film specialists. Strick opted for a black-and-white film that “aesthetically suited the moods he wished to create in the film” (Norris, 2003-2004: 81), in contrast with the colourful version made by Walsh. An even more outstanding difference is Strick’s setting of Joyce’s story in 1966 Dublin whereas Walsh offered a period film, trying to represent the circumstances of the Irish capital in 1904. Notwithstanding these different options and time settings, Strick’s film, as we discuss later in this chapter, 270 Margarita Estévez-Saá managed to capture better and to visualise more seriously the bleak sociocultural atmosphere that constricted and even suffocated Joyce’s female characters in the novel. The difference detected can be explained or at least interpreted taking into account the dissimilar context for women in the still highly conservative patriarchal Catholic Ireland of the 1960s from the expectations of Sean Walsh’s twenty-first century more liberal audience. Likewise, the directors’ intentions and objectives were also allegedly different if we consider their own respective public declarations. Thus, Joseph Strick maintained in an interview with Stephen Watts that he wanted to appeal to both Joycean specialists and to an average audience not necessarily acquainted with the Irish author’s novel: “Our obligation is to make a film good enough for people who have read the book. Our opportunity is to create an entirely new experience for those who have not” (Watts, 1966). In contrast, Sean Walsh has recurrently manifested that his intention was to offer a “Ulysses for the people”, that is, he claimed that his purpose was to offer a film version that attracted non-academics and that would be addressed to a mainstream audience: “‘I’m no scholar. I’m of the people, so what else can the film be? ’ he says. ‘I didn’t have any hidden artistic impulse behind me and I wasn’t interested in taking the book and reinterpreting it, in exploding it from it into a whole new shape or form. I’m just trying to tell people the story’” (Watson, 2003). More explicitly, Walsh described his main purpose: I’m not a populariser of James Joyce. It’s not my intent to get everybody to read the book. There is this paradox that here’s the greatest novel of the twentieth century which nobody has read. That was the first thing. So I wanted to just show people what this book is about. Secondly, I wanted to reveal some of Joyce’s humanity and humour because it’s huge. (Steven, 2013) It is our contention that the directors’ target audiences explain some of their decisions in relation to their respective treatment of gender issues in their films and in the characterisation of the two very different female protagonists. 2.1 Joseph Strick’s Censored Molly Joseph Strick’s film version of Joyce’s Ulysses has been, comparatively speaking, more widely studied than Sean Walsh’s Bloom. Prestigious Joycean scholar Margot Norris is probably the author of the most interesting pieces on Strick’s film and, although she has not, strictly speaking, focused on the cinematic rendering of gender issues or of the figure of Molly Bloom, she has pointed out some interesting aspects that are worth taking into account, beginning with her defence of the protagonist’s “feminist inflection” in Strick’s film (Norris, 271 O Jamesy let me up 2004: 14). This succinct description suits well the filmmaker’s visual treatment not only of Molly Bloom but also of gender concerns in his movie. We have already mentioned that Strick opted for filming his version of Ulysses in 1966 Dublin, renouncing thus to offer a period piece. This decision, as we are going to see, has not affected significantly the director’s treatment of gender issues or the representation of the condition of women in Ireland with respect to Joyce’s realist rendering of the limitations of Irish women, since the country had not developed very much in this sense. Mary Cullen and Maria Luddy have summarized the extent to which women’s marginalisation was perpetuated in this lapse of sixty years in Catholic patriarchal Ireland: After 1922 women tended to find themselves marginalised and restricted in the Irish Free State. One can catalogue the economic and legal restraints: the 1926 Civil Service Act legalised a sex barrier in competition for posts; from 1927 women were effectively barred from jury service under the Juries Act; from 1932 female civil servants and teachers lost their jobs on marriage; in 1934 the Criminal Law Amendment Act placed a complete ban on the importation of all contraceptives; in 1936 the Conditions of Employment Act empowered the minister to restrict the employment of women in industry; the 1937 Constitution clearly signified the place of women as being exclusively in the home; 1951 saw the “Mother and Child” scheme controversy. The impact of Catholic social teaching was also an oppressive force. (Cullen, Luddy, 2001: 2) Therefore, Strick’s option of setting his film in 1966 Dublin should not and, in fact, does not affect significantly his representation of Joyce’s female Dubliners and the rendering of Molly Bloom. The filmaker, we maintain, successfully managed to reproduce visually the marginalised and dejected circumstances of women that James Joyce had realistically portrayed in the novel. British actress Barbara Jefford was Joseph Strick’s choice to incarnate Molly Bloom in his film. Milo O’Shea plays her humorous and devoted husband meanwhile Maurice Roëves is Stephen Dedalus. Jefford had already participated in some of the filmmaker’s previous productions, such as his filming of Jean Genet’s The Balcony (1963). Bosley Crowther, an early reviewer of Strick’s movie, described it as “faithful to the spirit and the word of Mr Joyce” (1967), despite the automoviles and modern ships that can be seen in the film, praising in particular Jefford’s role as Molly Bloom: “Miss Jefford as Molly is superior, a robust woman just this side of course, yet full of human longing and distant loneliness” (Crowther, 1967). Jefford’s dark complexion fits “the novel’s physical description of Molly Bloom as a dark-haired, ‘Jewess-looking’, Spanish-type beauty” (Norris, 2004: 14). This is an aspect of Molly’s appearance that the character mentioned and 272 Margarita Estévez-Saá 2 They received Golden Globe and Academy nominations for their screenplay. even highlighted as her distinguishing features, when she said “on account of my being jewess looking after my mother” (U 18.1184-85) or “Ive my mothers eyes and figure” (U 18.890-891). From the very first appearance of Jefford as Molly in the film, when her husband brings her the breakfast while in bed, we discover the female protag‐ onist in a state of ennui, of abandonment, in an attitude that seems to combine both resignation to and refusal of her circumstances. Her vulgarity, that in the narrative is rendered by her misspelling of words and other grammatical alterations, is illustrated by her speaking fullmouthed to her husband, while her desire to improve herself is deployed by her genuine interest in and the earnest attention she pays to Bloom’s explanation about the meaning of the word “metempsychosis” (Strick, 1967: 0: 10: 36). Molly appears simply dressed and with her hair loose, as it corresponds to her being not only at home but in her bedroom; and her room is simply decorated, later on visualising the camera some cracks on the ceiling that Molly also observes (Strick, 1967: 1: 33: 21). The simplicity of both Molly’s garments and abode corresponds to the protagonist’s continuous allusions to her financial shortages, illustrated for instance by the need of renewing her wardrobe: “I want at least two other good chemises for one thing” (U 18.438), “Ive no clothes at all” (U 18.470), “I havent even one decent nightdress” (U 18.660). Strick emphasises Molly’s need of new clothes when the camera shoots the Blooms’ clothesline with ragged underwear (Strick, 1967: 1: 40: 05). Before the final monologue that occupies up to almost half an hour in the film, which is a significant amount of time for a movie that runs for 132 minutes, the spectator has the chance to see those images of hers projected mainly by her husband, who thinks about her when he, for instance, observes a mannequin in a window shop (Strick, 1967: 0: 36: 13). When we finally see Molly in her bedroom and the soliloquy is visually reproduced, the audience discovers a character in a similar position, attitude and appearance to the ones she deployed when her husband brought her the breakfast at the beginning of the film. The difference is provided by the voiceover that reproduces her thoughts. Jefford’s staging of Molly’s soliloquy covers the most varied aspects of her life and her views reveal a complex and even contradictory character. Joseph Strick and his co-scriptwriter, Fred Haines, opted for including in his script most of the relevant issues that Joyce’s Molly tackles in the novel 2 . Thus, the actress certainly thinks about sex and love, and we see how she is concerned about her husband’s alleged 273 O Jamesy let me up extramarital affairs, how she recalls her recent sexual encounter with Blazes Boylan, and how she muses upon women’s sexuality. In general, in relation to these topics, Strick’s Molly, similarly to the Joycean protagonist, does not seem to be particularly satisfied, prevailing her opinion that women do not enjoy sex as men do. Furthermore, while Molly alludes once and again to sexual issues, the film combines Pagan and Christian images that significantly symbolise the trapped condition of Irish women and the opposing pulling forces that make them feel uncomfortable with their own bodies and with their sexual urges. A particularly interesting image is offered on occasion of Molly’s remembrance of her confession with Father Corrigan that in the book featured as follows: When I used to go to Father Corrigan he touched me father and what harm if he did where and I said on the canal bank like a fool but whereabouts on your person my child on the leg behind high up was it yes rather high up was it where you sit down yes O Lord couldnt he say bottom right out and have done with it what has that got to do with it and did you whatever way he put it I forget no father. (U 18.116-121) Molly immediately proceeds to think about Boylan and their recent encounter, and Joseph Strick visually transforms the face of the priest into that of Blazes Boylan in a cassock (Strick, 1967: 1: 36: 07), illustrating thus the female protago‐ nist’s rapid transition of thoughts, as well as symbolising the conundrum Molly is immersed in, provoked by the clash between her religious education and her sexual urges. Catholic Ireland is also visually present in Strick’s film during Molly’s monologue when the camera is directed towards church stained glass windows representing religious scenes, or when the protagonist, frightened by the sound of a thunder clasps her rosary beads with force. The Pagan counterpoint to these images related to Catholic Ireland is provided by a series of mysterious statues and carvings that are significantly interspersed with the religious motifs mentioned, and which feature explicit sexual scenes. Nonetheless, sex is simply one among the many matters and interests of Molly that Strick has chosen to include in his film. In this sense, the director has been quite fair when deploying an earnest effort to project a female protagonist whose concerns go well beyond sexuality. Thus, his reproduction of Molly’s soliloquy includes allusions and scenes related to Molly’s condition as a professional singer, including her regret for not having advanced very much in her career due to her marriage. Her unfulfilled aspirations include a better education and are related to young Stephen Dedalus. Strick’s movie interprets Molly’s thoughts about Stephen in romantic and intellectual terms. The director features Barbara Jefford buying glasses so as to 274 Margarita Estévez-Saá adopt a more intelligent appearance, and Molly imagines herself in bed with Stephen reading together (Strick, 1967: 1: 49: 39). The sexual dimension of Molly’s interest in Stephen in the novel is therefore clearly undermined in the film in favour of a more platonic and even humorous projection of the affair. Another important motif in Molly’s monologue, that Strick gives due rele‐ vance in his movie, was her concern with the passing of time. In Joyce’s text, Molly thinks that she is getting old, that the effects of time are more evident in women than in men, remembers her youth in Gibraltar, considers that her daughter will inevitably lose her beauty, and goes as far as to calculate that since she is going to be 33 in September, the dawn of her life is approaching: “for the 4 years I have of life up to 35 no Im what am I at all Ill be 33 in September will I” (U 18.474-475). This preoccupation, even obsession of Molly’s, is translated in the film by the sounds and images of clocks that pervade through the soliloquy. The beginning of Barbara Jefford’s rendering of the Penelope episode is presided by the sound of a wall pendulum (Strick, 1967: 1: 33: 06), followed by the image of several clocks in a shop window, even by the bells of churches that Molly and the audience hear. Before gathering some conclusions about the staging of Molly Bloom in Strick film it is worth considering the filmmaker’s treatment of secondary female characters since, as we have said, their presence in Joyce’s novel acquired particular relevance and meaning as a contextualising device that favoured the readers’ understanding and interpreting of Molly’s views and claims in her final soliloquy. The few women whom Strick opted for including are Dilly Dedalus, Mrs. Josie Breen, Gerty MacDowell, Edy Boardman and Cissy Caffrey, a nurse at the Maternity Hospital, Mary Driscol (the Blooms’ servant), the prostitutes and Bella Cohen at the Brothel, and Mrs Stanhope. All of them appear decently but simply dressed as in Joyce’s novel and the seriousness of their enterprises are also appropriately illustrated. With regards to Gerty MacDowell, the Nausicaa chapter is drastically reduced to three minutes in which the scene is limited to the almost sudden appearance of a young woman on a beach with some friends who, noticing a stranger nearby, provokes him by showing her bare legs and is followed by Bloom’s masturbation (Strick, 1967: 0: 45: 26). The scene ends when she stands up and begins to disappear walking lamely. Gómez López has commented on the poor visual rendering of this particular chapter, mentioning even some misinterpretations on the part of the director, who refers to the two little boys as being Edy Boardman’s brothers, when they are the Caffrey twins, and most importantly, criticising his decision of limiting the sexual arousal to Bloom when in the novel, as we have seen, Gerty was clearly similarly excited. Strick’s Gerty is deployed as 275 O Jamesy let me up a much more cold young woman who inexplicably opts for provoking a stranger and who immediately abandons the scene without apparently having been in any way affected by the experience. Gerty’s indifferent attitude somehow anticipates Molly’s stance, adopting both women a sort of distance with regards to the pleasures of the body that in Strick’s film are more clearly associated with men. Significant omissions to women in Strick’s film with respect to Joyce’s novel are Martha Clifford, Leopold Bloom’s epistolary beloved, and, more significantly and surprisingly, Milly Bloom, the Blooms’ eldest daughter. Both Gómez López and Margot Norris have argued that the absence of references to the girl certainly emphasizes the tragedy of Molly and Leopold having lost their son Rudy. According to Norris, the absence of allusions to another offspring also affects the relationship of Bloom with young Stephen Dedalus whose role as a surrogate son is thus reinforced in the film. Richard M. Kain, an early reviewer of Strick’s film lamented the omission of allusions to Martha Clifford as well as the poor rendering of Gerty, considering that “The pathos of Bloom’s domestic life might have come through better had not Martha Clifford been omitted and the part of Gerty MacDowell so severely cut” (Kain, 1967: 541). All in all, from a gender perspective, the omission of Martha Clifford is not that relevant taking into account several scenes throughout the film in which Leopold Bloom appears surrounded by groups of women who deploy him as almost a womaniser before the indifference of his wife (Strick, 1967: 1: 46: 31). With regards to the absence of Milly, she is mostly evoked by her mother in Joyce’s novel in her final soliloquy as a reminder of her own youth, and of her lost beauty when, for instance, Molly comments “of course shes restless knowing shes pretty with her lips so red a pity they wont stay that way I was too” (U 18.1065-1066). This is a topic that Strick has paid attention to, although by means of the sounds and images of clocks we have already mentioned. It can be concluded that the choice of secondary female characters included in Joseph Strick’s film serves to realistically contextualise the marginal situation and limited circumstances of women in Ireland, and that the reader detects in his rendering of Molly Bloom an attempt at criticism if not rebellion against these constrictions and limitations. Barbara Jefford managed to endow Molly with the stature that she had in Joy‐ ce’s novel and her performance captured the rebellious and even domineering dimension that the reader could also detect in the text. This rebelliousness against her circumstances and against those who had tried to subject her is visually conveyed by some actions such as her slapping Blazes Boylan, her 276 Margarita Estévez-Saá kicking her husband in bed, pouring tea over Bloom’s head, or flinging eggs on the wall (supposedly the eggs that he had asked her to bring to him for breakfast the next morning). Therefore, Strick’s Molly, although contextualised in an Ireland that in the 1960s had not advanced significantly in relation to women circumstances, certainly deploys gender vindications and the actress chosen for incarnating Molly Bloom has amply succeeded in projecting a female figure who does not easily accept her present condition. It is also particularly relevant that when the film was presented at the Cannes Festival in 1967, the censors focused precisely on Jefford’s reproduction of Molly’s words, some of which were covered with dark ink in the subtitles. This provoked Strick’s standing up during the premiere and demanding to stop the film. This was the beginning of many years of censorship in many countries that in Ireland lasted till the year 2000, only three years before Sean Walsh’s new and very different Molly Bloom appeared on the big screen. 2.2 Sean Walsh’s Molly for the People The most striking novelty offered by Sean Walsh’s Bloom (2003) in relation to its female protagonist, has been the director’s decision of framing the whole film with Molly’s soliloquy, so that the character does not only have the last word in the film as it happened in Joyce’s text and in Strick’s movie, but hers is also the first voice and image that appears even before the initial credits in front of the audience, an audience that the protagonist addresses openly and even defiantly already in the first scenes of the film (Murphy, Walsh, 2003: 0: 00: 29). To this technical and structural decision we should add Sean Walsh’s choice of Angeline Ball to impersonate adult Molly Bloom, an actress whose impressive looks contribute to make Molly an overwhelming and pressing presence in the film. The actress offers the image of a voluptuously fleshy Molly Bloom, whose looks do not exactly fit the Sephardic Jewish ancestry of Joyce’s protagonist. Walsh characterised his protagonist as a red-headed, blue-eyed and full-lipped attractive Molly Bloom. She is presented mostly in sexy undergarments that highlight a voluptuous bosom and a generous bottom, that is, an anatomy on which both the camera and the protagonist rejoice once and again in the movie. In fact, Angeline Ball has explicitly explained that her intention was to bring Molly “to life in all her earthiness and sensuality” and that she managed to effectively “have Molly referring to the sex, to her breasts and to her body in that little cheeky manner of hers” (Dwyer, 2003). Her characterisation was immediately acknowledged by reviewers as “utterly venal, conniving and captivating” (Watson, 2003) and as a Molly who “would even make Sharon Stone 277 O Jamesy let me up blush” (Dwyer, 2003). Ball’s efforts were in fact acknowledged by winning the Irish Film and Television Award for Best Actress. Walsh’s Molly does not spend much time in bed, and she does not seem tired after her recent sexual encounter; neither is she on the verge of sleeping, or even with her period pains as it happens in the novel. Quite the contrary, she rises from the bed, looks at her own image on the mirror once and again, and even daringly addresses the audience (Murphy, Strick, 2003: 0: 01: 15). And, more significantly, the closing words from her soliloquy refer to her earnest desire of enjoying another encounter with her lover Blazes Boylan next Monday. In fact, the emphasis is too clearly and explicitly on sexuality and sexual affairs, hers and her husband’s. From the beginning of the film, in which, as we have said the last part of Molly’s soliloquy is rendered, she addresses Bloom’s alleged episodes of infidelity. Thus, she remembers him trying to cover a secret letter that he was writing, and she recalls him paying attention to their servant Mary Driscoll. Molly’s own sensuality and sexuality is also explicitly displayed. Therefore, the camera focuses on her voluptuous bosom, a movement that will be repeated recurrently whenever she makes an appearance, and the film includes several scenes illustrating her passionate sexual intercourse with her lover Blazes Boylan. Likewise, this Molly not only deploys but centres on her explicit enjoyment of sex while in the novel Joyce’s protagonist lamented that men took more pleasure than women out of sexual intercourse and, as we have seen, Strick’s Jefford adopted a rather indifferent pose. Consequently, the emphasis is too clearly on sexuality and sexual affairs, and even though it is true, as Margot Norris has stated, that Angeline Ball’s Molly Bloom is a sexual subject rather than a sexual object, there are many aspects, views, and messages from Molly’s soliloquy that are inevitably lost when so much emphasis is put on sexual issues. Joyce’s Molly is certainly and undeniably a sexually active character al‐ though, as we have seen, this is only one of the multiple dimensions of her personality. In fact, it seems that through her soliloquy many other concerns are more pressing or, at least, equally important for her. Thus, her preoccupation with aging and the passing of time, her laments over women’s lack of education, her regret for not having advanced in her musical career, or even her need of affection are absent from Walsh’s Molly. There are no hints at female sorority in this Molly Bloom, and the only dramatic moment visually reproduced, that of the death of young Rudy, repre‐ sents Angeline Ball very fashionably dressed kissing a little garment that had belonged to her baby, and promptly discarding sad thoughts (Murphy, Walsh, 2003: 1: 40: 12). Molly’s carefree and even frivolous attitude is overtly contrasted 278 Margarita Estévez-Saá in the movie with her more taciturn and sombre husband, role played by Stephen Rea who, with counted exceptions such as scenes from the Circe episode, lacks the sustained humour we detected in Milo O’Shea as Leopold Bloom in Strick’s film. All in all, Walsh’s version certainly offers a mundane Molly whom we see not only repeatedly making love to Boylan but also emptying her bladder in a bedpan (Murphy, Walsh, 2003: 1: 37: 43), and imaginatively and encouragingly exciting young Stephen Dedalus (starred by Hugh O’Connor) (Murphy, Walsh, 2003: 1: 38: 35). Whenever her sexual drives are not exposed, Molly is associated in the film with pastoral scenes of her youth from her native Gibraltar or with images that present a young Molly leisurely kissing Bloom on Howth promontory. The young Molly is interpreted in Sean Walsh’s film by a different actress, Caoileann Murphy, in contrast with Strick’s choice of a single actress. Shane Walshe has commented on the consequences of Walsh’s use of two actresses. It is true, as Walshe argues, that a clearer contrast is established between Molly as a young woman and the mature protagonist, and the critic considers that this is a way of emphasizing the passing of time and how it has affected the protagonist (Walshe, 2017: 205). In Joyce’s novel this is clearly a concern of the female protagonist, an issue also considered by Strick and symbolised by the images and sounds of clocks as we have seen. Notwithstanding, in Walsh’s film the effect of the contrast between the young and the adult Mollly acquires a different sense and provokes a quite unexpected reaction in the viewers. The younger protagonist we see in Gibraltar kissing Mulvey (Murphy, Walsh, 2003: 1: 35: 03) and on Howth promontory with Bloom (Murphy, Walsh, 2003: 1: 42: 01) is very prudishly dressed and her gestures and attitude deploy a more innocent and less confident character in relation to sexual matters. Likewise, since Angeline Ball’s looks are second to none of Caoileann Murphy’s, rather quite the opposite, many spectators would consider that Molly has in fact improved with the passing of time. She has gained in good looks as well as in sexual confidence. Both the young Molly and the adult protagonist appear very colourfully and elegantly dressed and whereas in Joyce’s novel she recurrently lamented her lack of garments and her scarcity of even basic underwear, a point also reproduced by Strick in his movie, Walsh features Molly not only in different sexy undergarments but also in varied sophisticated outfits. Similarly to the case of Ball’s Molly, if we focus on the visual rendering of female secondary characters in Walsh’s film, all of them appear in what can be considered as rich and rather refined garments for poverty-stricken 279 O Jamesy let me up early-twentieth-century Ireland. This includes Josie Breen, Dilly Dedalus, Mrs Dignam and her offspring, Gerty MacDowell, Milly Bloom, the prostitutes in Bella Cohen’s brothel, and even the ghost of Stephen Dedalus’s mother. The recurrent appearances of Stephen’s dead mother are visualised in gothic-like ghostly terms as it corresponds to the young man’s obsession with his progen‐ itor but her gorgeous black dress and hat do not correspond to that of the infirm poor woman Stephen remembers in the novel (Murphy, Walsh, 2003: 0: 19: 11). In a similar line, Dilly Dedalus wears a thick cardigan, and Paddy Dignam’s widow as well as Josie Breen appear elegantly dressed. None of these women deploy the preoccupations and anxieties or the needy appearance that Leopold Bloom detected and sympathised with in Joyce’s novel and that Strick also conveyed in his film. Milly Bloom is also featured in the film, including the director a series of scenes that did not appear in the novel such as her leaving her home when going to Mullingar, her taking the train, and even kissing Alec Bannon, a young man very indirectly mentioned in the novel (Murphy, Walsh, 2003: 0: 21: 40). Any attempt at interpreting the inclusion of the young daughter as a reference to the passage of time or as a contrast with adult Molly fails, as it was the case of Caoileann Murphy’s impersonation of the protagonist as a young woman, since none of them are rivals for the gorgeous mature Molly. The significance of the Nausicaa episode and the interest and complexity that Gerty MacDowell acquired in Joyce’s novel are significantly reduced and overtly simplified in Walsh’s movie as it also occurred in Strick’s film. Walsh’s Gerty has been described by Norris as a “frustrated young governess” (2004: 11) who appears on the beach with the only company of two little children she is taking care of when she notices the presence of Leopold Bloom nearby (Murphy, Walsh, 2003: 0: 58: 12). What first calls the spectators’ attention are her vivid and rich garments, as it was the case with the rest of minor female characters in the movie. Gerty, aware of a man near her, begins to provoke him by removing her opulent clothes and letting Bloom see her knickers. It is particularly interesting that this brief scene is the only moment in Walsh’s film when we can find an allusion to religion in the director’s predominantly secular city, since while Bloom is sexually aroused his sexual exchange with Gerty is intercut with images of people praying in a near Church. Walsh, as we have said, wanted a Ulysses for the people, and we could even add, a Molly for the people. When Walsh began to consider filming Joyce’s novel, a process that took him more than ten years, many things had changed in Ireland. Since its entry in the European Union in 1973, contraception had 280 Margarita Estévez-Saá been legalised in the country in 1985, divorce in 1995, and two women, Mary Robinson and Mary McAleese, had been elected presidents of the Republic. Walsh has given ample room in his film to the presence of women who recurrently enter and participate in the narrative. The imposing ghost of Stephen Dedalus’s mother is recurrently seen, Milly’s voiceover is heard when Bloom receives his daughter’s letter, the same as Martha Clifford’s words are reproduced after Leopold has retrieved her missive at the post office. These female voices should be added to that of Molly’s which, as we have said, frames the film with her appearance at both the beginning and the ending of the movie. Walsh’s use of Joyce’s text with a gender inflection is undeniable even though some spectators with previous knowledge of the novel could question or feel unease with the filmmaker’s choice of rendering the Joycean female characters as probably too opulent, self-satisfied and confident for a period piece that sets them in a poverty-stricken early-twentieth-century Ireland which is nowhere to be seen in Walsh’s colourful city. This Molly, although not featuring Joyce’s unsatisfied and vindictive pro‐ tagonist who revealed, and rebelled against, the condition of women in a premodern patriarchal religious country, certainly appeals to a twenty-first-cen‐ tury audience, probably satisfying both women and men viewers of the film. Women would inevitably applaud her female prowess, her acknowledgement and rejoicing in her own body, her sexual agency and her open vindication of female desire. Ciara Dwyer considered, not without a point of exaggeration, that Ball’s Molly is “every living man’s fantasy” (2003), although many would certainly enjoy her beauty, humour, and playfulness. 3 “Is there one who understands me? ” (fw 627.15) […] “They’ll never see. or know” (fw 627.35-36) Both Strick’s and Walsh’s films, despite their differences in conception, purpose and target audience, are more than mere additional contributions to the already vast and ever-increasing Joyce industry. The two movies, as Margot Norris argues “have much to offer the non-reader, the ordinary person who has never read Ulysses and who feels intimidated by the text” (2004: 6). Norris also applauds the filmmakers’ homage to Joyce and to his novel, despite the limitations of their medium: “both films honor Joyce’s work by respecting his language and preserving much of it verbatim, and they successfully clarify the novel’s plot and the complex triangular relationships of the characters, although to considerable expense to the novel’s literary experimentation” (6). Both Strick and Walsh have offered artistic products which have an undeniable intrinsic artistic value and 281 O Jamesy let me up 3 Quotations from Finnegans Wake are conventionally cited by page and line number. that do not have to be necessarily assessed in relation to the novel that inspired them. Notwithstanding, we should take into account that Joyce’s work in general and Ulysses in has been for almost a century object of continued debates which have affected his political views, religious attitude, and gender concerns. Molly Bloom claimed in Joyce’s text “Oh Jamesy, let me up out of this”, which can be read as a typically Joycean metaliterary comment, that is, a premonitory reflection on the artistic conundrum in which he has immersed a female protagonist applauded by many and criticised by others. Nonetheless, it can be also interpreted as the expression of Molly’s earnest desire to overcome the adverse and marginalised circumstances that affected her female condition. In this sense, Sean Walsh has, to a good extent, allowed Molly to get free from many of the nets that strangled women in early-twentieth-century Ireland. Walsh’s active, daring, rebellious sexy protagonist undoubtedly appeals to a twenty-first-century Irish and international audience. And these are features that Joyce also attributed to his character. Even so, Walsh has renounced to project another equally important dimension of Joyce’s characterisation of Molly Bloom, that of witness and loudspeaker of the limitations and constric‐ tions of Irish women at the beginning of the twentieth century. It is in this sense that Strick’s film can be considered as more seriously involved with gender issues in both the rendering of Joyce’s secondary female characters and, more clearly, through Barbara Jefford’s staging of Molly Bloom. This suits the politically engaged film that Norris has identified in “Ulysses at the Movies” (2004) and that she has distinguished from Walsh’s “considerably less politically inflected” film (2004: 11). Joyce never renounced to think once and again through his female characters about the possibilities and limits of the representation of women and of the female condition in fiction. Anna Livia Plurabelle, the protagonist of Finnegans Wake still wonders in Joyce’s last work “Is there one who understands me? ” (FW 627.15) 3 and some lines later on laments “They’ll never see. Nor know” (FW 627.35-36). Anna Livia’s Ricorso vindicates visibility for women and both Strick and Walsh have paid due tribute to Joyce’s female protagonists’ demands of visibility, opting Strick for voicing and visualising Molly’s complaints about the adverse situation of women in early-twentieth-century Ireland, and Walsh for projecting the image of the modern, liberated, careless and sexually active Irish woman of Molly’s dreams. 282 Margarita Estévez-Saá Bibliographical References Burkdall, T. L. (2001). Joycean Frames: Film and the Fiction of James Joyce. New York & London: Routledge. Crowther, B. (14 March 1967). “Ulysses Brings a Faithful View of Joyce’s Dubliners”. The New York Times. Cullen, M., Luddy M. (2001). “Introduction”. In M. Cullen and M. Luddy (Eds.). Female Activists: Irish Women and Change 1900-1960. Dublin: The Woodfield Press. DiBattista, M. (2009). “Cinema”. In J. McCourt (Ed.). James Joyce in Context (355-365). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dwyer, C. (19 July 2003). “At Last, a Molly who Blooms Brazenly”. Independent.ie. Dwyer, M. (10 April 2004). “In Full Bloom”. The Irish Times. Ellmann, R. (1983). James Joyce. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Joyce, J. (1957). Letters of James Joyce. Vol. I. S. Gilbert (Ed.). London: Faber and Faber. Joyce, J. (1990). Finnegans Wake. Seamus Deane (Ed.). Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books. Joyce, J. (2001). Ulysses. Hans Walter Gabler (Ed.). London: The Bodley Head. Kain, R. M. (Summer 1967). “Ulysses on Film”. James Joyce Quarterly, 4. 4, 351-353. Gómez López, J. I. (2002). James Joyce en el cine: La primera traducción fílmica de Ulises. Almería: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Almería. Henke, S., Unkeless, E. (Eds.). (1982). Women in Joyce. Brighton, Sussex: The Harvester Press. Mercaton, J. (1991). Las horas de James Joyce. E. Calatrava (Trad.). Valencia: Edicions Alfons El Magnànim, Institució Valenciana D’Estudis i Investigació. McCourt, J. (Ed.). (2010). “Roll Away the Reel World”: James Joyce and Cinema. Cork: Cork University Press. McCormick, K. (1994). “Reproducing Molly Bloom: A Revisionist History of the Reception of ‘Penelope,’ 1922-1970”. In R. Pearce (Ed.). Molly Blooms: A Polylogue on “Penelope” and Cultural Studies, 17-39. Madison, Wisconsin: The University of Wisconsin Press. Murphy, G. (Producer) & Walsh, S. (Director). (2003). Bloom. Ireland: Odyssey Pictures. Norris, M. (2004). Ulysses. Cork: Cork University Press. Norris, M. (2004). “Ulysses at the Movies”. S-Space. http: / / s-space.snu.ac.kr/ bitstream/ 10 371/ 29505/ 1/ Inmun_v52_3.pdf (Accessed on 24 March 2020.) Norris, M. (Fall 2003-Winter 2004). “Updating Ulysses: Joseph Strick’s 1967 Film”. James Joyce Quarterly 41.1/ 2, 79-87. Scott, B. K. (1984). Joyce and Feminism. Bloomington/ Sussex: Indiana University Press/ The Harvester Press. Steven (11 June 2013). “Sean Walsh on Bloom, His Adaptation of Joyce’s Ulysses”. Film Ireland. 283 O Jamesy let me up Strick, J. (Producer & Director). (1967). Ulysses. Ireland: Laser Film Corporation and Ulysses Film Production. Walshe, S. (2017). “Forced Perspectives: Seeing Ulysses through the Eyes of Jospeh Strick and Sean Walsh”. In P. Paparunas, F. Illmberger, M. Heusser (Eds.). Parallaxing Joyce (190-211). Tübingen: Narr Francke Attempto Verlag. Watson, P. (23 November 2003). “Bloom or Bust”. The Guardian. Watts, S. (2 October 1966). “Movies: ‘If You Censor Ulysses There Will Be a Scandal’”. The New York Times. 284 Margarita Estévez-Saá KATHARINA BLUM: OPFER ODER TÄTER? Die weibliche Hauptfigur in Heinrich Böll und in Volker Schlöndorff und Margarethe von Trotta Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas 1 Einführung Im Jahr 1974 wurde Heinrich Bölls Erzählung Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum oder: Wie Gewalt entstehen und wohin sie führen kann veröffentlicht, ein Text, mit dem der Autor einen großen Erfolg erlangte. Kurz danach erschien unter Regie von Volker Schlöndorff und Margarethe von Trotta der Film Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum (1975). Beide Werke, das literarische und das filmische, werden von Katharina Hall in einer Untersuchung zu ‚crime fiction‘ in der deutschsprachigen Literatur in die Kategorie des westdeutschen Soziokrimis ab 1960 untergeordnet. Laut Hall wird der Anfang dieser Periode u. a. durch politische Ereignisse beeinflusst. Zwei politische Momente werden insbesondere hervorgehoben: Zum einen werden das Ende der Ära Adenauer sowie die Tatsache erwähnt, dass die ‚second generation‘ anfängt, über die Rolle der Elterngeneration während der Nazi-Zeit kritisch zu reflektieren. Zum anderen werden die Entstehung der Außerparlamentarischen Opposition (APO) und die Studentenbewegung von 1968 genannt (Hall, 2016: 13). Außerdem betont sie den Einfluss der Übersetzung und Publikation im Rowohlt Verlag von schwedischen Kriminalromanen, die von ihren Autoren als „a vehicle for social criticism“ verstanden wurden, „using it to illustrate the negative effects of capitalism on Swedish society“ (Hall, 2016: 13). Dementsprechend zeigen deutschsprachige Soziokrimis Mord und Verbrechen als Folge von gesellschaft‐ lichen Strukturen und sozialem Druck. Gleichzeitig gibt es, wie Hall erläutert, einige deutschsprachige Schriftsteller, die mit ‚crime fiction‘ experimentieren, indem sie die Texte nach den Regeln des Genres konstruieren, um sie zugleich zu subvertieren und somit die Idee der objektiven Wahrheit zu problematisieren (Hall, 2016: 15). Zu dieser Gruppe zählt Heinrich Böll mit seinem Text Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum: Misinterpreted by some as a legitimization of violence, the text sought to dissect the conditions that make violence possible by critiquing the West German tabloids’ commercial exploitation of fears about terrorism, the unconstitutional legal steps to combat extremism […] and the criminalization of innocent citizens. Adapted for film in 1975 by directors Volker Schlöndorff and Margarethe von Trotta, with Angela Winkler in the leading role, this powerful novel is viewed as an origin text for later crime novels and thrillers that have engaged with the legacy of Baader-Meinhof terrorism. (Hall, 2016: 15-16) Rolf G. Renner situiert Bölls Erzählung sowie Schlöndorffs bzw. Trottas Ver‐ filmung, an die der Schriftsteller selbst beteiligt war, in die Zeit nach den Ereignissen von 1968 und daher in eine Epoche, in jener die filmische Kunst politische Stellung nahm. Insofern betrachtet er diesen Film als Rekonstruktion der „ideologische[n] Situation von 1968“ und betont seinen ideologiekritischen Charakter, der sich auch ganz stark gegen die BRD richtet (Renner, 2010: 26). Er beschreibt den Film sogar als „eine durchaus überzeichnete Attacke auf die reaktionären Elemente westdeutscher Politik“ (Renner, 2010: 28). Bölls politische Intention ist ganz klar, er selbst nannte seine Erzählung ein politisches Pamphlet (Böll, 2007: 140). Der Anstoß für die Verfassung von Bölls Erzählung hat, wie mehrere AutorInnen erläutern, einen lebensgeschichtlichen Grund. Nachdem Böll im März 1972 im Spiegel den Artikel „Will Ulrike Meinhof Gnade oder freies Geleit? “ veröffentlicht hatte, wurde er des Sympathisierens mit Terroristen (Baader-Meinhof Gruppe) bezichtigt und dann von der Presse stark unter Druck gesetzt. Sowohl Böll als auch Schlöndorff wurden Opfer der Springer-Presse (Renner, 2010: 32; Armster, 1988: 83; Wolf, 1971). An der fiktiven Figur Katharina Blum zeigt der Schriftsteller die Grenzen der Pressefreiheit auf und denunziert die strukturelle Gewalt der gegenwärtigen Gesellschaft, die auch von der Presse unterstützt wird. Mit ihren gesellschaftskritischen Werken würden Böll und Schlöndorff außerdem eine soziale Funktion ausüben wollen. Völkl z.B. unterstreicht Bölls Selbstbetrachtung in seiner schriftstellerischen Funktion als „Mahner, der auch politisch Stellung zu beziehen hat. Verwandt mit ihm er‐ scheint der Clown als Hüter des Menschlichen und der Freiheit im Kampf gegen die Normierung“ (Völkl, 2010: 5). Auch Renner führt in seiner Untersuchung in dieser Hinsicht Schlöndorffs Verständnis vom Kino als „Schule der Aufklärung“ ein (Renner, 2010: 28). Wolf Donner hat den Text von Heinrich Böll als eine Fallstudie definiert (Donner, 1971). Bölls sozio-politische Kritik artikuliert sich rund um die Figur von Katharina Blum, um ihre existentiellen Umstände, ihr Schicksal und die ihr umgebenden Figuren, die zusammen den Mittelpunkt der Erzählung darstellen. 286 Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas Der Schriftsteller präsentiert eine weibliche Hauptfigur, die sich unschuldiger‐ weise in einem von der Polizei bewachten Verbrecher verliebt, der u. a. eines Bankraubs beschuldigt wird und als Anarchist gilt. Sofort wird sie von der Polizei der Kooperation mit dem Kriminellen Ludwig Götten verdächtigt und von der Boulevard-Presse verleumdet. Der Druck auf die Verdächtige und die Diffamierung von der Presse untergraben die Existenz der Protagonistin, bis sie zuletzt als einzigen Ausweg aus dieser Situation den Mord an den Journalisten Tötges sieht. Die Rolle der Katharina Blum wurde in Schlöndorffs bzw. Trottas Litera‐ turverfilmung von Angela Winkler meisterhaft dargestellt. Der Film wurde von der Kritik meistens positiv rezipiert, jedoch wurde er im Vergleich mit der literarischen Vorlage, wie Cordia Bauman feststellt, aufgrund der „Kom‐ plexitätsreduktion, die den Film von Bölls Erzählung unterscheidet,“ kritisiert (Bauman, 2012: 127-128). Wie Deborah Cartmell und Imelda Whelean betonen, „an adaptation doesn’t simply counterfeit (and reduce) but adds to the original narrative a battery of codes, both cultural and cinematic […] what a film takes from a book matters; but so does what it brings to a book“ (Cartmell/ Whelean, 2007: 5). In dieser Hinsicht geht dieser Beitrag den Fragen nach, wie die literarische weibliche Figur in den literarischen Text und in der filmischen Kunstform dargestellt wurde, welche Rolle die Figur in beiden Werken spielt, wie sie charakterisiert wird und ob bedeutende Unterschiede zu verzeichnen sind. 287 Katharina Blum: Opfer oder Täter? 1 Der Erzähler selbst erklärt, dass sein Bericht mit der Technik der Zusammenführung konstruiert ist, und benutzt einen Vergleich, um sie zu beleuchten: „Angesichts von ‚Quellen‘ und ‚Fließen‘ kann man nicht von Komposition sprechen, so sollte man vielleicht statt dessen den Begriff der Zusammenführung […] einführen, und dieser Begriff sollte jedem einleuchten, der je als Kind (oder gar Erwachsener) in, an und mit Pfützen gespielt hat, die er anzapfte, durch Kanäle miteinander verband, leerte, ablenkte, umlenkte, bis er schließlich das gesamte, ihm zur Verfügung stehende Pfüt‐ zenwasserpotential in einem Sammelkanal zusammenführte, um es auf ein niedrigeres Niveau ab-, möglicherweise gar ordnungsgemäß oder ordentlich, regelrecht in eine be‐ hördlicherseits erstellte Abflußrinne oder in einen Kanal zu lenken. Es wird also nichts weiter vorgenommen als eine Art Dränage oder Trockenlegung. Ein ausgesprochener Ordnungsvorgang! “ (Böll, 2007: 8) Der Erzähler bittet auch um Entschuldigung, weil es „Stockungen, Stauungen, Versandungen, mißglückte Konduktionen und Quellen, die ‚zusammen nicht kommen können‘, außerdem unterirdische Strömungen usw. usw. gibt“ (Böll, 2007: 8). 2 Katharina Blum im Buch Die komplizierte Erzähltechnik 1 , die Heinrich Böll in seiner Erzählung präsen‐ tiert, steht, wie aus dem Text hervorgeht, im Dienst der Objektivität der darge‐ stellten Geschichte, das ist, die Erläuterung der eigentlichen Fakten im Fall der Katharina Blum. Aus einer journalistischen Sichtweise sammelt der Erzähler in seinem Bericht Informationen aus verschiedenen Quellen. Die wichtigsten sind, wie gleich am Anfang des Werkes erläutert wird, die Vernehmungsprotokolle von der Polizei und von den Anwälten Rechtsanwalt Dr. Blorna und Staatsan‐ walt Hach, sowie Nebenquellen, die hier nicht ausdrücklich zitiert werden, aber sich „aus dem Bericht selbst ergeben“ (Böll, 2007: 7). Die Zeitungsartikel über den Fall werden in der Erzählung ebenso eingeführt. Die Auswahl und Ordnung der Informationen aus diesen Quellen macht der Erzähler, sodass die LeserInnen das ganze Wissen über Katharina Blum indirekt bekommen. Die erste Information, die die LeserInnen von Katharina Blum haben, ist, dass sie die Angeklagte in einem Fall ist. Im rein journalistischen Ton erklärt der Erzähler die ‚brutalen Tatsachen‘ von diesem Fall: Es handelt sich um eine „junge Frau von siebenundzwanzig Jahren“, die am 20.2.1974 „an einem privaten Tanzvergnügen“ teilnimmt. Am 24.2.1974 „klingelt sie an der Wohnungstür des Kriminaloberkommissars Walter Moeding […] und gibt […] zu Protokoll, sie habe mittags gegen 12.15 in ihrer Wohnung den Journalisten Werner Tötges erschossen […]“ (Böll, 2007: 9). Durch diese sozusagen einführenden, anfänglichen Kapitel erfahren die LeserInnen, dass Katharina Blum die eigentliche Hauptfigur der Geschichte ist. Als sie zu Moeding geht und ihn vom Mord an Tötges informiert, gibt sie zu, dass sie keine Reue empfinden kann und verhaftet werden will, denn „sie möchte 288 Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas 2 Kristina Jokić hat sich mit Fragen der weiblichen Emanzipation bei den Frauenfiguren in Bölls Werk beschäftigt. Sie betont die Bedeutung von Frauen als Schlüsselfiguren und analysiert ihre Vielschichtigkeit sowie die Unmöglichkeit, sie zu einem bestimmten Frauentyp zuzuordnen (Vgl. Jokić, 2011). gern dort sein, wo auch ihr ‚lieber Ludwig‘ sei“ (Böll, 2007: 9). Ludwig Götten ist ihr Geliebter, der am 23.4.1974 von der Polizei gefasst wird. Der erste Aspekt über Katharinas Person, der bemerkt wird, ist ihre Jugend: Sie wird als „junge Person“ oder „junge Frau“ beschrieben - sie ist siebenundzwanzig Jahre alt. „Die Blum war bei ihrer Bluttat mit einer kalten Klugheit zu Werke gegangen“, laut der Polizei (Böll, 2007: 11). Laut der ZEITUNG, deren Behandlung - auch bei anderen Zeitungen - des Falls vom Erzähler als ‚Über-Aufmerksamkeit der Presse‘ beschrieben wird, ist Katharina Blum eine „kluge und fast kühle Person“ (Böll, 2007: 13). Als Katharina Blums Wohnung am 21.2.1974 von der Polizei durchsucht wurde, stand sie da, wie der Erzähler aus den Protokollen zitiert, „äußerst entspannt, fast glücklich“ und „nicht überrascht, sondern gelassen, ‚wenn nicht triumphierend‘“ (Böll, 2007: 18). Zu diesem Zeitpunkt wissen die LeserInnen noch nicht, dass sie Ludwig Götten dazu verhalf, sich aus ihrer Wohnung ungesehen herauszuschleichen und, dass sie ihm den Schlüssel der Villa von Alois Sträubleder gegeben hat, wo er sich verstecken wird. Erst nachdem Katharina von der Polizei nach der Durchsuchung ihrer Wohnung zur Vernehmung gebracht wird, kann man weitere Informationen über ihre Biografie und ihren Alltag erfahren. Sie kommt aus einem kleinen Ort, aus einer bescheidenen Familie, der Vater war Kriegsverletzter und nach seinem Tod hatte die Familie finanzielle Schwierigkeiten. Katharina musste ziemlich bald anfangen zu arbeiten. Durch Unterstützung ihrer Patentante Else Woltersheim konnte sie eine Ausbildung machen und später die Fachprüfung als staatlich geprüfte Wirtschafterin bestehen. Im Protokoll werden ihr Lebenslauf und die Erklärung ihrer finanziellen Lage aufgeschrieben. Ihr älterer Bruder Kurt Blum ist im Gefängnis. Sie hatte mit zwanzig Wilhelm Brettloh geheiratet und verlies ihren Mann aufgrund „unüberwindliche[r] Abneigung“, weswegen sie „schuldig geschieden wegen böswilligen Verlassens“ wurde (Böll, 2007: 23). Dann zog sie in die Stadt und kaufte später dank ihrer Ersparnisse und des Kredits ihres Chefs Herrn Dr. Hubert Blorna eine Eigentumswohnung und ein gebrauchtes Auto 2 . Von vielen ihrer Bekannten und Familienmitgliedern wird Katharina als Mensch positiv angesehen: Die Hausbewohner beschreiben sie als adrett und freundlich - auch kühl - und sie glauben, sie könnte Chefsekretärin oder Abteilungsleiterin im Warenhaus sein (Böll, 2007: 31); Else Woltersheim nennt sie „ein fleißiges, ordentliches, ein bißchen schüchternes, oder besser gesagt: 289 Katharina Blum: Opfer oder Täter? eingeschüchtertes Mädchen […] als Kind sogar fromm und kirchentreu“ (Böll, 2007: 63-64); Herr Hiepertz, für wen Katharina auch arbeitet, beschreibt sie als „radikal hilfsbereit, planvoll und intelligent“ (Böll, 2007: 42); ihr Arbeitgeber Blorna sagt der ZEITUNG, dass Katharina eine „sehr kluge und kühle Person“ ist (Böll, 2007: 35) und außerdem betont er ihre Unschuld, ihre „merkwürdige, herzliche Kühle“ und ihre Verletzlichkeit (Böll, 2007: 87-88). Im Text ist aber nie die Rede von Katharinas Keuschheit, das wird nur angedeutet, wenn von der Hauptfigur gesagt wird, dass sie eher allein ist, kaum ausgeht und nicht trinkt, und dass sie „komisch in diesen Sachen“ ist - sie glaubt z. B., dass ihre Kusinen gutgläubig und leichtsinnig sind, wenn sie männliche Begleitung für eine Party in einer Bar suchen. Eigentlich ist sie mit dem Spitznamen ‚Nonne‘ bekannt. Ihren Kusinen, Hertha Scheumel und Claudia Sterm, fällt es deswegen komisch auf, dass Katharina, die „als spröde bekannt“ ist, die ganze Nacht mit Götten getanzt hatte, „als würden sie sich schon ewig kennen“ (Böll, 2007: 69). Sogar Blornas Hervorhebung ihrer Unschuld kann auch im Sinne ihres sexuellen Lebens interpretiert werden. Dieses positive Bild der Hauptfigur wird durch die Presse verändert. Zuerst werden in der ZEITUNG die Worte von Hiepertz und Blorna verfälscht, wo anstatt ihren wahren Äußerungen steht, dass sie für sie „eine in jeder Beziehung radikale Person“ sowie „eiskalt und berechnend“ ist (Böll, 2007: 36; 42). Am Wochenende, in der SONNTAGSZEITUNG, wird sie dann als undurchsichtige Person präsentiert und es wird nochmals unterstrichen, dass sie eiskalt und be‐ rechnend ist; ihre Gleichgültigkeit gegenüber den Gefühlen anderer Menschen sowie ihre Ausnutzung von hochangesehenen Personen, um ihre Geldgier zu befriedigen, werden hier hart kritisiert. Erst nachdem Katharina Blum in der ZEITUNG als Kriminelle bekannt gegeben wird, wird sie von unbekannten Menschen und sogar von einigen Bekannten mit negativen Eigenschaften charakterisiert: Ein Taxifahrer nannte sie Nüttchen; ihr Exmann beschreibt sie in der ZEITUNG als Sozialistin, Radikale und Kirchenfeindliche und weist auf ihre Geldgier hin (Böll, 2007: 40-41). Beizmenne, der sich oft an Katharina mit einem väterlichen Ton richtet, sagt zu ihr bei der Vernehmung, dass er sie „nicht für unmittelbar kriminell, sondern nur für naiv und ein bißchen zu romantisch“ hält - Eigenschaften, die in einer patriarchalen Gesellschaft als typisch weiblich wahrgenommen werden und hier jedoch eher als negative Merkmale zu betrachten sind (Böll, 2007: 53). Gleich danach kritisiert Beizmenne Katharinas anscheinend widersprüchliches sexuelles Verhalten: Wie wollen Sie mir - uns - erklären, daß Sie, die Sie als zimperlich, fast prüde bekannt sind, die Sie von Ihren Bekannten und Freunden den Spitznamen ‚Nonne‘ erhalten haben, die Diskotheken meidet, weil es dort zu wüst zugeht - sich von ihrem Mann 290 Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas scheiden läßt, weil er ‚zudringlich‘ geworden ist -, wie wollen Sie uns dann erklären, daß Sie - angeblich - diesen Götten erst vorgestern kennengelernt haben und noch am gleichen Tage - man könnte sagen stehenden Fußes - ihn mit in Ihre Wohnung genommen haben und dort sehr rasch - na sagen wir - intim mit ihm geworden sind. Wie nennen Sie das? Liebe auf den ersten Blick? Verliebtheit? Zärtlichkeit? (Böll, 2007: 53) Der Polizei nach kann andererseits die Aussage der Nachbarn über Katharinas Herrenbesuch, was auch im Widerspruch mit ihrer Beschreibung als ‚Nonne‘ stand, nur bedeuten, dass sie davon finanziell profitierte. Es wird also ange‐ deutet, dass es sich beim Herrenbesuch um Prostitution handelte. Im Laufe der Erzählung wird Katharina von Männern oft als sexuelles Objekt wahrgenommen, was sie begreift und sie unermesslich stört. Dieser Aspekt wird schon fast am Anfang des Textes dargestellt: Da Blorna und seine Frau Katharina Blum als in sexuellen Dingen äußerst empfindlich, fast prüde schildern, muß die Möglichkeit, Beizmenne könnte […] die umstrittene Frage gestellt haben, hier erwogen werden. Beizmenne soll die aufreizend gelassen an ihrer Anrichte lehnende Katharina nämlich gefragt haben: „Hat er dich denn gefickt“, woraufhin Katharina sowohl rot geworden sein wie in stolzem Triumph gesagt haben soll: „Nein, ich würde es nicht so nennen.“ […] Hach jedenfalls, der bei der Haussuchung zugegen war, gilt unter Bekannten und Freunden als „Sexklemmer“, und es wäre durchaus möglich, daß ihm selbst ein so grober Gedanke gekommen ist, als er die äußerst attraktive Blum da so nachlässig an ihrer Anrichte lehnen sah, und daß er diese Frage gern gestellt oder die so grob definierte Tätigkeit gern mit ihr ausgeübt hätte. (Böll, 2007: 19-20) Bei ihrer Vernehmung zeigt sich Katharina besonders empfindlich über die Sprache, die man im Protokoll benutzt und besteht energisch darauf, das Wort ‚zärtlich‘ durch ‚zudringlich‘ zu ersetzen: Es kam zu regelrechten Definitionskontroversen zwischen ihr und den Staatsan‐ wälten, ihr und Beizmenne, weil Katharina behauptete, Zärtlichkeit sei eben eine beiderseitige und Zudringlichkeit eine einseitige Handlung, und um letztere habe es sich immer gehandelt. […] Der Unterschied sei für sie von entscheidender Bedeutung, und einer der Gründe, warum sie sich von ihrem Mann getrennt habe, hänge damit zusammen; der sei eben nie zärtlich, sondern immer zudringlich gewesen. (Böll, 2007: 29-30) Der Unterschied zwischen ‚zärtlich‘ und ‚zudringlich‘ beleuchtet Katharinas eigenes Verständnis ihrer Sexualität. Das männliche Verhalten gegenüber der Protagonistin ist von Bedeutung, sofern es sich hier um eine Gewaltform 291 Katharina Blum: Opfer oder Täter? handelt, die in den Strukturen der patriarchalen Gesellschaft eingeprägt und normalisiert ist. Charlotte Armster hat in ihrer Untersuchung die sexuelle Gewalt in Bölls Erzählung analysiert und behauptet, dass der Verlust von Ehre, wenn es sich konkret um die Rede von der Ehre einer Frau handelt, direkt mit deren Sexualität assoziiert wird. Die geschlechtsspezifische Gewalt, auf die nach Armster bereits im Titel der Erzählung Bezug genommen wird, bildet den Ausgangspunkt für die soziale und politische Gewalt, die vom Schriftsteller im Text exemplifiziert wird: In light of the political climate at the time, it is not surprising that many initial interpretations of Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum were primarily concerned with obvious connections to the external world. Such an approach, however, obscure the sexual exploitation depicted in the novel (which is integral to the entire plot development) and concentrated almost solely on the political reality of West Germany. This is most readily apparent in the fact that these interpretations emphasized the importance of the subtitle: „How violence develops and where it can lead“ - and neglected the importance of the primary title: „The lost honor of Katharina Blum“. The sexual nature of „lost honor“ and its connection to violence, as implied by the interplay between title and subtitle, was simply overlooked. (Armster, 1988: 84) Da der Verlust von der Ehre einer Frau direkt mit ihrer Sexualität verbunden wird, sei laut Armster die Gewalt, die gegen Katharina geübt wird, an erster Stelle eine sexuelle. Dies bilde, zusammen mit der gesellschaftlichen und politischen Gewalt, den Ausgangspunkt für Katharinas eigene gewalttätige Tat. In Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum hat der Erzähler eine bedeutende Funktion als kritische Instanz. Er wählt die Informationen aus und ordnet sie, um die vermeintliche Objektivität der polizeilichen Berichte und der Zeitungsartikel bzw. die von ihnen absichtlich modellierte Realität, welche politischen und ökonomischen Interessen entspricht, zu demontieren. Trotz seiner Kontroll‐ funktion bleibt er nicht ganz unparteiisch und zeigt seine eigene Meinung durch Ironie. Auch er hat nach Armster eine mangelnde Vision des Geschehens: „His supposed objectivity is a limited perspective, which does not allow him to comprehend fully the sexual nature of the conflict. Like many of the critics, his eyes are focused on the political implications“ (Armster, 1988: 86-87). Dies würde bedeuten, dass seine Kommentare nicht dazu dienen, gleichzeitig die stereotypischen weiblichen Bilder zu demontieren, die in den Protokollen stehen und in der Presse verbreitet werden. Die Instrumentalisierung der Sprache von Seiten der Polizei und der Presse ist nach Armsters Behauptungen ein wichtiger Aspekt der Erzählung und ist im Zusammenhang mit der sexuellen Gewalt zu interpretieren. In dieser Hinsicht verwenden Beizmenne und Tötges gezielt eine 292 Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas bestimmte Ausdrucksweise mit der Absicht, Katharina so zu degradieren, dass sie manipulierbar wird. Das beschreibt sie als „verbal sexual abuse“ (Armster, 1988: 87). Die Gewalt der Sprache, die für Armster ein wesentlicher Aspekt des literarischen Werkes ist, ist nicht der Sprache selbst inhärent, sondern besteht in ihrem Gebrauch, durch „the use of words as weapons rather than guns“ (Armster, 1988: 89). Die Texte der ZEITUNG, die vom Journalisten Tötges geschrieben werden, vermitteln ein Bild der Hauptfigur, die laut Armster nur in der Verbindung mit den im gesellschaftlichen Bewusstsein stark verankerten sexuellen Stereotypen eine bestimmte Bedeutung erhalten, die dem Text ihre gewalttätige Kraft verleihen können. Ein weiterer wichtiger Aspekt in der Erzählung ist die Verbindung der sexuellen Gewalt gegenüber Katharina Blum mit ihrem kriminellen Verhalten. Nachdem der gute Ruf der Protagonistin von der Presse mit den ersten Schlag‐ zeilen in der ZEITUNG zerstört wird, bekommt sie obszöne Post und Anrufe, weswegen sie nicht mehr in ihrer Wohnung bleiben will. Die Attacke gegen sie wird immer heftiger, bis Katharina Tötges Ermordung als einzigen Ausweg sieht. Allerdings ist sexuelle Verleumdung insgeheim nur bei Frauen eine beson‐ dere Art der Verletzung ihrer Integrität als Individuum. Dass diese Problematik geschlechtsspezifisch ist, wird durch die Aussagen von Alois Sträubleder - Katharinas Herrenbesuch - unterstützt: „Eine romantische Frauengeschichte bringt mich höchstens privat in Schwierigkeiten, nicht öffentlich. Da würde nicht einmal ein Foto mit einer so attraktiven Frau wie Katharina Blum schaden […]“ (Böll, 2007: 90-91). Sträubleder hat nur Angst davor, dass sein Name in Verbindung mit dem Kriminellen Götten gebracht werden kann, weil er sicher ist, dass Katharina ihm den Schlüssel seiner Villa gegeben hat. Das würde seine Karriere kaputt machen, aber nicht die Liebesaffäre. Doch die weibliche Ehre gemäß den stereotypisierten patriarchalen Prinzipien, die sexuelle Ehre, wie Armster erklärt, entspricht nicht Katharinas eigenem Verständnis dieses Begriffes. Für sie besteht ihre Ehre in ihren eigenen, individuellen Werten. Insofern spielen Jungfräulichkeit oder Keuschheit, was J.C. Franklin als „sexual innocence“ beschreibt, keine Rolle mehr bei Katharina Blum (Franklin, 1979: 89). Erst wenn der negative Einfluss der Presse die intime Sphäre der Protagonistin zu bedrohen scheint, fühlt sie sich in ihrer Ehre verletzt. Die Zerstörung ihrer privaten Lebenssphäre heißt zugleich den Verlust ihrer Freiheit als Individuum. Franklin behauptet, dass „the refusal to submit to self-alienation is the most fundamental characteristic of the tragedy and concomitant tragic grandeur of figures such […] Katharina Blum“ (Franklin, 1979: 92). Katharinas eigene Wahrnehmung von Sexualität und Ehre kollidiert auf diese Weise mit den sozialen Normen. Wie Armster erklärt: 293 Katharina Blum: Opfer oder Täter? 3 J.C. Franklin vergleicht die Heldinnen in früheren Werken europäischer Literatur mit späteren Werken des 20. Jahrhunderts und beobachtet, dass im ersten Fall „one finds women who encounter crisis of betrayal and compromise and who become heroic through a transcendence of their dilemmas“, während im zweiten Fall - und hiermit berücksichtigt er Katharina Blum - „their greatness derives from a reluctance to relinquish individual integrity and essential humanity in an inhuman and alienating society, from the avoidance of self-alienation“ (Franklin, 1979: 88). Armster stimmt mit Franklin damit überein, dass sich der Konflikt bei Katharina Blum auf die individuelle Sphäre bezieht. Was sie zum Erschießen des Journalisten Tötges führt, ist laut Franklin „the frustrated desire to be true to one’s essential humanity“ (Franklin, 1979: 88). 4 Linda Hill befasst sich in ihrer Untersuchung mit der Typologie von Bölls Figuren in seinem Werk und ordnet Katharina Blum unter den „sympathetic characters“ zu. Sie bemerkt, dass es sich hier bei Katharina Blum um die einzige positive Figur handelt, die eine Gewalttat begeht. Diese Gewalt hat in der Erzählung Konsequenzen für andere Figuren, die zu Katharinas Freundeskreis gehören (Vgl. Hill, 1981: 155). Jedoch sind diese Folgen meiner Meinung nach nicht nur dieser spezifischen Gewalttat zuzuschreiben, sondern sie selbst sind ebenfalls Opfer der strukturellen Gewalt der Gesellschaft. She possesses an unusual independence, as is made clear by her financial arrange‐ ments with the Blornas, her divorce and her refusal to engage meaningless sexual relationships. It is this uniqueness which the police and Tötges are unable to comprehend, as it does not conform to their preconceived stereotypes. (Armster, 1988: 92) Die Polizeiaktion und die Presse agieren als Kontrollinstanzen und revidieren diese individuelle Realität, die sich nicht an die Normen anpasst, an die vorge‐ gebenen Stereotypen. Sie sind sozusagen die Leiter des sozialen und politischen Drucks auf die Protagonistin. In dieser Hinsicht kann man den Mord an Tötges jedoch nicht als Akt des Widerstands interpretieren, sondern, wie Armster erklärt, als ein Akt der „defence of private integrity“ (Armster, 1988: 93) 3 . Katharina ist bewusst, dass ihr öffentliches Bild nicht wiederhergestellt werden kann und dass sie die sozialen Stereotypen auch nicht bekämpfen kann, die ihre Ehre in der öffentlichen Sphäre zerstört haben, sodass ihr als einzige mögliche Rache die Verteidigung ihrer eigenen Integrität als Mensch bleibt, was ihr Bewusstsein beruhigen kann 4 . Katharina Blum wartet auf Tötges in ihrer Wohnung, wo sie sich für ein Interview verabredet haben. Sie hat eine Pistole dabei, aber sie schießt erst, als der Journalist sie an ihre Kleidung anfasst, um sie sexuell zu missbrauchen: „Ja, nun müssen Sie nicht glauben, daß es was Neues für mich war, daß ein Mann mir an die Kledage wollte […]. Aber dieser Kerl - und dann ‚Bumsen‘, und ich dachte: Gut, jetzt bumst’s.“ (Böll, 2007: 135) Hiermit geschieht, wie auch Armster hinweist, eine Identifizierung zwischen sexueller Gewalt und physischer Gewalt durch Mord (Armster, 1988: 94). 294 Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas Das Bild von Katharina Blum als Kriminelle, als Mörderin, ist dem Bild der romantischen Idealistin, die in Ludwig Götten ihre wahre Liebe gefunden hat, vollkommen entgegengesetzt. In dieser Hinsicht beobachtet Franklin einen Widerspruch in Bölls Erzählung zwischen Katharinas „romantic idealistic be‐ havior“ und „the pragmatic expectations of society“ (Franklin, 1979: 95). Meines Erachtens verstärken Katharinas Idealismus und Humanismus die Kritik des Schriftstellers an der strukturellen Gewalt. Meiner Meinung nach war sich Böll bei der Verfassung des Textes ebenfalls von der Relevanz der sexuellen Gewalt in diesem Kontext bewusst und präsentiert diese als Teil der strukturellen Gewalt in einer patriarchalen Gesellschaft. Die weibliche Figur der Katharina Blum bietet ihm die Möglichkeit, der Problematik der Gewalt eine breitere Dimension zu geben, als wenn er einen männlichen Mörder ausgewählt hätte. 3 Katharina Blum im Film Während Böll in seiner Erzählung die Fakten eines skandalösen, in aller Öffentlichkeit verbreiteten und verworfenen kriminellen Falls durch die Zusam‐ menstellung von Protokollen, Zeitungsartikeln und weiteren Quellen darstellt, ohne eine chronologische Reihenfolge der Ereignisse zu präsentieren, wird die Geschichte Katharina Blums in Schlöndorffs/ Trottas Film chronologisch vom Mittwoch 5. Februar bis dem Sonntag 9. Februar 1975 erzählt - wobei im Buch die dargestellten Geschehnisse ein Jahr früher am 20. Februar 1974 anfangen. Im Gegensatz zum literarischen Text, in dem die LeserInnen gleich am Anfang wissen, dass es sich im Buch um die Rekonstruktion von Katharina Blums Fall handelt, werden die ZuschauerInnen mit einer ersten Szene konfrontiert, in der Ludwig Götten am Kölner Hafen von Polizisten bewacht und dann verfolgt wird. Götten stiehlt ein Auto und fährt ins Konzert-Café, wo er Katharinas Kusinen kennenlernt, und sie später zur Party bei Else Woltersheim begleitet. Im Café telefoniert eine der Kusinen mit Katharina und nennt sie mit den Spitznamen ‚Nonne‘. Ein als Scheich verkleideter Mann, der eigentlich ein Polizist ist und auf der Party Katharina Blum, die ‚Nonne‘, identifizieren wird, fährt auch mit. Erst dann, als sie in Else Woltersheims Wohnung sind, erscheint Katharina zum ersten Mal im Film. Katharina ist nicht verkleidet und trifft sich mit Götten als beide durch eine Tür gehen. Nachdem sich ihre Blicke mehrmals gekreuzt haben, tanzen sie miteinander. Die Augen von Götten und Katharina zeigen Liebe auf den ersten Blick. In Bölls Erzählung spielt diese romantische Liebe schon eine Rolle. Katharina, die die Lebensgeschichte ihres Geliebten erst nach ihrer Vernehmung erfährt, empfand das Versteckspiel mit Götten als „eine Art Räuber- und Gendarmro‐ 295 Katharina Blum: Opfer oder Täter? 5 In seiner Rezension über den Film macht Wolf die folgende Beschreibung von Katharina Blum: „Angela Winkler spielt die Hauptrolle. Sie ist so verletzlich, daß man sie sofort beschützen möchte. Sie strahlt so viel natürliche Würde und moralische Kraft aus, daß man sie verehren muß. Auf das, was ihr geschieht, reagiert sie mit kreatürlicher Naivität: Bei der Lektüre der ‚Zeitung‘ muß sie erbrechen, nach der Durchsicht der Schmähbriefe zertrümmert sie ihre Einrichtung. Sie leidet nicht ergeben, sondern lehnt sich auf, stumm, mit einem fast archaischen Sinn für Gerechtigkeit. Angela Winkler hat jene Unschuld und leise Rigorosität, mit der Jugendliche in Diskussionen die Erwachsenen verwirren, und jene ‚plebejische Sensibilität‘, die Bölls Frauenfiguren zu so anziehenden Traum- und Märchenfiguren machen.“ (Wolf, 1971) mantik“ und bereute nach dem Mord nicht die Zeit im Gefängnis, „weil sie ‚unter denselben Bedingungen wie mein lieber Ludwig‘ lebt[e]“ (Böll, 2007: 109, 126). Die bedingungslose Liebe für den Kriminellen Götten treibt im Film die Handlung fort (Vgl. dazu Swan, 2000: 187-193). Das Motiv der romantischen Liebe bekommt hier eine größere Bedeutung. Es gibt einige wichtige Momente, an denen das zu beobachten ist. Nach dem ersten Vernehmungstag im Präsidium kommt Katharina in ihre Wohnung zurück, duscht und betrachtet, wie alles durcheinander wegen der polizeilichen Durchsuchung ist. Da gibt es eine Rück‐ blende und Katharina erinnert sich an ein Gespräch mit Götten auf der Party: Sie gesteht Götten ihre Freude und ihre Angst zugleich, weil sie schon lange keine Liebesbeziehung gehabt hatte. Später, bevor Götten von der Polizei in Sträubleders Villa gefasst wird, gibt es nachts auch ein Telefonat mit Katharina: Sie ruft ihn an, weil sie sich große Sorgen macht und ihn liebt. Dann, als Katharina vom Krankenhaus zurückkommt, wo ihre Mutter gestorben ist, sieht sie viele Polizeiautos und fährt dann zur Villa, wo es ein großes Polizeiaufgebot gibt, weil sie Götten festgenommen haben. Katharina zeigt sich besorgt um ihn, aber als sie von Beizmennes Assistent erfährt, dass es ihm gut geht, freut sie sich. Und dann, nach dem Mord, werden Katharina und Götten von Polizisten als Gefangene geführt und, als sie sich kreuzen, stürzt sich Katharina auf Götten und umarmt ihn, bis sie getrennt werden. Die romantische Liebe kann somit als ein Leitmotiv im Film interpretiert werden. Ein weiterer Unterschied zwischen literarischem Text und Film ist die Charakterisierung der Hauptfigur. Böll führt in seiner Erzählung keine physi‐ sche Beschreibung der Protagonistin ein. Man erfährt nur, dass sie eine sehr attraktive junge Frau ist. Im Film trägt Katharina Blum dunkle Kleidung und hat langes schwarzes, glattes Haar. Das Auffallendste an ihrem Äußeren sind ihre Augen. Ihr Gesicht wird meistens im Film durch Nahaufnahmen gezeigt, um die ZuschauerInnen auf ihre Gefühle aufmerksam zu machen 5 . In Bezug auf ihre Aussagen erklärt Rolf G. Renner: „Während in Bölls Text […] Handlung und Darstellung der Protagonistin durch unterschiedliche narrative Techniken 296 Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas 6 Renner betrachtet als ein Merkmal der BRD-Filme in den 1970er Jahren die bipolare Konstruktion im Gegensatz zur Multiperspektivität der Nachwendefilmkunst (Renner, 2010: 36). Der Film würde also die Welt in Gut und Böse einteilen und diese Polarität wäre durch verschiedene filmische Mittel dargestellt: „Durch die Kameraeinstellungen, die konstant auf einzelne Personen gerichtet sind, durch die Schwarz-Weiß-Bilder der Überwachungsmonitore, welche die kolorierten Bildsequenzen der Handlung durchschneiden, durch die latente sexuelle Gewalt der Karnevalsszenen und die offene Gewalt des Polizeiapparats. Während des Polizeieinsatzes der militärisch ausgerüsteten SEK erscheint Katharinas nackter Körper hilflos und entsexualisiert zugleich.“ (Renner, präsentiert werden, ist Schlöndorffs filmische Adaption durch Linearität und eindeutige Aussagen gekennzeichnet.“ (Renner, 2010: 32) Nach der Lektüre des Textes bekommt man den Eindruck, dass die Gespräche im Film nur ganz präzise die Informationen mitteilen, die für das Verständnis der Handlung und für die Ausübung der durchgeführten Kritik an der Gesellschaft und ihrer Strukturen von Bedeutung sind. Renner betont außerdem, dass die Entwicklung der Haupt‐ figur im Film „ohne jede Psychologisierung und in distanzierten Bildsequenzen gezeichnet“ wird (Renner, 2010: 35). Die Darstellung der filmischen Geschichte versucht die Geschehnisse und die Elemente der strukturellen Gewalt, die von Böll in seinem Werk denunziert wird, objektiv darzustellen, mit der Absicht, die Konsequenz zu zeigen, wie die auf ein Individuum ausgeübte Gewalt zu weiteren Gewalttaten führen kann, wie in diesem Fall ein Mord. Allerdings gibt es im Film keine ironischen Momente, keine Kommentare eines Erzählers, die das Ganze infrage stellen: Nicht anders als Böll funktionalisiert Schlöndorff die Darstellung einer weiblichen Protagonistin nicht nur, um die Zerstörung des Individuums durch die Ordnung der Macht deutlich zu machen. Er verbindet diese Darstellung einer individuellen Geschichte zugleich mit den Bildern einer autoritären patriarchalen Gesellschaft, die in durchaus überzeichneter Weise präsentiert wird. Mit seiner pointierten Schemati‐ sierung folgt er dabei ebenfalls der Böllschen Textvorlage. Kritiker, die Schlöndorffs einfache Linearität einer ironischen Brechung in Bölls Darstellung gegenüberstellen wollen, übersehen, dass Böll selbst vor allem sein Prinzip der Überzeichnung betont. (Renner, 2010: 35) Ganz deutlich heben Schlöndorff und Trotta im Film hervor, wie die sexuelle Gewalt der patriarchalen Gesellschaft gegen Katharina ausgeübt wird. Die an die Hauptfigur gerichtete soziale Kritik wegen des Herrenbesuchs, das Bild der kaltblütigen, geldsüchtigen Prostituierten, das sich aufgrund der Informationen in der ZEITUNG in der öffentlichen Meinung einnistet, werden ebenfalls wie in Bölls Erzählung dem Bild der naiven, unschuldigen Katharina Blum entgegengesetzt 6 . Der Film zeigt auch die sexuelle Belästigung der Protagonistin 297 Katharina Blum: Opfer oder Täter? 2010: 34-35) Wie Renner pointiert, „diese ästhetische Dramatisierung von Gegensätzen wird durch Bildfolgen unterstrichen, welche die strukturelle Gewalt des Staates über‐ zeichnen und schematisieren, ohne sie analytisch zu entfalten“ (Renner, 2010: 35; vgl. dazu Gerhardt, 2008). von unbekannten Menschen. Fast am Ende des Films erreicht die sexuelle Gewalt in der Figur von Tötges einen Höhepunkt und gilt als Auslöser für seinen Mord. Diese Szene präsentiert Unterschiede im Vergleich zu Bölls Erzählung. Im literarischen Werk macht Katharina die Tür auf, nachdem Tötges geklingelt hat, und es werden nur wenige Worte vom Journalisten zitiert. Dagegen wartet Katharina im Film auf einem Stuhl sitzend auf den Journalisten und hält ihre Tasche in den Händen, wo sie die Pistole hat. Die Mordszene dient im Film dazu, die Situation, die zur Gewalttat von Katharina führt, u. a. der starke Druck von der Presse auf sie, durch Tötges etwas längere Rede zu betonen. Seine Rede zeigt, wie wenig für die Presse - als Vermittler der strukturellen, sozio-politischen Gewalt - die eigene Moral des Individuums, seine Prinzipien, von Bedeutung sind. Es sind seine unverschämten Worte und sein Vorschlag, zu ‚bumsen‘, zusammen mit seiner physischen Annäherung an Katharina, die sie dazu bringen, die Pistole zu nehmen und auf ihn zu schießen. Die ZuschauerInnen bekommen den Eindruck, dass es sich bei diesem Mord nicht so sehr um Rache - und zwar wegen des Verlustes ihrer privaten Sphäre - handelt, sondern eher um Selbstschutz. Eine Nahaufnahme des Gesichts zeigt, wie Katharina, anstatt mit Hass und entschlossener Miene die Pistole zu greifen, beim Schießen die Augen zumacht und wie sie selbst verängstigt ist, auf Tötges schaut, der auf dem Boden liegt, und zittert. Wie im vorigen Kapitel erwähnt wurde, kann man in Bölls Erzählung die Unmöglichkeit der Wiederherstellung der verlorenen Ehre beobachten. Im Film wird die Verlegung des Konfliktes auf die private Sphäre des Individuums allerdings durch die letzte Szene deutlich gemacht. Es handelt sich dabei um die Beerdigung des Journalisten Tötges, eine Szene, die in der Erzählung nicht existiert. Renner hat diese Szene so beschrieben: Im Mittelpunkt der abschließenden Szene am Grab des Skandalreporters, den Katha‐ rina erschossen hat, steht eine Rede über die Freiheit der Presse, die vom Redakteur der aggressiven Boulevard-Zeitung gesprochen wird und die sich im Kontext der Filmhandlung in eine offene Satire verwandelt. Auf den ersten Blick durchbricht dies die pamphletistische Struktur des Films. Doch weder die Einlinigkeit der kinemato‐ graphischen Strategien noch die implizite ideologische Botschaft des Films werden durch sie nachhaltig in Frage gezogen. (Renner, 2010: 36) 298 Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas 7 In Bölls Erzählung steht: „Personen und Handlung dieser Erzählung sind frei erfunden. Sollte sich bei der Schilderung gewisser journalistischen Praktiken Ähnlichkeiten mit den Praktiken der ‚Bild‘-Zeitung ergeben haben, so sind diese Ähnlichkeiten weder beabsichtigt noch zufällig, sondern unvermeidlich.“ (Böll, 2007: 5) Bei der Rede des Redakteurs handelt es sich nicht um eine Trauerrede, sondern um ein Plädoyer für die Pressefreiheit, die als Bestätigung der etablierten Normalität fungiert und ihre Unveränderbarkeit stützt. Als Gegenpunkt zur Verteidigung der Pressefreiheit werden im Film die Sätze auf den Sarg Tötges projiziert, die Böll am Anfang seiner Erzählung als Warnung voranstellt: „Per‐ sonen und Handlung sind frei erfunden. Ähnlichkeiten mit gewissen journalisti‐ schen Praktiken sind weder beabsichtigt noch zufällig, sondern unvermeidlich 7 .“ (Schlöndorff, Trotta, 1975) 4 Fazit Bölls Bericht erforscht die Grenzen der Pressefreiheit bei der Darstellung seiner Folgen für die Hauptfigur Katharina Blum und ihres Freundeskreises und erhellt gleichzeitig die Zusammenarbeit von Polizei, Staat und Presse, die ihren Druck auf das Individuum ausüben. Katharina Blum vertritt das Menschliche, die Humanität und Moral im Gegensatz zur Ausnutzung des Individuums von der Boulevardpresse und zur Manipulation von staatlichen Instanzen, wie Polizei und Justiz. Böll präsentiert sie als Opfer von Institutionen, bei denen die Verflechtung sozio-politischer Interessen im Vordergrund steht. Katharina Blum wird scheinbar auf objektive Art und Weise beschrieben. Der Erzähler nimmt die Informationen aus den Protokollen, aus der ZEITUNG etc. Es handelt sich hier nicht um eine subjektive Beschreibung des Erzählers, jedoch liest man ab und zu im Text die Eindrücke eines allwissenden Erzählers, der nicht Katharina beschreibt und bewertet, sondern das, was sie als Mensch repräsentiert, als Beispiel einer Unterdrückung und Diffamierung durch die willkürliche Polizei‐ aktion und der Zeitungsberichte. Er zeigt, wie diese Gewalt einen Einfluss auf die Gesellschaft hat, die dazu führen kann, dass ein gutmütiges Individuum das Bedürfnis entwickelt, selbst Gewalt anzuwenden. Das Buch erforscht somit wie Gewalt auf unterschiedlichen Niveaus ausgeübt wird/ werden kann. Von Anfang an hat in der Erzählung die Untersuchung, die von Beizmenne und Staatsanwalt Hach geführt wird, nicht die Absicht, die Wahrheit über Katharina Blum herauszufinden, sondern ein eigenes Bild dieser Frau zu kon‐ struieren, um ihren persönlichen bzw. den gesellschaftlichen Interessen zu dienen. Alle Versuche von Katharina, die Falschbeschuldigungen und falschen Schlussfolgerungen bei den Vernehmungen zu korrigieren, sind erfolglos. Ihre 299 Katharina Blum: Opfer oder Täter? Vernehmer hören nur das, was sie hören wollen, die Geschichte, die sie aufge‐ baut haben. Beizmennes Zusammenarbeit mit dem Journalisten Tötges zeigt auch die Unterstützung zwischen Presse und anderen staatlichen Institutionen, um die angeblich objektive Realität über Katharina Blum zu schildern, die jedoch ihre Freiheit und Ehre zerstören. Die Literaturverfilmung von Schlöndorff und Trotta stellt ebenfalls diese Pro‐ blematik mit filmischen Mitteln erfolgreich dar. Obwohl es einige narrative Un‐ terschiede im Vergleich zum Originalwerk gibt, bleibt die sozio-politische Kritik im Vordergrund. Die Figur von Katharina Blum erhält, trotz der leitmotivischen Präsentation der romantischen Liebesbeziehung, ihre Essenz als ‚unschuldige Mörderin‘. Die Zentralität der Figur wird im Film durch die Anwendung von Nahaufnahmen und somit durch die Richtung der Zuschauerblicke auf ihr Gesicht und Gefühle verstärkt. Nur die Schlussszene als Gegenpunkt zum Mord und zur sozio-politischen Kritik bringt die ZuschauerInnen auf die etwas nega‐ tive Idee zurück, dass diejenige, die eigentlich die gesellschaftliche Ordnung und Normalität stützen, weiter für ihre Kontinuität sorgen werden. Katharina Blums rebellische Tat hat nur Signifikanz in ihrer privaten Sphäre. Bibliographische Referenzen Armster, C. (1988). “Katharina Blum: Violence and the Exploitation of Sexuality”. Women in German Yearbook, 4, 83-95. Bauman, C. (2012). „Die unschuldige Moralistin.“ In C. Bauman, Mythos RAF. Literarische und filmische Mythentradierung von Bölls „Katharina Blum“ bis zum „Baader Meinhof Komplex.“ (124-129). Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh. Benoit, F. (3. September 2002). „Die verlorene Ehre der ‚Zeitung‘“. Medienheft. www.medienheft.ch/ kritik/ bibliothek/ k18_BenoitFabienne.html (Letzter Zugriff am 4. April 2020.) Böll, H. (2007). Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum. München: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag. Cartmell, D., Whelehan, I. (2007). “Introduction - Literature on Screen: a Synoptic View”. In D. Cartmell, I. Whelean (Hrsg.). The Cambridge Companion to Literature on Screen. (1-12). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum. Sammlung Völker Schlöndorff. Deutsches Film‐ institut Filmmuseum. https: / / schloendorff.deutsches-filminstitut.de/ sammlung/ die-verlorene-ehre-der-katharina-blum-fotos-szenenfoto-38/ . (Letzter Zugriff am 26. April 2020.) 300 Montserrat Bascoy Lamelas Donner, W. (10. Oktober 1975). „Der lüsterne Meinungsterror. Die verlorene Ehre der Ka‐ tharina Blum.“ Die Zeit. www.zeit.de/ 1975/ 42/ der-luesterne-meinungsterror (Letzter Zugriff am 16. April 2020.) Franklin, J. (1979). “Alienation and the Retention of the Self: The Heroines of Der gute Mensch von Sezuan, Abschied von Gestern, and Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum“. Mosaic, 12(4), 87-98. Gerhardt, C. (2008). “Surveillance mechanisms in literature and Film: Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum by Böll and Schlöndorff/ von Trotta”. Gegenwartsliteratur: ein germanistisches Jahrbuch, 7, 69-89. Hall, K. (2016). “Crime Fiction in German: Concepts, Developments and Trends”. In: K. Hall (Hrsg.). Crime Fiction in German. (1-32). Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Hill, L. (1981). “The Avoidance of Dualism in Heinrich Böll's Novels”. The Germanic Review: Literature, Culture, Theory, 56 (4), 151-156. Jokić, K. (2011). „Frauenfiguren in Heinrich Bölls Werken und ihre Rollen in der Erzählstruktur: Zu Frauenfiguren in Heinrich Bölls Romanen Billiard um halb zehn, Ansichten eines Clowns, Gruppenbild mit Dame und Erzählung Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum.“ Acta Neophilologica, 44 (1-2), 113-127. Junkersdorf, E. (Produktion), & Schlöndorff, V., Trotta, M. von (Regie). (1975). Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum. Deutschland: Bioskop-Film GmbH (München), Paramount-Orion Film Production GmbH (München), Westdeutscher Rundfunk (WDR) (Köln). Nam, W. S. (2000). Literaturverfilmung als Wahrnehmungsprozeß narrativer Texte: Analyse von Verfilmungen ausgewählter Werke Heinrich Bölls anhand eines wahrnehmungsthe‐ oretisch fundierten Modells. Dissertation. Universität Osnabrück. https: / / repositorium .ub.uni-osnabrueck.de/ handle/ urn: nbn: de: gbv: 700-2000091590 (Letzter Zugriff am 15. April 2020.) Völkl, B. (2009). Heinrich Böll. Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum. Stuttgart: Philipp Reclam. Renner, R.G. (2010). „1989 und die Folgen. Deutsche Gegenwartsgeschichte im Nachwen‐ defilm.“ Pandaemonium Germanicum: Revista De Estudos Germanísticos, 16, 22-52. 301 Katharina Blum: Opfer oder Täter? 1 See Schlich (2013) for an interesting account of the reception of the novel. THE FEMALE BODY AS STAGE FOR VIOLENCE. Elfriede Jelinek’s The Pianist and its Film Version by Michael Haneke Claudia Garnica de Bertona 1 Context of the Works and Purpose of My Essay Within the vast work of the writer Elfriede Jelinek (b. 1946), her novel The pianist (1983) is perhaps one of the best known and most often translated, along with The lovers (1975) and Wish (1989). The three novels share certain aspects and/ or thematic issues, most notable the reification and use of the female body by a male (Fiddler, 1997). This use is not such, insofar as it is deliberately allowed by the woman, who by her own decision or some social mandate, accepts and allows to be treated like an object. Perhaps this is the great question which remains for anyone at the end of reading the texts: Who is this woman the victim of ? Of the social mandates that put her in a place of submission, or of the role that she herself accepts, or of the men who use and submit them? The pianist was published by Rowohlt Publishing House in 1983 and had a mixed reception from critics and the reading public 1 . The stark realism in the pure Jelinek style, what Hanssen calls “Jellineks particular mode of linguistic violence” (Hanssen 1996: 86), as well as the depth in the description of the disturbed relationships that the characters establish is what made the work attractive and repulsive at the same time. As somebody put it, bringing the author into the picture, “Provokant wie das Buch ist auch die Autorin selbst” (Löffler, 1989: 95). The novel tells the story of a single woman, Erika Kohut, almost forty years old, who lives in a world where she only has value through her activity as a pianist. Two characters define her in terms of her existence: the mother, who is not identified with a proper name and who has an unhealthy power relationship with her daughter, and on the other hand Walter Klemmer, a younger student 2 Schlich criticized the “Ich der Frau und Welt des Mannes” (Schlich, 2013: 44). 3 Wigmore considers that in the film the „socially subversive messages have a less specific social target” (Wigmore, 2007: 294). with whom the protagonist starts a relationship that tries to be loving, but that becomes painful and cruel, as it is carried out by people who are unable to love and to be loved. But beyond the sphere of the relationship between these two individuals, there is in the novel a profound social criticism of the power relationships that permeate all areas of Austrian life, including the domestic and private sphere, or that of relations between the sexes 2 . Austrian director Michael Haneke brought this novel to the screen in 2001, with the title in French, La pianiste (Crenn, Gozlan, Heiduschka, Katz, Haneke, 2001). The role of Erika Kohut was played by Isabelle Huppert and that of Walter Klemmer by Benoît Magimel; the mother was interpreted by Annie Girardot. Although the film adaptation is quite faithful to Jelinek's text 3 , it is not the intention of this work to record similarities and differences between the two versions, but rather to focus on the variations that Haneke introduces, most of which are justified in the fact that both the novel and the film are expressive languages with different tools, which both the writer and the director handle with mastery. My work aims to analyze to what extent and through what actions in both cases the female body is the setting in which violence is exerted by others or by the protagonist herself, and thus becomes the most significant space in the novel. This is an issue which is frequently dealt with by feminist art. As Stehle points out: “In feminist art, the location of risk and pain is often the (female) body” (Stehle, 2012: 231), although at the same time we have to aknowledge the opinions of those who usually question that Jelinek’s could be considered feminist writing (Hartwig, 2004), and who even accuse her of consciously and intentionally choosing a male gaze in her texts (Wilke, 1993: 130). Another aim in my analysis is to establish hypotheses about the reasons that lead people to carry out such actions, by considering the environment in which they move, both the narrow one of the spaces which they inhabit and transit, and on the other hand a more ample environment, such as the country that contains them, Austria, but mainly its capital, Vienna. These different spaces contribute to create the conditions for such violence to be possible, since covert violence, albeit not explicitly, is also practiced in them, and so often that it has become “normalized” and, therefore, invisible to almost everyone's eyes. Haneke, who is also Austrian as Jelinek, creates in his film a cinematographic transposition of Jelinek's novel, something which the director does not bother to disguise at any time. The director himself was also in charge of the script. It 304 Claudia Garnica de Bertona 4 In relation to violence directed by the figure of the mother, one may consult the interesting works by Stanic, 2012; Kosta, 1994. 5 Page numbers correspond to the edition referenced in the Bibliography. My translations. is a bit strange that the same story, brought to an explicit visual language, did not the same disparate effect on the criticism as the novel elicited. Indeed, the reception of the film was very good, as evidenced by the abundant awards that the director's work obtained, something not surprising, on the other hand, in the case of a director who had already shown an amazing ability to dive deep into the human soul in other films, such as The White Ribbon (2009), where he manages to unveil the violence hidden in apparently innocuous and insignificant acts. 2 Scenarios of Violence in the Novel and the Film There are two fundamental settings in which Jelinek's novel takes place: Erika Kohut's house and the Vienna Conservatory. There are also secondary scenarios, such as the family house in which Erika performs a concert, the pornographic venue and cinema which the protagonist attends, and the drive-in cinema, in addition to the city of Vienna, where the protagonist moves around. Of all these, the two main ones are the most essential in the sense that in them Erika is both subject and object of violence. In the home, the exercise of physical and mental violence is directed by the mother 4 , who can only conceive the relationship with the daughter by means of control (Fernández Martínez, 2017), or as Piekarz put it “Herrin über Schicksal und Leben der eigenen Tochter” (2006: 206). Her mother figure is built on the basis that she is able to know at all times what her daughter is doing and who she is with. If the daughter escapes control for any reason, then she deserves punishment. The reason she argues is that she should always know where her daughter is just in case she had a heart attack ( Jelinek, 1983: 8) 5 . In this way she manipulates Erika, who feels that she must report perma‐ nently to respond to what her mother expects from her. Although this violence is not physically exercised on Erika's body, it is the cause that justifies the bodily attacks to which the character is subjected. The mother is the one who has decided to have a daughter in order to have something, and that daughter must be grateful to have a mother who thinks for her and who does not let her work at home so that her pianist hands are not ruined ( Jelinek, 1983: 9). Erika is the property of the mother, who is the one who makes the right decisions for both of them (Piekarz, 2006: 206). That is why the daughter's room does not have a lock, since she must not have secrets with her mother ( Jelinek, 1983: 9). 305 The female body as stage for violence 6 Piekarz mentions that the mother “erfüllt dabei wahrscheinlich eigene unerfüllte Wünsche und Träume“ (Piekarz, 2006: 206). This lack of limits in her private space is also substantiated in the body of the protagonist, who belongs to her mother or to whom her mother chooses that it should belong. And the best way to possess Erika is to persuade her permanently that she is worthless, that she has not even become a famous pianist, and that she is only simply a conservatory teacher. Without evaluating the psychiatric condition of the characters, which exceeds the scope of the present essay, it is possible to observe how Erika's body, as a substantiation and projection of maternal desires and frustrations 6 , is a kind of battlefield between a mother who cannot distinguish the limits between her and her daughter as possession, and a daughter who finally does not know who she is or what she wants, and who only finds a certain pleasure inflicting harm to herself. To the extent that the character is capable of carrying out actions on her own, they only lead her to exercise violence on her or on others. Haneke's film begins with the scene in which Erika arrives home late for having bought a new dress, which the mother will end up destroying, since she is the one who decides what to do with the money. This leads to a resistance from Erika and finally the two women are stranded in a fight in which the daughter pulls a lock of hair from her mother. This is an extremely violent scene that initiates the film and has a great impact for the viewer. In the text, the scene is much shorter, with a limited description in the Jelinek style. There is later on in the narrative another confrontation, in which the mother punishes her for being again late: “She hits her girl without making a noise and the girl returns the blows after a short reaction time” ( Jelinek, 1983: 158). Again the daughter is left with a lock of the their mother's head and they reconcile. And what is difficult for both the reader and the viewer to understand is the fact that the fierce attack between mother and daughter seems to be just another element of their everyday life, and that after that they continue with their lives. What is clear in both the novel and the film is that it is Erika's mother who decides how her property should be dressed. This question in reality is not a secondary issue, but rather a crucial one in the sense that the apparent, the visible, is much more important to her mother than Erika herself. The eye of the other, which sees and judges, is the one that determines the being, and not the being itself. The mother cares about social consideration, which is practically essential when the being is built only on the basis of it. And Erika not only submits at the formal level but longs to return to the womb ( Jelinek, 1983: 78). Thoughts like this on the part of the character 306 Claudia Garnica de Bertona are, on the one hand, key to understanding her behavior regarding her family and her social relationships, and, on the other, good material for an analysis by professionals in the area of Psychology or Psychiatry. And, in fact, there are quite a few authors who have approached the text from this perspective (Schlich, 2013: 24; Mahler-Bungers, 1990). Erika wants to go back to her origin because only there does she exist, or IS. In her daily life, her mother exercises violence on the body and the spirit of the daughter, who responds to this violence with physical and emotional insensitivity or with violent attacks. Erika's mother is in charge all the time to remind her daughter that she is not beautiful, but talented ( Jelinek, 1983: 85). And although her talent is not enough to make her a famous concert performer, which would allow both of them to have a better financial situation, at least it helps her to teach, and so they can be sustained thanks to the intelligent administration of the scarce resources by the mother. In this abnormal relationship, the daughter took the place of the father from birth (Piekarz, 2006: 207). Once the maternal objective of having a child was achieved, for which it was necessary in the social system for a father to exist, the figure of the father was discarded because in a relationship based on use / abuse this is a logical consequence. What was used is not useful anymore and is discarded. In the text there are few allusions to the father, it is only mentioned that he was interned in the psychiatric establishment of Steinhof -where Jelinek's father stayed also - and that he later died. The daughter takes the place of the father as possession of the mother. In the film version, this relationship is evident in the scene in which Erika, who sleeps in the double bed with her mother, pounces on her and begins to make movements that show a kind of sexual excitement. Her mother abruptly rejects her, but she continues with her initial intention. It is a disturbing scene, one of the few in which Erika tries to control the situation, and one that does not have a good ending, since the mother breaks away from her, scandalized by what had happened. But after this, it seems as if nothing has happened and they both go to sleep. To understand the behavior of the characters in the novel, the comments of the narrative voice are fundamental, thus, when referring to Erika, it affirms: “Her body is a single large refrigerator, in which art is well preserved” ( Jelinek, 1983: 25). This statement allows the reader to understand the psychic process of the character and her behavior: cold, unable to feel, inside her there is only what others put in or take out, but she herself is unable to fill it. In that body-refrigerator, the mother has decided to install art, more precisely music, since in a city like Vienna that is a way to earn money and be known and valued. But the character herself cannot fill that form of existence with anything. 307 The female body as stage for violence 7 For an interesting analysis of this scene, see Kosta, 1994: 227ff. Erika is not only a recipient of violence, but she also relates through it. In this sense she is an object and also a subject of violence. In the text this is much more evident since there is a greater development of the character and the features of her personality, while in the film there is a greater concentration on the relationship with Walter Klemmer and on the sexual rather than the social alteration that is Erika subject to. For example, in the novel, when Erika is on the tram she feels that she is a weapon of violence against others (Jelinek, 1983: 19). She hates everyone around her since she feels superior and considers her city and those who inhabit it “Country of alcoholics, city of music” (Jelinek, 1983: 23). She also behaves violently when a woman asks her on the streetcar for directions and she refuses to answer her (Jelinek, 1983: 26). This hatred is also manifest in the film when Erika cannot bear to be touched by common people. On the one hand, this feeling has its origin in her idea of feeling different, since music inhabits her body, and that sets her apart from the rest of the people. But it also has to do with her impossibility of relating to others in a normal way. She does not see in another person a neighbor but an enemy, since a relationship through affection is not possible in her cultural or family scheme. Therefore, when she looks at other people, she thinks: “These barbarians fed up with food in a country where barbarism reigns culturally” (Jelinek, 1983: 72). If everyone is a passenger on the tram and they share the same condition, this becomes unbearable for the character, who only conceives of a relationship through the fact of being a subduer or being submitted. Another form of social violence that Erika exercises is through theft, which does not appear in the film version and but is alluded to in the text: “What others have, she also obligatorily wants. She wants to harm what she cannot have. She begins to steal things” (Jelinek, 1983: 86). The scene in the bathroom in which Erika damages her clitoris, has more relevance and impact in the film version than in Jelinek's text 7 . In the novel it is one more of the things the character does, such as walking, or taking the tram, or practicing any other activity: “Her hobby is making cuts on her own body” ( Jelinek, 1983: 90). In the film, the scene is long enough to shock the viewer, who cannot foresee the character's behavior and who only understands what she is doing throughout the course of the action. What is clear in both versions is that for Erika pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin, and that she cannot relate to herself or to others through actions or feelings that do not imply harm. Perhaps the damage she does to her body has to do with the fact that only then is she the owner of herself. She does not have to obey anyone, only herself. And the only thing you can do to your body, when free, is harm, probably because 308 Claudia Garnica de Bertona you have no training in any other type of contact. When she cuts herself, she also feels nothing. The narrative voice clarifies this in the text: “It was her own body, but it was terribly strange for her. The lower abdomen and fear are two friendly allies for her, they almost always appear together” ( Jelinek, 1983: 91). The question then arises as to what justifies Erika's behavior and that of those close to her: Are they all mentally ill? Do they choose to relate in that way? Perhaps one might also wonder if they are an exception or an example of a hypocritical society that bears the guilt of Austria's participation in World War II, as we can see in other works by Jelinek (think of The Excluded), but which projects an image of souvenir country, where music and natural or architectural beauty are found everywhere. Erika's scene in the porn shop is very concise in the text and has a longer development in the movie. At this point, it is already clear that both the reader and the viewer are contemplating a disturbed character, who only feels something when she damages her body or when she watches how others maintain sexual relationships. The action of looking without being seen, in addition to being an evident disorder in the character's personality, constitutes a characteristic trait that defines her, since she constantly observes what is happening around her and is very attentive to the reactions of others, although she is incapable of expressing emotions, or in any case, she is only capable of expressing hatred, violence, rejection or superiority. She feels nothing when she hurts others, but neither when she is subjected to violence or damage. However, she replicates the maternal model of domination and submission to the extent that others allow it. For this, her job as teacher, which places her on a position above her students (because she knows more), is an ideal situation of power that she seems to enjoy more in the film version than in the novel, since in the former the Conservatory has greater relevance. When thinking about pornographic movies, the character reflects: “The man, this trained mechanic, fixes the broken car, the female workpiece. In pornographic films one generally works more than in films about the world of work” ( Jelinek, 1983: 118). One of the two main differences between the novel and the film concerns the setting of the chamber concert in which Erika plays the piano. In Jelinek's text, she and Walter Klemmer already have a teacher-student relationship prior to the event, while in the film they meet and attract each other from that moment. Possibly Haneke altered the narrative sequence of this event because in the film the accent is placed on a relationship that could be called erotic between Walter and Erika, while in the novel there is a greater, but less explicit, game of domination, submission and abuse between the characters. Haneke alters the story in the sense that Walter is attracted to Erika and her musical talents and 309 The female body as stage for violence does his best to become her student, which he eventually achieves. Erika's body, while playing the piano, is seen by Walter as “flesh and movement” ( Jelinek, 1983: 67), or valued as a car would be when it is first brought out to the market ( Jelinek, 1983: 68). Jelinek fills this masculine character with all the thoughts of a macho, binary and violent society, since the piano teacher attracts him more for what she represents than for what she is and sees her as an object or a trophy. Walter thinks that if he manages to relate to the piano teacher, he will gain a certain experience, which will serve him for future, more serious relationships with the opposite sex ( Jelinek, 1983: 68). In this sense, Erika is a stepping stone for him, one more woman in his way to reach the appropriate one. Possessing that mature woman becomes for him a kind of entertainment, a race at the end of which he gets a trophy. As a male, he is also unable to relate to Erika in any other way than domination and possession. In this sense, both Walter and Erika appear in the text as emerging from a system that continues to exist and that ends up also exerting violence on Erika's body. Both are victims and victimizers, suffering beings who play a role that they did not choose to play but that they are condemned to fulfill. Perhaps that is why they do not appear before the reader's eyes as nefarious characters. Particularly in Walter's case there is no examination of his conduct. He simply behaves as a male who has found a prey should behave, since she is only something that he wants to possess; he thinks of it as "a formless corpse, a bag of flabby tissue" ( Jelinek, 1983: 69). This statement is the maximum degradation and violence that Walter exercises in relation to Erika, almost even worse than when she is the object of his physical violence. Thus, when Erika wants to impose her sadomasochistic rules on the relationship, his first reaction is one of bewilderment, which gives rise to an anger that again is discharged on Erika's body. Perhaps the origin of the evil that is present in these characters is not in themselves, but in the Austrian society that projects an image which hides decadence and social guilt. While in the film the most deranged character is Erika, and Walter's abnormal behavior seems to be only a consequence of his relationship with her, the text shows two individuals unable to have a relationship that is not marked by submission and pain. Probably the cause for this lies in the fact that Haneke focuses on the male / female relationship, while Jelinek places these characters in a context that is no healthier than themselves, and in which, therefore, they neither stand out nor are left in the margins. Another change Haneke introduces in his filmic transposition of the text relates to a scene in the bathrooms of the ice hockey rink, which is the sport 310 Claudia Garnica de Bertona that Klemmer in the film. In the text, Walter dedicates himself to rowing in rushing waters. It is at the track where Erika looks for him to apologize for the letter she wrote to him, and in the store house scene of a strong sexual content takes place: Erika provokes him and he ends up raping her, as will again happen later in her house. In the text, this scene takes place in the cleaning room at the Conservatory, which is the space in which Erika dominates, and not Walter. In the film there are three physical encounters between the couple, none of them satisfactory: in the first, in the bathroom at the Conservatory, Erika masturbates Klemmer but does not allow him to ejaculate, then she washes his hands and leaves. The second meeting of the film is the one that takes place on the hockey rink: Erika submits to Walter but vomits the semen and this provokes Walter's anger. However, she feels good because she claims to be clean inside and out. The third meeting is the one that takes place in Erika's house. In the text they are only physically related in the bathroom at the Conservatory, in the cleaning room of the Conservatory, and in Erika's house: the first two spaces belong to her and the second to her mother. In both versions there is the element of the letter that Erika writes to Klemmer in which she details how their relationship should be: Klemmer will treat her as a slave ( Jelinek, 1983: 219) but he reacts negatively to the letter, telling her that she is a clinical case ( Jelinek, 1983: 221). Unable to empathize with others, their relationship is based on domination and control. Thus, she gives instructions on how she wants to be treated, or rather, mistreated, since her proposal is of a sadomasochistic kind. The physical and spiritual repression to which her mother subjects her can only be channeled through another relationship of domination. If up to this point there were doubts about the possibilities of a relationship between Erika and Walter, from this moment it is very clear that it is not a couple but two sick individuals who are in a failed physical relationship which produces anguish on them above all, as they face the misery of their existence. The narrator says in the text: “Erika fears that everything will remain as it is and is afraid that something may change sometime. She cannot express her feelings orally, only through the piano” ( Jelinek, 1983: 193). The greater number of encounters is perhaps justified because Erika's ab‐ normal behavior serves to characterize the protagonist, while in the text she is already known to the reader by the course of her thoughts. The second physical encounter in the text, the one that takes place in Erika's house, occurs with the mother locked up. First, they lock themselves, establishing a physical limit with the all-dominating mother. Since the door to the daughter's room does not have a lock, for it also belongs to the sphere of the maternal domain, it is necessary 311 The female body as stage for violence to block the entrance to it to have a minimum moment of privacy, something which the mother perceives as an infraction of her obligation to take care of her daughter and always have her under her gaze. However, Erika disregards the maternal mandate and imposes her will in the home environment. In the text Walter visits Erika's house in two opportunities, while in the film he does only once. The fact that the man has entered the house and has become master of the situation deeply disturbs the mother: “A mother sees even without seeing. She does not attend to her daughter's freedom and now another treats that freedom inconsiderately. The mother fears the worst behind the door for her little one-person private zoo” ( Jelinek, 1983: 272). When, after savagely beating her, Walter rapes Erika, the narrator affirms: “This love is destruction at its core” ( Jelinek, 1983: 277). With her disciples at the Conservatory it is Erika who dominates and can re‐ produce the maternal model. With her students she is distant and authoritarian, and her comments are mostly negative, since they are also perceived by her as a threat. No one should interpret Schubert better than the teacher, since in this capacity lies the little that Erika knows that she is, and that her mother and the rest of the world recognize her for. If this is what gives her value, then no one should be as good as her, because she would lose the place she holds. The piano teacher, in both versions, places several pieces of broken glass in a student's pocket, but the motivation differs in each one: in Jelinek's text, the destruction of the student's hands, who is not a pianist but a flute player, is a reaction to having seen her near Klemmer. In her pattern of conduct, action is followed by punishment, and she is the instrument of justice. It is not Erika who suffers, but from a feeling that in a normal person could be interpreted as jealousy, she has the need to make another suffer. In the film, however, the action of placing ground the broken glass is carried out against a student of her own, whom she values little, and seems rather an act of justice to speed up the resolution of a situation that will also be resolved in that sense. Somebody who will not be successful in the world of music but does not understand it that way is helped to get out of the way by her piano teacher, who cuts short the career of the young woman by hurting her fingers. In neither version does Erika feel remorse for the damage caused and, on the contrary, she observes the result of her actions without flinching in the least. What's more, especially in the film, she seems to enjoy what she has done. This time the violence is exerted on another female body, not part of her inner circle but perceived as an element of danger by the character. And how can someone who knows no other way of dealing with people than aggression react? There is no feeling of solidarity in Erika and no possibility of empathy. 312 Claudia Garnica de Bertona The resolution of the conflict is the same in both versions: Erika cannot get out of the violent situation in which she has put herself but through violence. If at any time there was a possibility of a normal human relationship, she herself is responsible for destroying it. The final question that the two versions leave us, in which the female body is beaten, reified and raped, both by the mother and by Walter, is whether Erika is an exception, a unique case of fiction, or the end result of a society that he does not see the unhealthy relationships that develop in unusual settings and that, if ever perceived, they are simply ignored. Because that society, as Jelinek denounces, lives on hypocrisy, and hides the most terrible human miseries under the carpet of the artistic atmosphere of the city of Vienna. Bibliographical References Fernández Martínez, S. (2017). “Sublime dolor: el castigo corporal en La Pianista, de Elfriede Jelinek”. Tropelías. Revista de Teoría de la Literatura y Literatura Comparada, número extraordinario 1; Zaragoza: Universidad de Zaragoza, 99-106. Fiddler, A. (1997). “Reading Elfriede Jelinek”. In C. Weedon. (Ed.). Postwar Women’s Writing in German. (Feminist Critical Approaches). Oxford: Berghahn, 291-304. Hanssen, B. (1996). “Elfriede Jelinek's language of violence”. New German Critique, (68), 79-112. Hartwig, I. (8 October 2004). „‚Die Klavierspielerin lächelt: Später Ruhm der Avantgarde: Der österreichischen Schriftstellerin Elfriede Jelinek wurde der Nobelpreis für Lite‐ ratur zu besprochen.‘“ Frankfurter Rundschau, 15. Jelinek, E. (1975). Die Liebhaberinnen. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt. Jelinek, E. (1983). Die Klavierspielerin. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt. Jelinek, E. (1989). Lust. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt. Löffler, S. (1989). „Elegant und gnadenlos. Porträt Elfriede Jelinek.“ Brigitte, 14, 95-97. Kosta, B. (1994). “Inscribing Erika: Mother-Daughter Bond/ age in Elfriede Jelinek’s Die Klavierspielerin”. Monatshefte, 218-234. Mahler-Bungers, A. (1990). “Sur la piste du deuil. A propos de La pianiste d'Elfriede Jelinek”. Revue française de psychanalyse, 54 (1), 253-264. Piekarz, E. (2006). „Emanzipiertes Künstlertum am Beispiel von Werken Elfriede Jeli‐ neks.“ repozytorium.amu.edu.pl Schlich, J. (2013). Phänomenologie der Wahrnehmung von Literatur: am Beispiel von Elfriede Jelineks" Lust"(1989) (Vol. 71). Walter de Gruyter Stanić, L. (2012). Porträtieren der Hauptgestalt in Die Klavierspielerin von E. Jelinek. (Doc‐ toral dissertation, Josip Juraj Strossmayer. University of Osijek. Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences. Department of German Language and Literature.). 313 The female body as stage for violence Stehle, M. (2012). “Pop, Porn, and Rebellious Speech: Feminist Politics and the Multi-Media Performances of Elfriede Jelinek, Charlotte Roche, and Lady Bitch Ray”. Feminist Media Studies, 12 (2), 229-247. Wigmore, J. (2007). “Sex, Violence and Schubert. Michael Haneke’s La Pianiste and Elfriede Jelinek’s Die Klavierspielerin”. In Processes of Transposition. (293-306). Am‐ sterdam: Rodopi. Wilke, S. (1993). „‚Ich bin eine Frau mit einer männlichen Anmaßung‘“: Eine Analyse des „bösen Blicks“ in Elfriede Jelineks Die Klavierspielerin. Modern Austrian Literatur, vol. 26, 11-144. 314 Claudia Garnica de Bertona 1 The Sinner wurde unter anderem für die Golden Globe, Primetime Emmy, Screen Actors Guild, Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy & Horror Films, Broadcast Film Critics As‐ sociation, Gold Derby, Jerry Goldsmith, Online Film & Television Association nominiert. In www.imdb.com/ title/ tt6048596/ awards? ref_=tt_awd (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) 2 75% Score laut Rotten Tomatoes: https: / / www.rottentomatoes.com/ tv/ the_sinner.%2 0%20Letzter%20Zugriff%20am%2029 (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April. 2020.) DIE EWIGE SCHULD DER EVA. Frau und Sünde in Petra Hammesfahrs Die Sünderin und der Netflix-Serie The Sinner Eva Parra-Membrives 1 Zur Einführung Dass die Netflix-Produktion The Sinner (Campos, 2017) so einen enormen Kritik 1 - und Publikumserfolg erreichen konnte 2 , wo doch der Zuschauer heutzutage leicht bei dem Angebot der sich ständig erneuernden Krimiserien den Überblick verliert, lag mehreren prestigereichen Rezensenten zufolge daran, dass es hier der Streaming-Plattform gelungen war, möglichst reali‐ tätsnah zu bleiben. Vor allem, wie Marcel Kiefer es so prägnant auszudrücken wusste, aufgrund der unausweichlichen Konfrontation mit „rücksichtsloser wie selbstzerstörerischer Bigotterie geprägten Alltagswelt der amerikani‐ schen middle class society“ (Kiefer, 2018: o. S.). Reinhard unterstreicht in ihrer Kritik zusätzlich die akribische Auseinandersetzung mit dem Begriff der Sünde, und stellt einen interessanten Zusammenhang mit der frühen amerikanischen feministischen Literatur her (Reinhard, 2017: o.S.), die auch Mike Hale aus The New York Times zu loben weiß (Hale, 2017: o.S.). Stuart Heritage in The Guardian findet die Abweichung des traditionellen ebenfalls sehr lobenswert (Heritage, 2017: o.S.). Diese Fokussierung auf die amerikanische bürgerliche und an der Tradition festhaltenden Gesellschaft entfernt aber das Drehbuch meilenweit von der Originalidee des Romans, auf dem es sich stützt. Die deutsche Bestseller-Autorin 3 Der Begriff ist heutzutage genug bekannt, als dass hier näher darauf eingegangen werden sollte. Die Bibliographie zu den spezifischen Merkmalen des Frauenkrimis ist sehr umfangreich, siehe u. a. Reddy, 1988; Keitel ,1999; Frizzoni, 2009; Kemmerzell, 1996; Munt, 2003; Plain, 2014. 4 www.goodreads.com/ author/ show/ 588368.Petra_Hammesfahr? from_search=true (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) Petra Hammesfahr, die die Handlung ihres Romans Die Sünderin (1999) im Eigenland setzte, hatte augenscheinlich nicht vor, die amerikanische Prüdheit oder Tradition zu kritisieren. Auch beabsichtigt ihr Text viel mehr als einfach nur strukturell innovativ zu werden, indem „whodunit“ durch „whydunit“ ersetzt wird, wie weniger tiefgreifende Kritiken loben (O’Brien, 2017: o.S.; Heitz, 2017: o.S.). Man muss hier mit Kelly Lawler aus USA Today übereinstimmen, wenn sie bei der Ausstrahlung der ersten Folgen der ersten Staffel der Serie darüber klagt, dass „the depiction of its themes of repressed female sexuality and violence feels lazy“ (Lawler, 2017: o.S.). Dieses Problem hatte der Roman nicht. Der Konflikt zwischen Sünde und Schuld, den Hammesfahr in ihrem Roman darzustellen sucht, sprengt alle politischen Grenzen, und hat viel weiter aus‐ holende Absichten. Beide Produkte, das Buch und der Film, scheinen zwar ein ähnliches Ziel anzustreben: auf die bis heute noch anhaltende sexuelle Repression der Frau hinzuweisen, aber eine detaillierte Analyse beider Texte, des literarischen und des filmischen, zeigen doch wie viel Hammesfahrs Roman der Serie voraus hat. „When I imagined them actually putting that on screen, I thought, ‚Wow, this is a lot for an audience to handle‘“ (Nguyen, 2017: o.S.) überlegt Nguyen aus The Indie Wire, und ähnliche Gedanken haben wohl auch das Team der Serie dazu bewegt, eine extreme Zurückhaltung zu üben. 2 Petra Hammesfahr in der Tradition des Frauenkrimis Als die rheinische Autorin Petra Hammesfahr im Jahr 1999 im Wunderlich Verlag ihren Roman Die Sünderin veröffentlichte, blickte sie bereits auf eine erfolgreiche schriftstellerische Laufbahn zurück, die sie als eine der wichtigsten Repräsentantinnen des deutschen Frauenkriminalromans auszeichnete (Hall, 2016: 110; Jockers, 2005: 111) 3 . Der stille Herr Genardy (Hammesfahr, 1993), eine äußerst unangenehme Einsicht in die Gedanken eines wiederholten Kinder‐ schänders und Mörders, Roman, mit dem Hammesfahr „der Durchbruch gelang“ (Höfferl 2014: 46), war kurz zuvor verfilmt worden (Rola, 1997), und die fast ein Dutzend von ihr zu jener Zeit erschienenen Romane 4 bewiesen ein deutliches 316 Eva Parra-Membrives 5 Hammesfahr folgt dabei dem üblichen Interesse im Frauenkrimi: „No es una ‚mera‘ novela policiaca lo que se pretende crear, sio un texto policíaco que contribuya a ciertas reivindicaciones femeninas, a subrayar el particular papel de la mujer en la sociedad o en la historia, a denunciar el poder ejercido tradicionalmente sobre ellas, su marginación en determinados contextos, clases sociales y culturas y su consiguiente victimización y subrayar una nueva propuesta de relación interpersonal en la que el rol femenino habrá de ser profundamente modificado.“ (Parra-Membrives, 2011: 184) 6 Siehe hier zum Beispiel Der Seelenbrecher Sebastian Fitzeks, Deutschlands wohl belieb‐ testen Krimiautoren der letzten Jahre, der die Vergewaltigung einer nackten, dem Täter mit gespreizten Beinen völlig ausgelieferten Frau in ein fast lustvolles Szenario verwandelt, als von „es zwischen ihren Beinen immer heißer wurde“ oder „Vorspiel“ gesprochen wird (Fitzek, 2008: 1). 7 Zum Frauenkrimi siehe auch Jackson, 2002; Klein, 1995; Munt, 1994; Keitel, 1998; Rowland, 2004; Mizejewski, 2004; Kungl, 2006 unter vielen anderen. Interesse daran, auf die sich ständig wiederholenden Angriffe an Frauen in unserer modernen und leider gewalttätigen Gesellschaft hinzuweisen 5 . Dabei ist besonders hervorzuheben, dass sich Hammesfahr nicht damit begnügt hatte, ihren Lesern einfach nur - wie leider so oft im Kriminalroman - klischeehafte Opferfiguren vorzuzeigen, zerstörte weibliche Körper, die sich, ihrer Menschlichkeit beraubt, stumm dem forschenden Blick des Ermittlers -gleichgültig nun ob Mann oder Frau - stellen. Diese immer „exzessive Gewalt“ an weiblichen Opfern, von der u. a. Düwell (2018: 40) spricht, und die bei einigen, meist männlichen, Autoren teilweise sogar lustvoll-erotisch anmutet 6 , wird bei Hammesfahr völlig anders gehandhabt. Zimmerling besteht darauf, dass im Frauenkrimi „es allen Autorinnen wichtig ist, über Frauen betreffende und v. a. für Frauen interessante Inhalte zu schreiben“ (Zimmerling, 2007: 130) 7 , und dies gilt hier auch für die Darstellung der in den Romanen wie auch immer verletzten Frauen. Wie bereits von mir selbst an einem anderen Ort angedeutet: No se trata de elaborar un texto próximo al cine gore en el que la violencia pueda incluir cierto grado de placentero disfrute […] Sus textos abordan la violencia desde una perspectiva crítica, no sensacionalista, pretendiendo concienciar de cuánto sufrimiento puede haber condensado en cada una de las muertes descritas, por el hecho de la desaparición de un ser querido en sí, y no de las múltiples torturas padecidas. Una muerte prematura y violenta, una víctima a la que socialmente seguimos sin saber proteger, no es más que la muestra de nuestro fracaso como civilización. (Parra-Membrives, 2010: 204) Hammesfahr versucht somit nicht ihre Leser mit der erbarmungslosen Zur‐ schaustellung eines entwürdigten, zerstörten Körpers zu schockieren, ihre rücksichtslos enthüllte, an Frauen verübte Grausamkeit ist völlig anderer, eher seelisch-intimer Art, wozu sie mit dem ihr vorgegebenen Rahmen des 317 Die ewige Schuld der Eva 8 Besonders deutlich wird das Nebensächliche der kriminellen Tat an sich in Hammes‐ fahrs Das Geheimnis der Puppe (1991), ein als Kriminalroman beschriebener Roman (https: / / www.krimi-couch.de/ titel/ 710-das-geheimnis-der-puppe/ ; https: / / www.krimi netz.de/ krimis/ geheimnis-puppe; (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.); https: / / literatur schock.de/ literatur/ belletristik/ krimis-und-thriller/ das-geheimnis-der-puppe (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.), der aber eher Merkmale einer Gothic Novel aufweist (Parra-Membrives, 2012). Kriminalromans geschickt zu spielen weiß. Denn, wie schon Petracca und Sorapure behauptet haben Even if popular culture is merely low-quality amusent or a means of escaping the demands of the „real“ world, it delivers important messages that we may internalize and later act on - for better or for worse. We should examine and analize pop-culture, then, in ordert o assess - and sometimes resist - its influences. (Petracca, Sorapuse, 2010: 6) was für Hammesfahr akribisch genau zutrifft. Der längst nicht mehr so triviale Kriminalroman wird von der Autorin dazu benutzt, sich mit allen möglichen, durch sozial ausgeübte Gewalt, individuellen Traumata auseinanderzusetzen. Mord, der aber nicht immer zum zentralen Gegenstand 8 wird, eine Ermittlung, die oft fast nebensächlich erscheint, dafür aber sehr komplexe psychologische, und, vor allem, markant frauenzentrierte Fragen, die die Leserschaft zwangs‐ dürftig zur Reflektion anregen müssen, sind bei Hammesfahr meist der Fall. Wichtig ist hervorzuheben, dass es sich dabei ganz deutlich nicht nur um die von Wilczek angedeutete „Solidarität zu Frauen“ (Wilczek, 2007: 105) handelt, sondern dass die Texte eher in Liza Marklunds Sinne zu verstehen sind, wenn sie behauptet, dass sie sich für „weibliche Krimis, in denen die aktuellen Lebensbedingungen von Frauen zur Sprache kommen“ (Hindersmann, 2006: 251) interessiere. Aktuelle Lebensbedingungen, denen Hammesfahrs Frauen, ganz gleich in welcher Rolle, nicht immer gerecht werden können, und die ihnen dann auf schreckliche Weise zum Verhängnis werden. 3 Täter-Opfer-Schuld Besonders die komplizierte Wechselbeziehung, die oftmals zwischen Täter und Opfer entsteht, wenn die schuldtragende Verantwortung einer kriminellen Handlung nicht ganz eindeutig scheint, wird in Hammesfahrs Romanen gründ‐ lich erforscht. Mitschuld oder gar Eigenschuld der Opfer, auch die manchmal sehr fragliche Schuld der überwiesenen Täter, die sich nicht selten als eigent‐ 318 Eva Parra-Membrives 9 Oft kommt zur unverkennbaren Schuld die Notwendigkeit Sühne für ein früheres Vergehen zu erreichen, wie z. B. unter anderem in den Romanen Die Lüge (2003) oder Der Schatten (2005) Siehe hier auch Schardl, 2012. liche, ursprüngliche Opfer entlarven 9 , werden so gehandhabt, dass die Grenze zwischen willkürlicher und erlaubter oder sogar notwendigen Gewalt moralisch problemlos überschritten werden kann. Hammesfahrs Mörder, und vor allem ihre Mörderinnen, können dabei manchmal besser als ihre Opfer als Identifika‐ tionssubjekt für die Leserschaft fungieren. Die Autorin behauptet, dass, sollte jemand wiederholt oder systematisch einer psychologisch untergrabenden Grausamkeit ausgeliefert sein, es fast unvermeidbar ist, dass in ihm oder ihr kriminelle Gedanken erweckt werden. Dabei kann diese erwähnte Grausamkeit nicht unbedingt isoliert von einer oder auch mehreren Personen, sondern sogar allgemein sozial ausgeübt werden, und so unbeachtet bleiben. Wichtig ist hier lediglich, dass sie gezielt und beständig an einem bestimmten Individuum angebracht wird, dessen Psyche dann allmählich zerrissen wird. Jeder von uns könnte gegebenenfalls zum Mörder gemacht werden, und jeder von uns kann andere zu Mörder machen, soll die schockierende Erkenntnis sein. Wie schon Reddy angegeben hat: Diese Romane neigen auch zu sehr weitreichender und tiefschürfender Sozialkritik, die Verbrechen, auf die sie sich gründen, sind oft extreme Ausprägungen von ganz alltäglichen Verbrechen an Frauen oder die Konsequenzen solcher Verbrechen. (Reddy 1990: 22) Der Roman Die Sünderin, entstanden mitten in der Blütezeit des deutschen Frauenkrimis (Frizzoni, 1999) ist, wie hier gezeigt werden soll, ein gutes Beispiel für dieses interessante literarische Vorhaben. 4 Die Sünderin Die Opfer-Täter Rollen scheinen hier zunächst ganz eindeutig zugewiesen: Die junge Cora Bender ermordet bei einem sonntäglichen Badeausflug aus einem unerklärlichen Impuls heraus einen ihr völlig unbekannten Mann. Die schreck‐ liche Tat wird vor Dutzenden von Zeugen ausgeführt, ohne dass ihr ein auch nur flüchtiger Kontakt zwischen den beiden Protagonisten vorausgegangen wäre. Die Situation scheint somit ideal, um sich mit dem bei Hammesfahr so wichtigen Schuld-Problem auseinanderzusetzen, denn der Mörder - Mörderin, in diesem Fall - muss weder gesucht, noch überführt werden. Cora ist sofort identifiziert, und ihr Opfer hat sich anscheinend keinerlei Schuld zukommen lassen. Dass dieser Mord trotzdem Ausgangspunkt für eine komplizierte Ermittlung wird, 319 Die ewige Schuld der Eva 10 Zur Vorliebe des aktuellen Publikums und Leser zum whydunit statt des im Kriminal- und Detektivroman traditionellen whodunit, siehe, unter anderem, Hamby, 2019; Asong, 2012. 11 Auf eine mögliche Anspielung auf den von Hildegard Knef protagonisierten, gleichna‐ migen Film Die Sünderin (Meyer, Volmer, Forst, 1951), der das Leben einer Prostituierten verfolgt, sei ebenfalls hingewiesen. 12 Der Roman ist zwar 1999 entstanden, zitiert wird hier aber aus der 12. Auflage von 2003. 13 Siehe die Definition von Sünde im Duden: a) Übertretung eines göttlichen Gebots. b) Zustand, in dem sich jemand durch eine Sünde oder durch die Erbsünde befindet. In: https: / / www.duden.de/ rechtschreibung/ Suende. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) zeigt, dass warum Gewalt ausgeführt wird für Hammesfahr die eigentliche Frage ist, und nicht von wem. So wird, trotz der unanfechtbaren Autorschaft an dieser kriminellen Handlung, Hammesfahrs Ermittler, der etwa fünfzigjährige Rudolf Grovian, zum Famulus des zweifelsohne neugierigen Lesers auserkoren, der den für Kriminalromane gebräuchlichen „whodunit“ beiseitelegt, um sich dem hier viel interessanteren „whydunit“ 10 zu widmen. Eine Idee, die die Kritik in der Presse besonders zu unterstreichen wusste, wie schon in der Einleitung erwähnt worden ist. In der genauen Beschaffenheit aber dieses „whydunits“ aber liegt der eigentliche Wert dieses Romans. Als erstes wäre hier hervorzuheben, dass Hammesfahr ihre Leser bereits auf Unstimmigkeiten oder zumindest Zweifelhaftigkeit bei diesem Mord vorbereitet hatte, nicht nur, weil sie die Auflösung des „whodunit“ sofort und in situ zu vermitteln wählt, sondern, indem sie ihren Roman Die Sünderin  11 betitelt, und nicht etwa Die Mörderin, oder vielleicht Die Schuldige, obwohl der Mord als besonders blutrünstig beschrieben wird: Mit dem zweiten Stich traf sie ihn seitlich an den Hals. Er riss die Augen weit auf, gab aber keinen Ton mehr von sich, griff nur mit einer Hand zum Hals und schaute ihr dabei in die Augen. Das Blut spritzte zwischen seinen Fingern durch, so rot wie der kleine Plastikfisch. Die weißblonde Frau kreischte und versuchte, unter seinen Beinen wegzukriechen. Sie stieß noch einmal hinunter und noch einmal. Ein Stich in die Kehle. En Stich in die Schulter, ein Stich durch die Wange. Das Messer war klein, aber sehr spitz und sehr scharf 12 . (Hammesfahr 2003: 33) Trotz dieser detaillierten Beschreibung gibt Hammesfahr der Sünde, und nicht etwa dem Mord den Vorrang bei der Titelwahl und macht so Cora Bender primär eines religiös-moralischen 13 Vergehens und nicht etwa einer gesell-schaftlich-le‐ galen Tat schuldig. Mord ist natürlich ebenfalls moralisch zu verabscheuen, dass aber Sünde im Rechtswesen wenig zu sagen hat, weist darauf hin, dass 320 Eva Parra-Membrives 14 Siehe hier, unter vielen anderen, folgende Texte: https: / / www.krimi-couch.de/ titel/ 721 -die-suenderin/ Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020; und auch dazu https: / / www.lovely books.de/ autor/ Petra-Hammesfahr/ Die-Sünderin-144029220-w/ (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.); https: / / wasliestdu.de/ petra-hammesfahr/ die-suenderin (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) die Autorin eher Wert auf moralische, als auf juristische Fragen setzt. Dass Sünde, in einem weiblichen Kontext benutzt, nun aber vordergründig sexuelle Konnotationen bekommen muss, kann bibliographisch gut bezeugt werden. Es handelt sich dabei offensichtlich um einen religiös-moralischen Begriff, der auch gerne mit Evas Erbsünde, oft als Erwachen der weiblichen Lust verstanden (Kells 1989; Higgins 1976; Schüngel-Straumann 1999), in Beziehung gesetzt wird, auch mit der Maria Magdalena, deren Vergehen bekanntlich sexueller Art gewesen sind, und ebenfalls nicht zu vergessen wäre in diesem Kontext, dass auch die Sündenlosigkeit der Gottesmutter Maria als sexuelle Reinheit interpretiert wird (u. a. Fouassier 2007). Das Begehen oder nicht krimineller Taten wird hier überhaupt nicht bedacht. Sollte Cora Bender primär Sünderin und nicht Mörderin sein, könnte bei ihr eine unangebrachte Sexualität als Hauptvergehen angedeutet werden. Nun hat sich Cora Bender aber, bevor sie zur Mörderin wird, anscheinend auf keinen Fall eines lasterhaften Lebens schuldig gemacht. Beschrieben wird sie, sowohl auf der Rückseite des Romans, als auch in verschiedenen Rezensionen, die wohl zur Werbung dienen sollen, lediglich als „junge Mutter“ oder „stille, liebenswürdige Mutter“ 14 , so eher der Maria in ihrer Mutterrolle, als der Mag‐ dalena oder der Eva ähnelnd. Wie dieses angeblich geordnete Leben mit der weiblich üblichsten Sünde vereinbart werden kann, lässt uns die Autorin aber sofort wissen. Denn dass ein anormales, unglückliches oder vielleicht nur nicht geeignetes Sexualleben im Roman Die Sünderin zur zentralen Frage werden soll, zeigen uns schon die beiden ersten Sätze des Romans, die überraschenderweise bei der Protagonistin nicht einen Mord, sondern einen Selbstmord ankündigen: „Es war ein heißer Tag Anfang Juli, als Cora Bender sich entschloss zu sterben. In der Nacht hatte Gereon mit ihr geschlafen.“ (Hammesfahr, 2003: 7) Diese in ihrer Direktheit so harten, beeindruckenden Sätze, die ganz zu An‐ fang dem Leser fast achtlos hingeworfen werden, als ob nicht besonderes dabei wäre, an den eigenen Tod nach einem ehelichen Beischlaf zu denken, müssen den unvorbereiteten Leser zwangsläufig schockieren, und verlangen natürlich nach näheren Erklärungen. Cora Bender, die wir, noch bevor unsere Lektüre begonnen hatte, aufgrund der Werbung und der Romanbeschreibung bereits als Mörderin identifiziert hatten, verfolgt nun aber Selbstmord-gedanken. Und dies, sofort nachdem sie einen sexuellen, im Rahmen einer Ehe geführten, also 321 Die ewige Schuld der Eva eigentlich sündlosen, religiös-moralisch erlaubten Akt erlebt hat, wobei hier auch Coras passives Verhalten auffallen muss: „Gereon mit ihr geschlafen“ ist die benutzte Formulierung, die von der Einseitigkeit der Aktion zu zeugen weiß. Sollte Cora ihr Sexualleben nicht genießen, sondern als Pflicht auffassen, kann sie der so verwerflichen Sünde der Lust aber nicht schuldig sein. Auf jeden Fall kann bei beiden so leichtfertig verbundenen Sätze der Schluss gezogen werden, dass irgendein Zusammenhang zwischen beiden Erlebnissen - Sex und der Wunsch, zu Sterben - bestehen könnte. Aber inwiefern? Sollte Cora ihre ehelichen Pflichten so abscheulich finden, dass ein Tod an Interesse gewinnt, könnten wir vielleicht von Verzweiflung sprechen, aber nicht von Sünde. Außerdem wird uns sofort mitgeteilt, dass Cora ihren Ehemann abgöttisch liebt: „Und sie liebte Gereon. Es war mehr als Liebe. Es war Dankbarkeit, bedingungslose Ergebenheit, es war etwas Absolutes.“ (Hammesfahr, 2003: 7) Das Problem ist also der Sex, und nicht der Mann. Sollte Cora Bender Sex mit ihrem Ehemann derart verabscheuen, dass dies sogar ihre Bereitschaft zu Sterben herbeiführen kann, handelt es sich hier aber auf keinen Fall darum, dass sie für ihren Mann keine Liebe empfindet oder ihn gar abstoßend findet, oder dass dieser vielleicht gewalttätig sein könnte. Was Cora verzweifeln lässt, ist die sexuelle Lust, nicht der Beischlaf an sich, was sofort deutlich wird, als uns Hammesfahr näher beschreibt, wie die maßlose Verzweiflung ihrer Protagonistin entstanden ist. Cora Bender ist Mutter, wie oftmals erwähnt wird, und hat Jahre hindurch ein Sexualleben geführt, das in ihr keine gewalttätigen Gedanken - sei es gegen sie selbst, sei es gegen andere, ob Mord oder Selbstmord - erweckt zu haben scheint, was wahrscheinlich damit zusammenhing, dass sie diesen Teil ihrer Beziehung nur toleriert, aber nicht genossen hat. Jahrelang hat sie sich immer wieder eingeredet hat, dass Sex mit ihrem Ehemann keine Sünde sein kann: Er war eben so, tat seine Arbeit, wollte ansonsten seine Ruhe - und freitags und samstags ein bisschen Liebe! Dagegen konnte sie nicht kämpfen, weil Liebe etwas Gutes, etwas Schönes, etwas völlig Natürliches und Normales war. (Hammesfahr, 2003: 14) Wie es dann dazu kam, dass sich alles plötzlich veränderte, können wir im Text dann Schritt für Schritt verfolgen: Zuerst war alles in Ordnung, leise Weihnachtsmusik und Gereons Zärtlichkeit, die allmählich drängender und intensiver wurde. Dann rutschte er langsam an ihr hinunter, da wurde es unangenehm. (Hammesfahr, 2003: 8) Cora rastet völlig aus, als es zum oralen Sex bei ihr selbst kommt. 322 Eva Parra-Membrives Das Aufbäumen war nur ein Reflex. Sie schlang die Knie um Gereons Nacken und presste die Oberschenkel zu beiden Seiten um seinen Hals. Es fehlte nicht viel, und sie hätte ihm das Genick gebrochen oder ihn erwürgt. Sie bemerkte es nicht einmal, so weit weg war sie in diesem Moment. Erst als Gereon sie keuchend und röchelnd in die Seite kniff und seine Fingernägel tief in das weiche Fleisch ihrer Taille grub, holte der Schmerz sie zurück. (Hammesfahr, 2003: 8 f) Cora Benders extreme Sexphobie gilt also nicht dem Sexualleben im Allge‐ meinen, wird nicht dadurch, dass sie Sex verabscheut, verursacht, oder viel‐ leicht, weil sie diese Intimität nicht toleriert, ihren Ehemann nicht liebt, dieser etwa brutal oder gewalttätig ist, oder einfach nur an die eigene Befriedigung denkt. Bevor von Oralsex die Rede ist, scheint Cora keinerlei Ekel in diesen Situationen empfunden zu haben, oder zumindest wird es im Roman nicht erwähnt. Es ist im Gegenteil Gereon Benders Absicht, ein beiderseitig befriedi‐ gendes Sexualleben zu führen, indem er ein für die Lust seiner Frau gedachten Schritt angeht, der Abscheu und überraschenderweise eine extreme Gewalt bei Cora auslöst. Diese eine Idee ihres Mannes, sie an dem Sexgenuss teilnehmen zu lassen, also die Lust der Frau zu erwecken, verändert bei ihr alles. Cora muss vor der weiblichen Sünde fliehen, versucht hier nichts anderes, als ihren eigenen Genuss zu hemmen. Ab diesem Moment wird sogar die Möglich‐ keit, dass es für sie irgendwelche Befriedigung geben könnte, unerträglich, und der einzige Gedanke lässt sie erschaudern: „Es wurde mit jedem Wochenende schlimmer. Schon im Mai war die Angst vor dem Freitagabend wie ein Tier, das sie langsam von innen zerfleischte“ (Hammesfahr, 2003: 11), sagt uns die Autorin, und auch, nach einem schnellen, nur erduldeten Beischlaf Ihr Magen schien mit flüssigem Blei gefüllt, brannte und rumorte wie in Feuer getaucht. Dann stieg es heiß und ätzend in die Kehle. Mit knapper Not schaffte sie es ins Bad und übergab sich. Anschließend weinte sie sich in den Schlaf, weinte sich durch den Traum, der ihr die Nacht in tausend Stücke riss, weinte noch, als Gereon sie an der Schulter rüttelte und verständnislos anstarrte. (Hammesfahr, 2003: 18) dominiert die Angst, zur Sünderin zu werden, alles. Und zwar dermaßen, dass nun der Selbstmord zur einzigen Möglichkeit wird, nicht sündhaft zu werden. Gereon Verständnislosigkeit beweist, dass dieses Benehmen bei Cora völlig neu ist, und vor dem Oralsexversuch nicht stattgefunden hat. Die Ehe wird aufgrund der Sünde zum Albtraum. Dass Cora Bender eine schwierige Kindheit und Jugend hinter sich hat, die sie verdrängt, die sie aber zu dem psychologisch kaputten Geschöpf gemacht hat, dem wir am Anfang des Romans entgegentreten, wird uns im Laufe der Geschichte langsam offenbart, und dient als zusätzliche Entschuldigung für den 323 Die ewige Schuld der Eva sonst unbegreiflichen Mord. Eine streng religiöse Erziehung, die die weibliche Lust verurteilt, kann niemals ihren hemmenden Einfluss auf Cora verlieren, denn an das Lasterhafte der Lust wird in späteren Etappen ihres Lebens immer wieder durch zusätzliche Autoritätspersonen erinnert. So zum Beispiel, als sie bei der Geburt ihres Sohnes eine überaus schnelle Niederkunft erlebt, und dabei ihre Schwiegermutter behauptet, dass: Eine Sturzgeburt, hatten die Ärzte gesagt. Ihre Schwiegermutter sah das anders. „Da muss eine nur lange genug herumgehurt haben, dann ist sie da unten weit genug, um ein Kind auf diese Weise zu verlieren. (Hammesfahr, 2003: 19) „Lange herumgehurt“ ist eine derart abfällige Anmerkung, dass sie nicht nur von einer völligen Ablehnung der weiblichen Lust spricht, sondern auch diesen Ekel, den Cora fühlt, noch zu verstärken weiß. Ein sexuelles Eheleben muss also nur toleriert, aber nicht genossen werden. Sollte dies geschehen, wird die Sünde sozial untragbar. 5 Der Mord Bei dem Sonntagsausflug, den Cora eigentlich für ihren eigenen Lebensabschied eingeplant hatte, um der sich langsam anschleichenden Sünde zu fliehen, wird sie dann Zeugin dessen, wie eine dort anwesende Frau mit ihrem Partner deutlich sexuell anmutende Bewegungen macht: „ließ die weißblonde Frau sich nach vorne fallen und umschloss das Gesicht des Mannes mit beiden Händen. Sie küsste ihn und bewegte die Hüften über seinem Schoß.“ (Hammesfahr, 2003: 27) Wichtig scheint hierbei, dass nicht nur das an der Handlung beteiligte Paar, son‐ dern auch die unvermeidlichen Zuschauer lüsternen Gedanken nachzugehen scheinen. Vor allem Gereon Bender, Coras Ehemann, reagiert auf die vorherige Szene mit einer sichtlichen Erregung: Und Gereon bekam einen nervösen Blick. „Soll ich dich jetzt eincremen? “ fragte er. „Nein! “ So heftig hatte sie nicht werden wollen. Aber was die Frau da trieb und wie Gereon darauf reagierte, machte sie wütend. (Hammesfahr, 2003: 28) Cora wird so indirekt an die lüsterne Szene beteiligt, findet sich also gerade in etwas verwickelt, vor dem sie derart entschlossen war zu fliehen, dass sie sogar einen Tod in Betracht gezogen hatte. Dass sie auf den Gedanken ihres Mannes, sie selbst könnte sich eine ähnliche erotische Szene öffentlich herbeiwünschen, sie selbst könnte ebenfalls eine derartige Lust empfinden, mit Wut reagiert, ist somit voll verständlich. Denn gerade ihre unsägliche Angst, die weibliche Sünde nicht meistern zu können, hat in ihr ja den Selbstmordentschluss erweckt. Die 324 Eva Parra-Membrives Formulierung „was die Frau da trieb“ zeigt überdeutlich Coras Ablehnung, die noch dadurch unterstrichen wird, dass sie die ihr unbekannte Frau wenig später als „Schlampe“ bezeichnet: Gereon hatte ihren Sessel während ihrer Abwesenheit verschoben, sodass sie nicht mehr mit dem Rücken, sondern seitlich zur Decke saß und er besser an ihr vorbei‐ schauen konnte. Er saß mit ausgestreckten Beinen und über dem Bauch zusammen‐ gelegten Händen da, tat so, als blicke er zum Wasser, schielte in Wahrheit zu den Brüsten der weißblonden Schlampe. (Hammesfahr, 2003: 30) wobei es ihr öfter sehr wichtig scheint, nicht selbst als Schlampe zu gelten: „Niemand konnte ihr nachsagen, sie sei eine Schlampe gewesen.“ (Hammesfahr, 2003: 32) Dass diese erotisch anmutende Szene bei ihr schließlich Mordgedanken erwecken muss, erklärt sich also aus der anstrengenden Stresssituation, die Cora gerade erlebt: „Hört auf ihr Schweine! Aufhören“ (Hammesfahr, 2003: 32), schreit sie, nachdem ihr Ehemann kurz vorher die Lust der Frau als positiv bewertet hatte: „Mir gefällt die Musik, und der Rest gefällt mir auch. Die hat jedenfalls Feuer im Hintern.“ (Hammesfahr, 2003: 28) Cora schafft es nicht, den Forderungen ihres Mannes und den für Frauen restriktiven sozialen Lustcodex, die von Hegemann als „culturally inadmissible desires“ (Hegemann, 2000: 313) beschriebene Sünde, gleichzeitig gerecht zu werden. Die Angst vor der Sünde siegt, die Auslöschung der Gefahr, die sich für sie anbahnt, ist unvermeidlich. Der Angriff ist leicht erklärbar. Dass hier der Mann des ihr unbekannten Paares, und nicht die Frau, Coras Opfer wird, spricht von einer Identifikation zwischen beiden Frauen. Cora möchte nicht bestrafen, sondern retten. Indem sie die Gefahr, d. h., den Lust erweckenden Mann auslöscht, kann die Frau vor der Sünde fliehen. Sie hilft so der ihr unbekannten Frau, die aber eigentlich sie selbst ist, ihre Reinheit zu bewahren. Cora mordet, um die Lust auszuschalten, um die weibliche Sünde zu verneinen. Sie fühlt sich nicht als Mörderin, sondern als potentielle Sünderin, die sich nun aber in Schutz zu bringen gewusst hat. Ihre Ruhe, nachdem sie den Mord begangen hat, kann dies bezeugen: Nein, nein, sie war völlig klar im Kopf. Es war alles gut. Es war alles richtig. Es musste so sein. Dass wusste sie mit Sicherheit. Und der Mann wusste es auch, es war in seinen Augen zu lesen. „Dies ist mein Blut, das für deine Sünden vergossen wird. (Hammesfahr, 2003: 34) 325 Die ewige Schuld der Eva 15 Bei Europapress in https: / / www.europapress.es/ tv/ noticia-todas-producciones-europe as-netflix-20161026171830.html (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.); ebenfalls, unter anderem, hier Raya (2018). 16 Cora wird ständig als „junge Mutter“ beschrieben. Siehe: https: / / www.rtl-crime.de/ cms/ the-sinner-4274882.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.); https: / / www.movie pilot.de/ serie/ the-sinner (Hier fälschlicherweise als Cora Tanner) (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.); Kirzynowski, 2018; https: / / www.serienjunkies.de/ the-sinner/ (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) 17 Siehe in Bezug auf die Serie: „We’ve all been there: that moment where you feel as if you could murder someone because they’ve been so inconsiderate, rude or downright annoying.“ (Briggs, 2017). 6 Netflix und The Sinner Diese Auseinandersetzung mit der Schuld der Frau in der Sexualität, der ihr ewig anlastenden Erbsünde, wird aber von der Netflix-Serie The Sinner, die Hammesfahrs Roman als Ausgangsbasis nimmt, leider nicht übernommen. Es wird vor allem auf das so gut wie in letzter Minute herbeigezauberte Überraschungsmoment des „whydunit“ gezielt. Zwar werden ebenfalls sexuelle Fragen mit ins Spiel gebracht, aber völlig anders gehandhabt. Netflix, die in den letzten Jahren große Erfolge mit rein europäischen Pro‐ duktionen erzielt hat (Marti, 2018) 15 , greift im Jahr 2017 auf einen fast zwanzig Jahre alten Text zurück, um sich mitten im amerikanischen Me-too Movement (Taylor, 2019) mit der Frage der Schuld 16 auseinanderzusetzen, wählt aber dabei eine völlig andere Richtung. Der Mord wird hier durch einen früheren, nicht gesühnten Tod zu entschuldigen versucht. Dabei wird das jetzige Mordopfer, das im Roman eigentlich eine passive Nebenrolle spielt, in der Serie zum eigentlichen Auslöser der an ihm selbst verübten Gewalt. Der gegenwärtige Mord dient nun als Vehikel zur Sühne, keinesfalls aber als eine unerlässliche Tat zur Überwindung der Sünde, die hier überhaupt keine Rolle spielt. Die fast zwei Jahrzehnte, die beide Texte, den literarischen und den filmi‐ schen, trennen, hätten glauben lassen können, dass der schriftliche Text veraltet scheinen könnte, aber dies ist nicht der Fall, und Hammesfahrs Roman scheint der Serie in seiner Suche nach der Persistenz der weiblichen Schuld in der sozialen Meinung in vielen Aspekten voraus zu sein. Denn obwohl bei Netflix der Originaltitel übernommen wird, wird in den verschiedenen Folgen ganz deutlich dem Mord als solchen, und nicht etwa einer möglichen Sünde der Protagonistin den Vorrang gegeben: „We’ve all been there: that moment where you feel as if you could murder someone because they’ve been so inconsiderate, rude or downright annoying“ 17 wird z. B. in der Werbung gesagt, das Publikum 326 Eva Parra-Membrives darauf vorbereitend, möglicherweise einen Mord zu entschuldigen, gar zu verzeihen (Scholz, 2018), aber die Sünde unbeachtet lassend. Sicher bleibt auch in der Serie das „whydunit“ wichtiger als das schon veral‐ tend scheinende „whodunit“, dem sich Kriminalromane und Serien Jarhrzehnte über gewidmet haben. Es handelt sich auch ebenfalls um einen Versuch, einen Mord aus zwingenden psychologischen Ursachen zu erklären und in gewisser Hinsicht die Beziehung zwischen Opfer, Täter und Schuld zu aktualisieren. Aber die Auseinandersetzung mit der Sünde, die uns Hammesfahr so eindeutig prä‐ sentiert, mit diesem bestimmten, nur den Frauen über Jahrhunderte anhaftenden Makel, fehlt hier leider völlig. Cora mordet, wie die Serie in dieser ersten Staffel erkennen lässt, aus einem Gerechtigkeitssinn heraus. Ihre Angst, fast Panik, der weiblichen Sünde der Lust verfallen zu können, der Mord also als rettende Lösung für das Bestehen ihrer Reinheit, all dies ist nicht vorhanden. Netflix vereinfacht die Frage der Schuld, entfernt sich von Hammesfahrs Originalidee, und macht The Sinner zu einer simplen Frage der Rache, ohne dass über soziale, die Frauen verurteilende, moralische Einschränkungen, die heute immer noch bestehen, ausgiebig diskutiert werden kann. Coras Mord wird von einem - zwar schrecklichen - aber punktuellem Zwischenfall in der Vergangenheit entschuldigt, nicht aus einem unkontrollierbaren, angelernten psychologischem Rettungszwang erklärt. Dieser zentrale Unterschied ist gleich zu Anfang bemerkbar. Die Serie beginnt nicht mit Coras - hier auf Tannetti umgetauft - unglücklichem Sexleben, sondern mit einer für den Leser des Romans überraschend heilen Familienidylle, die nichts Gewalttätiges ankündigt und nicht einmal ahnen lässt. Dieses die Normalität unterstreichende Szenario wird oft im Film - vor allem im Familien-, aber auch im Horrorfilm - benutzt, um die offensichtlich heile Welt, in der der Zuschauer auch sein eigenes Heim erkennen kann, im Nachhinein durch eine negative Einwirkung von außen zu zerstören. Ritzer erwähnt in dieser Hinsicht, dass z. B. „Spielberg’s strategy is to lure viewers into this highly predictable world and then hit them with a highly unpredictable event“ (Ritzer, 2004: 90). Der Mord Coras an dem ihr unbekannten Mann, von dem die Werbung der Serie spricht, ist hier auch wirklich gänzlich unvorhersehbar, wenn auch nicht unbedingt durch eine Einwirkung von außen, sondern in diesem Fall eher von innen, von einem nicht näher erklärtem innen. Cora begegnet uns in den ersten Minuten der ersten Folge in Arbeitsuniform im Familienbetrieb, wo sie anscheinend eine gute, anerkannte Leistung zu vollbringen scheint, und nimmt anschließend an einem gemütlichen familiären Abendessen im Hause ihrer Schwiegereltern teil. Die Beziehung ist flüssig, wenn auch vielleicht nicht unbedingt innig, aber es wird nichts gezeigt, das daran denken ließe, dass sich 327 Die ewige Schuld der Eva die Protagonistin zutiefst unglücklich fühlt. Die Selbstmordgedanken, mit denen Hammesfahr ihren Roman einführt, lassen sich hier auf keinen Fall erahnen. Es wird hier zunächst die Familie, und nicht Coras unerträgliches Sexleben zur Ausgangsposition erwählt, was auch erklärt, warum die Kritik die Serie vordergründig als ein Portrait des bürgerlichen Amerikas auffasst. Das Abnorme des Romans wird durch das Normalste in der Serie ersetzt. Dabei bleibt die Absicht für die Wahl des Begriffs der Sünde, die aber doch den Serientitel geben soll, anfangs völlig im Dunkeln. Dem Zuschauer wird eine nur mehr als flüchtige Anspielung gemacht, als bei den Anfangstiteln eine kindliche weibliche Stimme durchgehend das Avemaria hersagt, was aber eher an teuflische Terrorfilme wie The Omen (Bernhard, Donner, 1976) erinnert, als an eine mögliche Angst, der weiblichen Erbsünde zu verfallen. Auch kann die Kindesstimme davon zeugen, dass Coras Probleme in der Kindheit entstanden, aber auch verblieben sind. Die sexuelle Lust, die im Roman schon ganz zu Beginn als verwerflich - moralisch nicht akzeptierbar, sündhaft - präsentiert wird, wird hier gar nicht erst in Betracht gezogen, für den Zuschauer wird es überhaupt kein Thema sein. Dass dem so ist, dass sich Cora der Sünde auch nicht erst annähernd schuldig fühlt, zeigt uns dann auch die erste Szene, in der ihr Ehemann - hier Mason Tannetti - den ehelichen Beischlaf fordert (Campos, 2017, Erste Staffel. Erste Folge: 04: 13-06). Zwar scheint Cora nicht gerade von der Idee begeistert, und Jessica Biel, die hier die weibliche Hauptrolle spielt, ist deutlich anzusehen, dass es sich für sie um keine angenehme Pflicht handelt, aber das lustlose, passive Verhalten der Cora Tannetti kann höchstens nur von Frigidität zeugen, nicht von derartigem Terror, dass Selbstmordgedanken - und später Mord - unumgänglich werden. Cora scheint den als fast mechanischen dargestellten Akt einfach nur über sich ergehen zu lassen, woran ihr Ehemann aber auch keinen Anstoß nimmt. Es wird kein Oralsex versucht, die Lust der Frau wird nicht erweckt, Cora wird zwar vielleicht benutzt, aber nicht der Lust ausgesetzt, und so braucht sie auch nicht aggressiv zu werden, um sich der Sünde zu verteidigen. Es ist nämlich keinerlei Sünde vorhanden, nur Desinteresse. Die Präsentation von Coras Sexleben reduziert sich in der Serie auf diese einzige, flüchtige Szene. Sollte in Cora etwas zerstört sein, so hat ihr Mann auf keinen Fall Teilnahme daran, ist auch nicht unglücklicher Auslöser der Gewalt, wie im Roman. Cora kann sich der von der Möglichkeit, Lust zu empfinden, nicht bedroht fühlen, denn dies ist erst gar nicht angestrebt worden. Somit finden wir auch kein Zittern oder Weinen, keine Panik, als sich der Augenblick der wöchentlichen Ehepflicht nähert, und, vor allem, keine Aggressivität in einem sexuellen Kontext, die im Roman doch auschlaggebend für den späteren Mord sein wird. Cora ist zwar nicht glücklich, aber auch nicht unbedingt 328 Eva Parra-Membrives unglücklich, sondern eher teilnahmslos. Sie kümmert sich musterhaft um ihren Sohn, pflegt eine gesunde Beziehung zu ihren Schwiegereltern, arbeitet tüchtig im Familienbetrieb. Zwar kann man folgern, dass sich Cora nicht realisiert fühlt, weil sie ein langweiliges, überaus gewöhnliches und sehr voraussehbares - amerikanisch bürgerliches - Leben führt, das sie offensichtlich emotionell nicht erfüllt, aber der Unterschied zwischen dieser Unlust und Cora Tannettis extremer und zur Gewalt führenden Lustphobie ist doch zu groß, um den nahestehenden Mord erklären zu können. Dass Cora einen Selbstmordversuch unternimmt, wird in der Serie zwar angedeutet (Campos, 2017, Erste Staffel. Erste Folge: 09: 29 ff), als sie in dem See, in dem auch hier die Familie ihren Ausflug macht, lange untertaucht, kann aber durch die Flucht vor der Sünde nicht erklärt und verstanden werden, wo es diese doch gar nicht gibt. Auch werden die wenigen Minuten, die dem brutalen Mord vorausgehen, völlig anders dargestellt. Cora schält Obst und ist ganz Familienmutter (Campos, 2017, Erste Staffel. Erste Folge: 12: 13). Zwar findet sich auch hier ein Liebespaar, dass deutlich sexuell anmutende Szenen öffentlich zur Schau stellt, aber Mason Tannetti scheint eher gelangweilt, als erotisch angesprochen, und obwohl er ebenfalls Cora anbietet, sie einzucremen (Campos, 2017, Erste Staffel. Erste Folge: 13: 10), ist der benutzte Ton dabei eher ironisch-kritisch, als lüstern zu deuten. Der Mord kommt dann zu plötzlich, geschieht aus einer unkontrollierbaren fast mechanischen Handlung heraus, ist in seiner Brutalität unverständlich, und von Sünde ist in keinem Moment die Rede gewesen. Cora mordet fast lautlos, murmelt ein „lass sie los“, scheint somit die vor ihren Augen abgespielte Szene als Gewalttat missverstanden zu haben, aber Sünde ist keine dabei. Auch wird hier der Mann als Schuldiger „lass sie“ erwähnt, und nicht die Frau, die, im Roman als Schlampe die Szene zu kontrollieren schien und gerettet werden musste. Sicher, in den weiteren Folgen wird eine restriktive religiöse Erziehung der Protagonistin Coras in Bezug auf Sex aufgedeckt, ein traumatisches Ereignis aufgeklärt, und so die weibliche Sexualität mit ins Spiel gebracht. Aber wie die Serie eindeutig zeigt, hat Coras Erziehung sie nur lustlos, aber nicht gewalttätig gemacht. Die Sünde war vielleicht in ihrer Kindheit vorhanden, aber diese Angst besteht nun nicht. Die Gewalt erklärt sich hier aus einer früheren Beziehung von Opfer und Täterin heraus und wird zu einer Frage der Rache, und nicht des Selbstschutzes. 329 Die ewige Schuld der Eva 7 Schlussfolgerung Obwohl also mitten im Me-too Movement entstanden, benutzt die Serie nicht die Gelegenheit, sich mit sozial andauernden weiblichen Geißeln, also mit der Fortdauer des Gedankens der Alleinschuld der Frau bei sexuellen Vergehen auseinanderzusetzen. Zwar kommentiert Cornell, dass „It is certainly noticeable how news in the most general sense often underlies Fernsehkrimi plots“ (Cornell, 2000: 4), aber leider wird hier die revolutionäre Frauenbewegung, die sich gerade um Frauen, Sex und Aggressivität kümmert, völlig ausgeschaltet. Cora Tannetti ist frigide, Cora Bender möchte frigide sein, um endlich die Last der Sünde, die ewige Schuld der Eva, die sie verfolgt, loszuwerden. Beide Ideen stehen in einer solch abnormen Entfernung, dass trotz des ähnlichen Geschehnisses eine ganz andere Geschichte erzählt wird. Leider blieben die für Frauen relevanteren Fragen, die Hammesfahr aufzuwerfen wusste, in der Serie unbeachtet. Bibliographische Referenzen Asong, L. T. (2012). Detective Fiction and the African Scene: From the Whodunit? To the Whydunit? Oxford: African Books Collective. Bernhard, H. (Produktion) & Donner, R. (Regie). (1976). The Omen. 20th Century Fox. Briggs, S. (14. November 2017). “Five reasons to watch The Sinner on Netflix”. In Eastern Daily Press www.edp24.co.uk/ going-out/ reasons-to-watch-the-sinner-on-netflix-1-5 279665. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) Campos, A. (Produktion) (2017). The Sinner. Netflix Cornell, A. (2000). “Series, Location and Change. National Reunification as Reflected in German Television Detective Series”. In A. Mullen, E. O’Beirne. Crime Scenes. Detective Narratives in European Culture since 1945. (3-14). 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August 2017). „‚The Sinner‘: Neuer psychologischer Thriller mit Jessica Biel fesselt.“ wunschliste.de www.wunschliste.de/ tvkritik/ the-sinner-neuerpsychologischer-thriller-mit-jessica-biel-fesselt (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) Klein, K. G. (1995). The Woman Detective: Gender & Genre. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Kungl, C. T. (2006). Creating the Fictional Female Detective: The Sleuth Heroines of British Women Writers, 1890-1940. Jefferson: McFarland. 331 Die ewige Schuld der Eva Lawler, K. (15. Dezember 2019). Review: “Jessica Biel’s seedy ‘The Sinner’ is relentlessly depressing”. USAToday. https: / / eu.usatoday.com/ story/ life/ tv/ 2017/ 08/ 01/ sinnerreview-jessica-biels-crime-drama-relentlessly-depressing/ 520670001/ (Letzter Zu‐ griff am 29. April 2020.) Marti, A. (28. November 2018). “Netflix refuerza su apuesta por las producciones europeas y prepara más de 220 proyectos para 2019”. 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Metro. https: / / metro.co.uk/ 2017/ 11/ 13/ the-sinner-seasonreview-jessica-biel-excels-in-gripping-netflix-whydunnit-7075185/ (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) Parra-Membrives, E. (2010). “Víctimas infantiles: incapacidades familiares como favore‐ cedoras del mal en ‘Der Kindersammler’ de Sabine Thiesler”. Revista de Filología Alemana, 18, 199-219. Parra-Membrives, E. (2011). „Transgresiones lícitas y contravenciones subversivas: nuevas formas en la novela policiaca femenina europea actual“. Anuario de estudios filológicos, 34, 175-189. Parra-Membrives, E. (2012). “Hibridismo genérico en la narrativa de Petra Hammesfahr: Explorando las fronteras del género negro”. In El género negro: el fin de la frontera. (157-164). Santiago de Compostela: Andavira. Petracca, M., Sorapure, M. (Hrsg.). (2010). Common culture: Reading and writing about American popular culture. Upper Saddle River: Prentice Hall. Plain, G. (2014). Twentieth Century Crime Fiction: Gender, Sexuality and the Body. London: Routledge. Raya, A. (4. September 2018). “Netflix y compañía tendrán que dedicar un 30 % del catálogo a producciones europeas”. El Español www.elespanol.com/ omicrono/ 20180904/ netflix-compania-dedicar-catalogo-producciones-europeas/ 335467747_0.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) Reddy, M. T. (1988). Sisters in crime: Feminism and the crime novel. New York: Continuum. 332 Eva Parra-Membrives Reddy, M. T. (1990). Detektivinnen: Frauen im modernen Kriminalroman. Wien: Guth‐ mann-Peterson. Reinhard, C. (29. November 2017). „Ein Musterbeispiel von Gewalt.“ In Frankfurter Allgemeine. www.faz.net/ aktuell/ feuilleton/ medien/ serien/ die-netflix-serie-the-sinner- 15314686/ sie-ist-sich-selbst-ein-15314698.html (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) Ritzer, G. (2004). The McDonaldization of society Thousand Oaks: Sage Rola, C. (Regie). (1997). Der stille Herr Genardy. RTL Rowland, S. (2000). From Agatha Christie to Ruth Rendell: British women writers in detective and crime fiction. Berlin: Springer. Schardl, V. (2012). Täter und Opfer im deutschsprachigen Kriminalroman. (Doctoral dissertation, uniwien). Scholz, M.D. (9. November 2018). „‚The Sinner‘: Wenn normale Menschen Morde begehen.“ focus.de www.focus.de/ kultur/ kino_tv/ the-sinner-wenn-normale-menschen-mordebegehen_id_9882468.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) Schüngel-Straumann, H. (1999). Die Frau am Anfang: Eva und die Folgen (Vol. 6). Münster: LIT Verlag Münster. Seitz, M. Z. (2. August 2017). “The Sinner is a Superbly Executed Murder Mystery”. Vulture. www.vulture.com/ 2017/ 08/ the-sinner-jessica-biel-review.html. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) Taylor, J. (21. Februar 2019). “Me Too Movement”. EssayTyping.com www.essaytyping. com/ me-too-movement/ (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) Wilczek, R. (2007). Von Sherlock Holmes bis Kemal Kayankaya: Kriminalromane im Deutschunterricht. Hannover: Kallmeyer. Zimmerling, K. (2007). Die Kriminalautorin als Beobachterin der zeitgenössischen britischen Gesellschaft und Kultur. Hamburg. Diplomarbeit. Webseiten https: / / literaturschock.de/ literatur/ belletristik/ krimis-und-thriller/ das-geheimnis-derpuppe. ((Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) https: / / wasliestdu.de/ petra-hammesfahr/ die-suenderin. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.duden.de/ rechtschreibung/ Suende. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.europapress.es/ tv/ noticia-todas-producciones-europeas-netflix-20161026171830. html. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.goodreads.com/ author/ show/ 588368.Petra_Hammesfahr? from_search=true. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.imdb.com/ title/ tt6048596/ awards? ref_=tt_awd. (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) 333 Die ewige Schuld der Eva www.krimi-couch.de/ titel/ 710-das-geheimnis-der-puppe/ (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.krimi-couch.de/ titel/ 721-die-suenderin/ (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.kriminetz.de/ krimis/ geheimnis-puppe (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.lovelybooks.de/ autor/ Petra-Hammesfahr/ Die-Sünderin-144029220-w/ (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.moviepilot.de/ serie/ the-sinner (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.rottentomatoes.com/ tv/ the_sinner (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.rtl-crime.de/ cms/ the-sinner-4274882.html (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) www.serienjunkies.de/ the-sinner/ (Letzter Zugriff am 29. April 2020.) 334 Eva Parra-Membrives PART 5 (MUSIC IS) A WORLD WITHIN ITSELF THE PORTRAYAL OF THE BAD GIRL CARMEN. Eternal Hybridity of High and Low Entertainment Marina Tornero Tarragó 1 Introduction When you hear the opera Carmen you think about an attractive, passionate woman who is the protagonist of all the conflicts she goes through, led by her wild spirit. It’s the elegance of the music, the majestic voices, the finesse of the instruments that make the audience label it as high culture. Since its opening in the 19th century, Carmen has gone through a long journey of being represented in so many ways by different artists. The story was created by Prosper Mérimée in 1847. He wrote a short novel with all the elements of “love, jealousy, passion and death” (De Vega López, 2006). Nevertheless, it was the opera of Georges Bizet in 1875 that brought about the success and popularity of this story. Since then, she’s been a part of folklore for decades in Spain, the authentic “Spanish woman” who is sassy, cheeky and provocative. She drives men crazy with her flirtatious personality, because men think they may have an opportunity to have a physical encounter: “One might say that (flirtation) is behaviour leading another to believe that sexual intimacy is possible, while preventing that possibility from becoming a certainty” (Kundera, 1984: 94). Upon a new century, we find a brand-new Carmen. In 2001, the traditional character arrived at the scene of pop culture and placed herself in the core of mainstream. Of course, I’m referring to Beyoncé’s version of the story. Now Carmen is not Spanish, she doesn’t tone up beautifully to the rhythm of the opera and she doesn’t sing traditional Spanish songs (copla) either. In this case, Carmen is not a gypsy, she is black; she lives in Philadelphia. She doesn’t only sing, she also raps, her boyfriend is not a bullfighter, he’s a policeman. The actress that interprets Carmen on the screen is none other than Beyoncé Knowles herself, one of the most popular stars in the world. Known internationally for her famous runs when singing, for her sexy moves in music videos and of course, her overwhelming presence on the stage. How has one of the most important representations of a Spanish woman in fiction been turned into such a different person? How can anybody apply a diametrically opposite change to the birthplace of Carmen - from Seville to Philadelphia? Wasn’t this context one of the most important factors in the construction of Carmen as a character? Also, how has the representation of the story been able to divert (successfully) in two directions, the grace of opera on the one hand and the groove of hip hop on the other? Many would laugh or shake their heads thinking of what has happened to “our” Carmen. The original seems to be different from the Carmen in Beyoncé, but it is not. Both are essentially the object of desire for men, and for a long time, women in fiction have been placed under male interests. According to Varela, "Patriarchy, as a system of male domination over women, needs power, strength and culture to maintain itself. He needs to control the symbolic world, the language, the dreams” (Varela, 2013: 338). Furthermore, as it is generally known, the image of an attractive girl has always been a good resource to attract an audience: “Viewing pictures of pretty women was mildly arousing, activating neural mechanisms associated with cues of sexual opportunity” (Wilson, Daly, 2003: 179). Is it possible that Carmen has been popular for many decades because of her undeniable sex-appeal? 2 Opera: High Culture or Entertainment for the Masses Originally, Carmen was conceived as a short novel that was turned into an opera in 1875 and even today it is one of the most popular operas internationally. It has been represented in many countries around the world with numerous adaptations. Carmen, the opera, is considered nowadays an example of high culture. Nevertheless, the question arises of how high culture can be defined. High culture encompasses ‘Authentic’ works of art and individual creativity and the aesthetic pleasures associ‐ ated with their appreciation which require the demonstration of taste, discrimination, and sophistication derived from and contributing to the cultural capital of an elite as distinct from the ‘mere entertainment’ values associated with popular (mass) culture, commercial commodification and uncritical consumption. A polarizing term, originating in the mid 19th century, explicitly linked to class distinctions. (Chandler, Munday, 2011) The concept of opera fits with this description, at least nowadays, and the representation of a story operatically turns it into a distinguished cultural activity. However, that has not always been the case. Opera was once the 338 Marina Tornero Tarragó entertainment of all social classes. In connection with this, Storey quotes interesting remarks by Zelochow (“Significantly, the opera house was the first musical institution to open its doors to the general public”) and by Raynor (“The Venetian audience consisted of all social classes”) (In Storey, 2002: 33). According to Dimaggio, also quoted by Storey, it was actually later on when it started to be separated from the working class and only a social elite could have access to it. “The distinction between high and popular culture (…) emerged in the period between 1850 and 1900 out of the efforts of urban elites to build organizational forms that, first, isolated high culture and, second, differentiated it from popular culture” (In Storey, 2002: 35). From this, we could draw the conclusion that opera is labelled as high culture depending on its historical context. Today, it can still divide, not so much according to who is more or less wealthy, but to those who enjoy this type of art because of intellectual or artistic skills that are not shared by everybody. 2.1 Carmen, between the opera house and the rapping We have seen that initially Carmen’s success came in the shape of an opera, but one that shocked audiences “for its realism, portraying the lives of ordinary people such as factory workers, smugglers, soldiers and gypsies” (Squires, 2008). There have been many other ways Carmen has been told along the years. In Spain, numerous film directors have represented the love story since the beginning of 20 th century until today. The actresses performing her have exhibited the same beauty and sassiness of a trained soprano, but as a result of being in a film produced for mass consumption, perhaps not the quality in their voice or elegance when performing. Furthermore, in the last two decades she has been represented in many varied and diverse forms such as in raps, comic books and even an advertisement for Pepsi. At the end of the day, she has been an extremely prolific figure that has been able to take the concept of globalisation to a high level: “Globalisation refers above all to the economic-social expansion of triumphant capitalism, to a type of neo-imperialism without resistance, capable (…) also of assimilating any element alien to its world in favour of its market logic” (Steingress, 2005: 122. Original in Spanish, my translation). Carmen has been making an impression for a long time as a distinguished lady in a reputed stage but also as a daring young lady walking down Times Square in New York. She has become a figure in the cultural intersection between what is considered fine art and pop culture. She has been able to reinvent herself with an incomparable longevity by opera directors, record labels, brands and producers across the ages. 339 The portrayal of the bad girl Carmen Carmen has been able to transcend what is controversially considered both high and low culture, becoming a true cultural hybridity. 3 Historical Context of Carmen: Romanticism As said before, Carmen was originally written by Prosper Mérimée in 1847. The French author was interested in writing about human condition, passion, vengeance, love and drama. He was heavily inspired by Spanish and Russian literature and he translated a poem called “The Gypsies” by Alexander Pushkin into French: He took the basic plot, but lowered its tone. Pushkin’s poem tells the story of Aleko, a Russian aristocrat who flees society to join a band of gypsies. He then goes through some kind of marriage ceremony with Zemfira, a young and beautiful girl, and then suspects her of betraying him with another young gypsy. He follows them in flagrante delicto, and stabs them both. (Garrard, 2016) When he wrote Carmen, he was obviously influenced by this poem and its romance that includes similar factors: an almost irrational love for a gypsy woman, a criminal background, betrayal and unfaithfulness on the part of her, and a tragic ending. So, ultimately, we can find an element of intertextuality in Carmen that comes in this case from Russian tradition. When he placed Carmen in Seville, he was not only influenced by the Russian poem, but also by the exoticism of the south of Spain, the beautiful women with long, dark hair, the dangerous bandoleros, the sunny fields, the rhythm of flamenco, as well as the wine in a taberna. Mérimeé visited Spain in three occasions, and he wrote about it in a French journal. He appreciated everything that had to do with Spanish culture; from food to women, music and art. Other Romantic visitors were not so fond of bullfighting, which was found to be “cruel”, but he also loved the fiesta nacional and wrote about it. Several other prominent European poets, painters, writers and intellectuals had an infatuation with Spain. In the 19 th century, the movement of Romanticism was taking over the continent at different paces. At that time, values like authenticity, freedom, and the fascination for the unknown dominated in the centre and north of the continent. They profoundly venerated “a love of nature, the rediscovery of the Middle Ages, the cult of art, a taste for the exotic, a return to religion, a fresh sense of history, a yearning for the infinite, a maudlin sentimentality” (Hearsey et al., 2020). 340 Marina Tornero Tarragó In this longing for places that would develop their artistic and literary fantasies, Spain was without a doubt one of the countries that Romantics wanted to visit, as they imagined it so opposed to the dull views they were accustomed to in their cities. There was a rejection of the coldness of concrete buildings: The increasing interest in Spain is to be seen as associated with the nineteenth-century anxiety against modernity, a phenomenon that evolved from the rapid economic de‐ velopment, industrialisation, urbanisation and the dilution of national characteristics, in addition to a feeling of timelessness. Travels to Spain were hence an expression of nostalgia. (Ludstrom, 2006: 331) In Carmen, the plot develops in Seville, Andalusia, a place that was especially attractive for Romantics. Some of them were impressed mainly by the landscapes and lifestyle: “The Andalusian paradise contrasts with the rest of the regions, the Romantic viewpoint ends in praise of the climate, the light, the relief, the African exoticism, the Arabism, characteristics that few regions share half with the Andalusian hedonism” (Campos Plaza, Campos Martín, 2001: 200. Original in Spanish, my translation). 3.1 Portrayal of Spanish women according to the Romantics In the 19th century, many Romantics decided to travel to the Iberian country. Their experiences were recorded in diaries, journal books, pictures, drawing. In them, we can find that fascination for Spanish women which will be the unifying thread of Carmen. Many of these intellectuals came from the United States, France and England. Prominent names such as Théophile Gautier, Washington Irving, Richard Ford, George Borrow, John Phillip, Edwin Long, Gustave Doré, Robert Kemm, David Roberts, Louis Joseph Alexandre de Laborde and Alexandre Dumas. The later wrote one of his most famous works about his trips to Spain: Then, all the way through, the windows and balconies were adorned with heads of low-cut women, with smooth and shiny hair like the wings of a raven; on their hair, of a bluish black, there was a flaming rose, a cherry-coloured camellia or some crimson carnation. A mantilla covered all this without hiding anything, and in their hands they carried fans that made a slight noise, and opening or closing them without ceasing between the sharp fingers which moved them with incredible dexterity and a lovable coquetry. (Dumas, 1847: 146-147. Original in Spanish, my translation) 341 The portrayal of the bad girl Carmen In this fragment, Dumas was referring to the charm of Spanish women, without going much further than that in terms of their sexuality. However, he would also describe the way dancers captivated him with several details: During his visit to Seville, Dumas and his troupe attended a flamenco party, in which the writer was captivated by the exoticism and energy of a dancer: ‘In Spain, dance begins by being a pleasure for the dancer herself, who dances with her whole body: the breasts, arms, eyes, mouth, hips, everything accompanies and completes the movement of the legs (…) She approaches the men, moves away and comes back, wrapping them in that magnetic fluid that emanates in waves from their fiery body of passion (…) It speaks of the dreams of opium and the delusions of hashish; I have studied some and followed the others, and none of that is like the frenzy of fifty or sixty Spaniards clapping in the attic of a café in Seville’. (García Blanco, 2018. Original in Spanish, my translation) There is even testimony of female visitors shocked by the daring personality of Spanish women. One such example is Frances Elliot, an English writer that used to travel around France, Spain and Italy and then captured her impressions about her experience: Frances Elliot refers to the seguidillas and fandangos as dances that are performed with the body rather than with the feet. A kind of extremely shameless oriental can can. Also she informs his readers that he saw the young girls dance it without feeling guilty in front of their parents and brothers. (Krauel, 2008: 16. Original in Spanish, my translation) Luckily, there are some visual references about how these women appeared. In the Museum of Cordoba (Andalusia), there is an engraving by the French painter Emile Rouargue made in 19th century. It reproduces the typical scene of a group of gypsies dancing with a guitarist, percussion, even a glass of red wine and with vine leaves above them. There is an inscription that says “Les gitanos faubourg de Triana à Seville”. 342 Marina Tornero Tarragó Fig. 1: Museum of Córdoba, Spain Copia digital: Biblioteca Virtual de Andalucía All these features about Spanish women (dark hair, red flowers in the hair, fans in their hands, charm, men playing the guitar around them, the passion in dancing to the point of being almost narcotic, and even the lack of shame in such movements) were, thus, described by Mérimée in his novel. Of course, all this imagery was part of the entertainment for many people in different countries in Europe. That is why the success of Carmen was overwhelming. On the one hand, not all these representations of Spain were trustworthy. The hyperbolic descriptions and the adventures described were, in some cases, to the service of a literary demand. On the other hand, all those consistent features described by a generation of artists and intellectuals have triggered an international vision of our country with so many prejudices that we have yet to overcome: “The fame of Spain grew between 1830 and 1850, coinciding with the most important moment in the Ro‐ mantic movement. Many of these travellers chose as their destination the south of the country, contributing to create clichés very difficult to eliminate, which have lasted over time” (Genovés, 2011. Original in Spanish, my translation). At the end of the day, everything that had to do with that image of Spain (seductive women, gypsies dancing, bullfighting, etc) built up a concept that was increasingly solidified and financially very attractive. 343 The portrayal of the bad girl Carmen Since the middle of the century the great cities of the most advanced countries, especially London and Paris, began to hold International Exhibitions; in them (…) each nation presented its "soul" in a pavilion that summarized, or intended to summarize, what that country was. Spain then finds that most of what distinguished it from Europe was the "Andalusian", beginning with the architecture and the Andalusian arts and ending with those songs and dances (…). In this way Spain dressed up from Andalusia or, in other words, it made Andalusia its own image. (Zoido, 2008: 6. Original in Spanish, my translation) Furthermore, the dancers, musicians, palmeros…, understood that their skills, apart from being a great artistic expression, also brought about good business. Many took advantage of these artistic talents to make a living both in Seville and in nearby villages forming family companies or troupes, with which they were sufficient to create their functions…. and their provocative movements were famous, as the zarabanda, which remained and would remain a good way to busk. (Navarro, Pablo 2010: 13, 18. Original in Spanish, my translation) We start to understand that everything that has to do with the creation of the myth of Carmen, its international success, its continuous adaptation to the new times, has one common denominator: its productivity through history. This commercial productivity is based on two facts: Spanish stereotypes and most importantly, ethnic women as the object of desire, the latter being the element that has kept the story of Carmen developing in many shapes and forms, but it has never stopped being successful and prolific. In Beyoncé’s movie Carmen, A Hip Hopera, even though she is not a gypsy but a black woman, there are certain elements of the gypsy imagery that are included in the story. For example, she went to have tarot cards read with two other girls. The fortune teller does not want to tell her what he can see, so Carmen grabs the cards herself, showing her confidence and nerve. The playful scene with her friends becomes very dark when she turns the cards herself and they represent ruin, sorrow and death. That, of course, is suggesting that this tradition that we associate with the gypsy community is able to correctly predict Carmen’s future (Hutchison, Townsend, 2001: 53.00). Gypsy women in fiction and music have been a safe bet to get an audience willing to pay a ticket or buy a record. For centuries, their artistic skills like dancing, singing or performing have been considered unparalleled in terms of their capacity to captivate men: “The gypsy women and girls are capable of exciting passion of the most ardent description, most particularly in the bosoms of those who are not of their race, which passion of course becomes the more 344 Marina Tornero Tarragó violent when the almost utter impossibility of gratifying it is known” (Borrow, 1841: 88). To deepen this analysis, other versions of Carmen will be examined to illustrate that the only factor that has not changed for decades is the figure of the protagonist being physically attractive, daring and a “bad girl”, an irresistible woman whose seductive power leads men astray, even though they do not want to fall for her. It is really for her that they end up making the wrong choices. Furthermore, the fact that in most versions of Carmen she is killed at the end does not strike the attention of the audience to the point of condemning it. There is a certain expectation that a woman of a specific ethnic group (gypsies or rappers) in a background of crime, betrayal, passion and jealousy carry the risk of being murdered. However, if we analyse closely how Carmen is stabbed or strangled by an ex-lover, we will find a case of sexist violence that is assumed by the viewer as the typical ending in a dangerous type of romance. There are two prejudices at work here; violence in gypsy/ black communities, and the murder of an indecent woman. 4 Prejudices Against Women in Carmen The use of stereotypes has been condemned in all contexts for their frequent presence, especially in media: “They are reiterative because they are created after being continuously repeated (…) Their objective is that (…) they look like part of reality. Finally, they are reductionist since they turn into simple a very complex matter” (Ferrés, 1996: 151-152. Original in Spanish, my translation). Nevertheless, the use of stereotypes, in this case, in culture, is inevitable. The world is very complex, and to be able to understand it with the knowledge we have is not easy, that is why we make use of them: “the human mind is not able to understand and deal with the infinite variety of ranges and the extreme complexity the world is presented to us” (Mancinas, 2013: 352-353. Original in Spanish, my translation). The mistake is to expect always and every time to see a specific thing in a community, ethnic group or gender; that would be a prejudice. In Carmen, from the first version to the last, prejudices about women and about gypsies have been a constant element. Bad girls are attractive and seductive, but their stories do not end very well. Gypsies have all dancing and singing skills, they always think about getting money even if it is illegally, and they are surrounded by circumstances of crime. 345 The portrayal of the bad girl Carmen In the case of Carmen, A Hip Hopera, the black community is represented with these features as well, where you cannot expect anything other than rappers singing and looking for trouble. We have seen that in spite of the number of versions of Carmen over decades, the character has always represented an almost perfect formula with the ingredients that usually make men satisfied on the stage and or the screen: she is attractive but moreover she probably has a certain initiative for sex. According to most of the covers of the film from the first years of the 20 th century, she is passionately kissing Don José, being grabbed by the waist, or having any type of physical contact with another man. She is actually a product made by a man, full of prejudices ready to be consumed and repeated in many other stories coming after Carmen: “Female characters find their way onto page or screen through a wide prism of authorial appetites and aversions, an emotional spectrum that includes lust, possessive‐ ness, fear, indifference, contempt, worship, idealisation (…)” (Haskell, 1974: 16). Carmen is, in fact, idealised by Don José who cannot stand the fact that she loves somebody else, in that possessiveness seen as romantic instead of as toxic in media. Carmen Brown (Beyoncé) does not hesitate in using all her ruses to seduce Hill, the police officer, in her lingerie so that she does not have to go to jail, and she manages to convince him. Women watching her tend to be scandalised by her indecency but curious to know if she was going to be “punished” at the end. On the other hand, men were enjoying the daring personality and exotic beauty of the protagonist that a good wife should not have. In the story, “Carmen may express her sexual freedom in the opera and in the cinema - but before the curtain falls, sexual order must be restored” (Zanger, 2006: 46). Finally, a crooked cop shot her in cold blood in the attempt to kill her ex-boyfriend. That has been the essence of the character, and that is what has made the audience from several countries keep on paying to watch her. The directors, writers, producers and casting experts know that, at the end of the day, Carmen can sell. 4.1 Carmen and the normalisation of killing for love The conclusion of Carmen, from the 19th century to the latest versions of the story, has had a tragic ending because sadly she ends up being murdered. There are only a few exceptions: In January, Carmen made the headlines with a production in Florence that sees her shoot Don José with his own pistol rather than face death herself. The producers said that they had changed the ending in response to the number of women who are 346 Marina Tornero Tarragó killed by their partners every year - something that’s known as femminicidio in Italy - though as a news story it was quickly associated with the zeitgeist of the #MeToo movement as well. (Smith, 2018) In most versions of Carmen, she is killed and there is not justice at the end about it. We are witnesses of the cultural violence that is often represented in media and somehow, we assume it is going to happen again, sadly in real life as well: Cultural violence manifests itself through ideas, norms, values, customs or traditions that, belonging to a symbolic sphere, are the object of change, construction and deconstruction depending on the socio-cultural and historical context that supports or does not support its legitimacy. Racism, discrimination, homophobia or prejudice based on social stereotypes exemplify some of the practices of cultural violence. (González Fernández, 2017: 41. Original in Spanish, my translation) It has been said that Carmen is a bold woman, strong, brave, even some have claimed she is a feminist icon. Nevertheless, it is not often written that she is unfairly killed by an ex-lover that was madly upset in an act of jealousy and rage against her betrayal. For some, her death can appear justified because she was surrounded by the wrong type of people and she was not a decent woman. The reality is that, another prejudice we find in this story is the violence in specific communities such as gypsies or black people. This idea is obviously not new. In Spain, since the 18 th century, gypsies have been regarded as the type of ethnic group that you could not trust, with a tendency to commit crimes due to their economic needs or their unreliable behaviour. 4.2 Carmen, a bad girl Even Beyoncé herself admitted what women are able to do if they want to convince a man. She wrote a song back in 2011 considered a “feminist anthem” called “Run The World (Girls)” and part of the lyrics was: “My persuasion can build a nation” (Knowles et al., 2011). Nevertheless, to find the first prejudice about women representing a negative influence for men, it needs to be traced back to the Bible. Eve tempted Adam to eat the apple, something that was forbidden by God. However, the serpent, sent by the Devil, convinced Eve to do it. Since then, on many occasions, the wrong decisions taken by men have been explained by the bad influence of women: “Eve tempted Adam to commit the first sin. Such comments sometimes go so far as to draw parallels between Eve and the serpent, and even make her the cause responsible for Adam’s fall” (Higgings, 1976: 639). More specifically, in the context of flamenco, lyrics are also revealing in terms of women leading men astray with their perverse intentions: “Love, as many 347 The portrayal of the bad girl Carmen coplas show, produces in man a kind of mental alienation, a ‘madness’ … whose consequences the woman is responsible for” (García Tejera, 2007: 93). Here there are some instances of those lyrics exemplifying it: Una mujer fue la causa de mi perdisión primera: / no hay perdisión en er mundo / que por mujeres no venga. A woman was the cause of my doomed destiny: / There is no downfall in the world / that is not coming from women Quien de alpargatas se fía / y a mujeres hace caso / no tendrá cuarto en su vía / y andará siempre descalzo. Whoever trusts their slippers / and pay attention to women / won’t make any sense of their life / and will go around barefoot. Cenizo mentions in his book the author Jean Paul Tarby who presents the concept of the phallic woman. Since in flamenco culture there is a very polarized concept of men and women (I would dare to say generally in our society), Carmen could be considered the phallic woman who is strong and brave and is not afraid in contrast with the other character, Don José, who cannot bear the fact that she loves another man and commits a murder as an act of vengeance. Tarby (…) speaks of the phallic woman; that is, the woman of characteristics and behaviour of a masculine nature, such as activity, energy, dominance (….) This type of woman corresponds to his opposite, his victim (…) reactive sadistic attitude (promise revenge or threaten). (Cenizo, 2005: 88) 4.3 Carmen, an attractive gypsy woman Media has always been a quick and easy way to establish stereotypes and fix them in the collective imagery, since the beginning of its history. Through photographs, cinema, television, music videos and lately the Internet, we have seen and recognised at one glance what people believe in, their sexual orientation, social class, their nationality or ethnic group and thus, things we would expect them to do or not. For example, we see a woman in a film with long dark hair, tanned, dancing sensually with a red dress glancing over men and almost automatically we think she is a gypsy. That is very likely to happen. Stereotypes are assumed as inherent to all mass communication, because thanks to this simplification of meanings millions of people can be reached. However, some stereotypical representations may be unfortunate for certain social collectives, especially when the attributes shown do not correspond to sociological reality or 348 Marina Tornero Tarragó to what is socially desirable. (Garrido Lora, 2007: 57-58. Original in Spanish, my translation.) For decades, the media has portrayed gypsy women in a specific way so we would automatically identify one according to what they have shown us “Since little factual information exists about gypsies, people are content to learn about the ethnic group through folk wisdom and media-inspired popular culture. Perhaps the most powerful force in shaping the public’s view of gypsies in general, and gypsy women in particular, is the movies” (Sway, 1994: 52). To go over a few audio-visual representations that are meaningful of the (mis)construction of Carmen, we will analyse a lithography and the cover of a libretto. In the first one, Carmen is wearing a tight dress and a type of accessory for the head called a mantilla, she has a slim figure and a tiny waist and you can see her dancing and flirting with Don Jose. Carmen (1865) Fig. 2: From the programme Carmen, George Bizet Season 2014-2015 Teatro de la Zarzuela, Madrid, Spain Private collection (Italy) 349 The portrayal of the bad girl Carmen In this second image, through the look in her eyes you can distinguish her daring personality. She is a self-confident woman at the same time that she is coquettish with the flowers in her head and her red mantoncillo, this colour being the symbol of passion. Carmen (1924) Fig. 3: From National Library from Spain (Biblioteca Nacional de España) In Spain, we have had many versions of Carmen. One of the earliest was Carmen de Triana (1938) with an actress that was very popular at that time, Imperio Argentina. The movie was actually a German production and it became a great success. In one of the scenes, we can hear this dialogue: Man within a group of soldiers: “Dance for us, Carmen! ” Carmen (with a cute smile) “No, whoever wants to see me dancing, come tonight to Casa Triana! ” Soldiers say yes enthusiastically and clap for her. (Froelich, Rey, 1938: 00.58) Here we can see that she knew how to convince them with her charm to make them pay to see her, continuing with the prejudice of the money-interested personality of gypsies. This incipient marketing vision would be widely devel‐ oped by Beyoncé as Carmen Brown about 60 years later. 350 Marina Tornero Tarragó From then onwards, in Spain there have been several artists singing a very famous song about Carmen written by Quintero, León y Quiroga, in 1953 “Carmen de España”. They have different vocal skills, but they all share the same outstanding beauty; Carmen Sevilla, Sara Montiel, Juanita Reina, Rocío Jurado … Later, there were films more focused on the dancing and the drama and less in the sassiness (Carmen, by the well-known director Carlos Saura in 1983), and on the singing and following the opera version (Carmen de Bizet, 1984) with Placido Domingo. Starting 2000s, the fábrica de tabaco in Seville was the most faithful setting a movie about Carmen has ever had for the version of Vicente Aranda (2003) with the actress Paz Vega. In the United States, the story of Carmen was taken to the cinema since the beginning of the 20th century: In the burgeoning film industry of the early twentieth century, Carmen fitted the need for familiar stories and also the desire to attract more upmarket audiences into the cinema. U.S. film companies seized the opportunity to make some of the best-known versions of Carmen in silent film. (Marshall, 2005: 216) A few decades later, Rita Hayworth would become Carmen in The Loves of Carmen, an adaption from 1948 that was not as successful as expected. Perhaps they thought the actress playing castañuelas and singing in Spanglish would compensate the fact that she did not look gypsy at all (Vidor, Hayworth, Nelson, 1948: 20.30). What was important was the fact that she was, as were all her predecessors and successors, sultry and attractive. Nevertheless, it was in 1954 when one of the most daring versions was made, Carmen Jones. In this case, all the cast was black, with white opera voices dubbed. This fact raised a lot of controversy, and many accused the director of being racist: “While its purpose is to showcase the talents of African-American actors and to testify to America's discriminatory social history of the fifties, in so doing it also unwittingly reveals Hollywood's own political paradigms and cultural prejudices” (Furman, 2005: 1). The social background is, as in the original Carmen, amongst factory workers, uneducated people with untamed passions. Her end is also tragic: she is strangled to death by the man that could not accept she did not want to be with him. Carmen Jones may not be gypsy, Spanish or sing seguidillas, so she “can also be understood in terms of minstrelsy in its hybridisation of racial categories” (Smith, 2003: 29). But most importantly, she possesses one characteristic that all the “Carmens” predecessors and after her have in common: the actress that interprets her, Dorothy Dandridge, is beautiful, with a slim figure, and in the 351 The portrayal of the bad girl Carmen movie, she can seduce anyone she wants. Actually, there is a scene in which she is in the car with Joe, and to persuade him to drive her home she tries to convince him by stretching her legs in front of him, caressing his hair, putting her arms around him… The power of her allure is always a pivotal element in almost any version of the story, as Beyoncé herself was to do in her own version. 5 Beyoncé: Carmen Drinks Pepsi Now Beyoncé as Carmen is not too far a departure from the original text. She shares the two most important features of the protagonist: she is sultry and provocative but also a bad girl. She offers all the elements that are attractive for men in the audience. As with most representations of the story, the prejudices surrounding gypsies are repeated with black people, especially in this case with rappers living in Philadelphia. As they are passionate and artistically skilled, they are also corrupted, unreliable and the audience somehow expects criminality from these ethnic groups. They will not be disappointed: in all the versions of Carmen, she suffers a tragic end by being murdered. In 2001, the director Robert Townsend was inspired by Carmen Jones to bring the racial romance again to the fore. A singer was causing a commotion in the pop and hip-hop scene: she was Beyoncé Knowles, the leader of Destiny’s Child, and at that time she was starting her solo career. She looked like the perfect new Carmen: she could sing beautifully, she had a strong presence on stage and she already had millions of fans around the world. The rest of the cast was made up of famous rappers like Mos Def and Da Brat. It was a postmodern version that shared all the basic elements of Carmen: a physically attractive protagonist with artistic skills (dancing, singing, rapping), confident and daring, and with a tragic end as well: she is shot in the back. The movie called Carmen, A Hip Hopera (playing with the term hip hop and the fact that the story was originally an opera) is built upon rapping dialogues and “battles” instead of singing, in an attempt to bring a brand-new version more in accordance with the year 2001. The distributor of the movie was MTV, where music videos used to be broadcast. However, due to the birth of YouTube and VEVO, the channel moved to reality shows and other music related content. In 2003, Beyoncé was part of the campaign “The Joy of Pepsi” and she performed in an advertisement as Carmen: tight clothes, a red flower in her hair styled with soft curls, and more red in her lips. A look that started in the 19 th century, adapted to the new times, and was still able to capture the attention of the audience. George Eastman, the entrepreneur that was in part the developer 352 Marina Tornero Tarragó of the system of photography Kodak, said in the mid-1880s “a picture of a pretty girl sells more than a tree or a house” (Brayer, 2006: 135). The advertisements of Pepsi have been for a long time the prime example of a current and effective marketing strategy that takes over the world, putting internationally known artists like Madonna, Britney Spears, Mariah Carey or Michael Jackson in the centre of the campaign with the concept of globalisation more present than ever: Carmen can be in Times Square instead of Seville, as long as she can be a sexy brunette having her favourite soda. The song for the commercial had the melody of the popular aria in Carmen, “La Habanera” with an operatic style in the background voices: “In the dramatic mini-opera, Pepsi’s Carmen, Spike DDB, New York, wrote new lyrics to the famous aria (to see the spot, go to AdAge.com QwikFind AA082i)” (Pires and Stanton, 2005). It's a tale of a guy named Zeke, Who has come here from Battle Creek. As he walks with his Pepsi can, He is bumped by a stranger’s hand. He feels the worst as he sees it roll, Down the street to an open hole. The taste sensation he loves so well Now is gone, and he starts to yell. His Pepsi fell, his Pepsi’s lost (the joy of life) The joy of life he needs at any cost (the joy of life, the joy of taste). He makes the sound of a vender’s bell (the joy of Pepsi) As the crowd around him starts to swell. Sir, a Pepsi, please! (the joy of life) And they passed a Pepsi onto Zeke, The Pepsi's found, the people cheer (the taste of Pepsi) For the joy of Pepsi now is here! Considering the formula in which a beautiful woman is a good marketing tool and the product she is selling is a can of Pepsi, Carmen turns out to be an ideal, rather appealing protagonist: “Exposure to sexual cues may affect decisions such as whether to purchase a less expensive item that can be enjoyed now” (Van Den Bergh, Dewitte, Warlop, 2007: 4). If Carmen is being an object of desire of men in this video, that is nothing new: she was created by a man and even in Merimee’s story “(She) is represented only through the eyes of men, two to be exact: the narrator and Don José” (Zanger, 2006: 46). 353 The portrayal of the bad girl Carmen Bibliographical References Alexander, J. (et al.) (Producer) & Aranda, Vicente (Director). (2003). Carmen. Spain: Warner Bros. Borrow, G. (1841). The Zincali: An Account of the Gypsies of Spain. London: John Murray. Brayer, E. (2006). George Eastman, A Biography. New York: University of Rochester. Campos Plaza, N., Campos Martín, N. 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Am‐ sterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Zoido Naranjo, A. (2008). “La fiesta andaluza: diversión y negocio”. Andalucía: una imagen en Europa (1830-1929). Fundación Centro de Estudios Andaluces. Consejería de la Presidencia. Junta de Andalucía, 1-12. 356 Marina Tornero Tarragó 1 Kathy Ogren believes that blues and jazz were dubbed “devil music” within and outside the black community when the Storyville district of New Orleans (1898-1917) provided jobs for musicians (mostly male) and, at its height, boasted more than two hundred saloons, bars, dancehalls, and brothels. FROM CIVIL RIGHTS CHRONICLER TO CHANEL Nº 5. Mainstreaming Nina Simone Rocío Cobo-Piñero “To hear the voice is to witness the history. To embody the voice, to play it, to represent it, is to bear witness to that history”. (Griffin, 2004: 117) 1 The Birth of a Civil Rights Campaigner Nina Simone, whose birth name was Eunice Waymon, was born in 1933 in Tryon, a rural Southern town in North Carolina. The sixth of eight children, Simone was a child prodigy who began playing piano when she was three years old and went on to perform hymns and gospel music at the church where her mother was a minister. The future Civil Rights campaigner aspired to become the first African American classic concert pianist, and thanks to local funding, she auditioned at the prestigious Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia; unfortunately, she was rejected. Simone felt that this decision was based on her race, as she declares in her autobiography I Put a Spell on You (1993). To prepare for that audition, she pursued classical music studies at Julliard Summer School of Music in New York, a private program that her parents could not finance. To support herself, she worked as a pianist at Midtown Bar & Grill on Pacific Avenue in Atlantic City. However, knowing that her parents would not approve of her playing blues and jazz (“the devil’s music”) 1 , she thus adopted the stage name Nina Simone in 1951. Inspired by the names of “Nina” (from niña, meaning “little girl” in Spanish), and “Simone” (taken from her favorite French actress, Simone Signoret), Nina Simone would remain undetected by her parents as she began also singing under pressure from her boss. However, by her own admission, she “never wanted to be anything other than a classical pianist” (Simone, 2003: 23). Simone’s earliest involvement in the Civil Rights Movement has its origin in an incident at her first town recital at age eleven. When her parents were asked to give up their front row seats to a white family, the young pianist stood up, refusing to play. At her first concert for a largely white crowd three key elements in Simone’s life story converge: the fact that she was a classically trained pianist; her protest against racism; and her confrontational stance with her audience. These often competing facets of her professional life compelled the trajectory of Nina Simone’s career. She recalls in her autobiography that her parents, despite being allowed to keep their seats, were not proud of her, but embarrassed. At the time, she felt “cut raw” yet “the skin grew back again a little tougher, a little less innocent, and a little more black” (Simone, 2003: 27). Later on, Nina Simone would form lifelong connections to many cultural producers and activists in New York. The historian Ruth Feldstein notes that musically, socially, and politically, Simone came of age in the late 1950s and early 1960s as part of the black avant-garde in Greenwich Village and Harlem. This prestigious cohort included the playwright Lorraine Hansberry, the poet Langston Hughes, the artist Leroi Jones (later Amiri Baraka), the novelist James Baldwin, and the musicians Abbey Lincoln and Miriam Makeba, among other black activists and intellectuals. Feldstein further comments that her political education began as a result of her friendship with Lorraine Hansberry and that “she chose to write explicitly political songs shortly after influential jazz critics censured the vocalist Abbey Lincoln for making a similar move” (2005: 1352). Simone had always incorporated songs in her repertoire that drew upon her African American origins, such as “Brown Baby” (Brown) and “Zungo” (Olatunji), included in her album Nina at the Village Gate (1962). In December 1961, she joined a group of thirty-three black artists, musicians, and intellectuals for her first trip to Africa; the group traveled to Lagos, Nigeria, on behalf of the American Society of African Culture (AMSAC). AMSAC, an organization founded in the late 1950s by the activist John A. Davis, was committed to pro‐ moting African culture as “high” culture in the United States and to encouraging collaboration among African and African American artists and intellectuals in particular. This trip marked the opening of an AMSAC West African Cultural Center in Lagos and the beginning of an exchange program between African and African American performers. Simone continued thereafter to emphasize the importance of Africa to African Americans. She embraced physical markers of black cultural nationalism in ways that connected the struggle of African 358 Rocío Cobo-Piñero Americans to a more transnational vision of African freedom, making both visible through her body. She dressed more frequently in what critics called “African garb” and performed African music at the Dinizulu African Festival (Feldstein, 2013: 103). In promotional photos that circulated in 1961 and onward, Simone wore her hair in a “natural” Afro-style. These styles persisted and elicited strong reactions throughout the decade. Another key event happened in 1964, when she changed record distributors, from the American recording company Colpix to the Dutch agency Philips, a move that also accompanied a substantial transformation in the contents of her recordings. On her debut album for Philips, Nina Simone in Concert (1964), the singer and songwriter openly addressed the prevailing racial inequality in the United States with the song “Mississippi Goddam”. She wrote the song as a response to the Birmingham church bombing that killed four young black girls on September 15, 1963. Elsewhere, she has described the inspiration for the song that came to her in a “rush of fury, hatred and determination”, as she “suddenly realized what it was to be black in America in 1963”. It was, she added, “my first civil rights song” (2003: 89-90). This article explores Nina Simone’s understudied political engagement through the textual analysis of four albums: Nina Simone in Concert (1964), Wild Is the Wind (1966), Nina Simone Sings the Blues (1967), and the single To Be Young, Gifted and Black (1968). I argue that, as an activist and composer of highly politicized songs like “Mississippi Goddam” (1964), “Old Jim Crow” (1964), “Blues for Mama” (1967) or “Four Women” (1966), Simone was an unparalleled chronicler of the Civil Rights Movement. Nevertheless, Civil Rights leaders have not always acknowledged the intersection of racial, class, sexual, and gender politics in her music. In the last section of the chapter, I juxtapose her overlooked political role with the commercial appropriation of her music and image from the late 1980s. In 1987 Ridley Scott used Nina Simone’s “My Baby Just Cares for Me” (Kahn, Donaldson) in a popular Chanel nº 5 commercial to advertise the scent of luxury, initiating the progressive commodification and whitening of her music. Since the 1990s, the proliferation of Simone’s music into the mainstream continues to serve mostly white projects; of the nearly one hundred movies and TV shows that used a Nina Simone song in the last two decades, very few reflect African American experiences (Loudermilk, 2013: 128). This steady depoliticization culminates with Cynthia Mort’s fictionalized biopic Nina (2016), a representation that underplays Simone’s political involvement and blackness. 359 From civil rights chronicler to Chanel nº5 2 The album Nina Simone in Concert (1964) was recorded at Carnegie Hall. 3 Jim Crow laws were state and local laws, enacted in the late 19 th and early 20 th century, that enforced racial segregation in the Southern United States until 1965. 4 Hard bop is a subgenre of jazz that is an extension of bebop (or “bop”) music. Journalists and record companies began using the term in the mid-1950s. For more information on the birth of bebop see D. Ake (2010). Linda Dahl recovers the little-known contribution of women bebop musicians in her ground-breaking study Stormy Weather: The Musical Lives of a Century of Jazzwomen (1996). 2 The Gendered Soundtrack of the 1960s Civil Rights Movement Unlike Simone’s earlier work, “Mississippi Goddam” was a political anthem, whose lyrics were filled with anger and despair. “Me and my people are just about due”, she declares in the middle of the song. Loudermilk argues in this respect that “by politicizing her anger through song so intelligently, Simone marked a turning point in her career” (2013: 123). Simone’s unique voice conveys honesty and is loaded with sarcasm. She introduces the song at Carnegie Hall as follows: “the name of this song is ‘Mississippi Goddam’, and I mean every word of it” (1965) 2 . The predominantly white audience receives this defiant affirmation with laughter, revealing their disconnection with the unspeakably tragic events. Over the course of the fast-paced lines, Simone vehemently rejects the notions that race relations could change gradually, that the South was unique in terms of discrimination, and that African Americans could or would patiently seek political rights. She mocks stereotypical insults (“Too damn lazy! ”), government promises (“Desegrega‐ tion / Mass participation”) and, above all, the continuing admonition of public leaders to “Go slow”. With regard to the latter, her backup musicians call out repeatedly, as punctuation and provocative chorus, “Too slow! ” Her point of address shifts repeatedly throughout the song, juxtaposing references to the arduous black labor (“washing the windows, picking the cotton”), against the ruthless echo of the patriarchal, white supremacist insults (“you’re just plain rotten! ”). Through the conflation of personal subjectivity and the national political context, her performance “theatricalizes the histo-political narrative she unveils” (Brooks, 2011: 187). The song “Old Jim Crow”, also written by Simone for the same concert album, documents the need to end segregation once and for all 3 . Using a swinging jazz tune in the hard bop vein 4 , the singer addresses, with determination and fury, the ongoing impact of the segregationist laws: Old Jim Crow I thought I had you beat 360 Rocío Cobo-Piñero 5 The Threepenny Opera, first staged in 1928 at the Theater am Schiffbauerdamm in Berlin, is a vicious satire on the bourgeois capitalist society of the Weimar Republic but set in a mock-Victorian Soho in London. “Pirate Jenny” is probably the second most popular song in the opera, after the ballad “Mack the Knife”. Now I see you walkin’ And talkin’ up and down my street. Another highly militant song on the album is “Go Limp”, which is framed as a dialogue between a daughter and a mother, who enunciates a warning against the sexual consequences of a young, black woman’s involvement in the Civil Rights marches. Feldstein (2005) highlights the ambiguity and tongue-in-cheek nature of both the adapted lyrics, originally written by the British activist Alex Comfort, and Simone’s performance, which seems to parody the sometimes abusive sexual politics towards women of Civil Rights activism: With a brick in my handbag And a smile on my face And barbed wire in my underwear To shed off disgrace. In terms of tone and content, Simone dramatically departed from the typical church-inspired freedom songs one associates with the early to mid-1960s, the soundtrack to the non-violent movement of Martin Luther King: “We Shall Overcome”, “This Little Light of Mine”, and “Go Tell It on the Mountain” (Feldstein, 2013: 85; Kernodle, 2008: 315). On the same LP, Simone’s reworking of Bertolt Brecht’s and Kurt Weil’s aria “Seeräuber-Jenny” (“Pirate Jenny”), from their musical play Die Dreigroschen‐ oper (1928), represents “a significant cultural transfer between the left-wing modernism of Weimar Germany and the culture of American protest music” (Berman, 2004: 176) 5 . Marc Blitzstein translated and adapted the original score to English as The Threepenny Opera. The play was first staged in New York in 1954 and, due to Brecht’s successful experimentation with jazz, had continuous performances in theaters off-Broadway until 1961. The charismatic German actress Lotte Lenya performed the role of the fictional prostitute Jenny, both in the New York production of the opera and in the 1928 Berlin premiere. In Simone’s “Pirate Jenny”, she transforms a tune about class relations in London into a song about race, class, and gender relations in the Deep South of the United States, where Jenny now works as a poor and abused hotel maid: You people can watch while I’m scrubbing these floors And I’m scrubbin’ the floors while you’re gawking 361 From civil rights chronicler to Chanel nº5 6 In Blitzstein’s translation of the song, the ship has no name. Maybe once ya tip me and it makes ya feel swell In this crummy Southern town In this crummy old hotel But you’ll never guess to who you’re talkin’ No, you couldn’t ever guess to who you’re talkin’. Simone’s rich contralto voice brings a radical intensity to the song, introducing whispers, dismissive grunts, and commanding exclamations. The political cri‐ tique resonates most stirringly in the sheer drama and raw emotion of her voice. Malik Gaines explains in this regard that Simone’s version “uses many but not all of Blitzstein’s words, radically deconstructs Weill’s strict martial rhythm, by far exceeds Lenya’s most daring phrasing, and again, fills Brecht’s intended gaps with her physical intelligibility” (2013: 256). In her highly personalized version, Simone exposed the socioeconomic and gendered dimensions of racism through the point of view of a maid, who fantasizes about being the ship captain of “The Black Freighter”, in order to punish a town full of greedy consumers 6 . The references in Simone’s rendition to “the Black Freighter”, “the ghostly freighter”, and the people chained at the port draw connections to the inhumane slave trade. Angela Davis declares in direct reference to “Pirate Jenny” that, while virtually all of the dominant voices of resistance were male at the time, “here was a black woman musician redefining the content of this song to depict the collective rage of black women domestic workers” (Davies, 2016: not paginated). For her sixth album, Wild is the Wind (1966), Simone authored the song “Four Women”, chronicling how black women have been historically stereotyped due to racial, sexual, and labor dynamics. Simone inhabits the roles of Aunt Sara, Sweet Thing, Saffronia, and Peaches in order to underscore the deep-rooted legacy of slavery. Aunt Sarah is old, and her strong back has allowed her only “to take the pain inflicted again and again”. Saffronia’s yellow skin and long hair are the result of her rich white father having raped her mother (“Between two worlds I do belong”), and Sweet Thing is a prostitute of tan skin. The final woman in the quartet, Peaches, overtly acknowledges political histories not voiced by the others: “I’m awfully bitter these days, / because my parents were slaves”. Simone declares in her autobiography that “the women in the song are black, but their skin tone ranges from light to dark and their ideas of beauty and their own importance are deeply influenced by that. All the song did was to tell what entered the minds of most black women in America when they thought about themselves” (Simone, 2003: 117). 362 Rocío Cobo-Piñero 7 For more information on the black power movement and the new directions of the scholarship see Peniel E. Joseph’s “The Black Power Movement: A State of the Field” (2009). 8 The Black Panther Party, originally the Black Panther Party for Self-Defense, was a revolutionary political organization founded by Bobby Seale and Huey Newton in October 1966 in Oakland, California. The party was active in the United States from 1966 until 1982. The core practice was its armed citizens’ patrols to monitor the behavior of officers of the Oakland Police Department and challenge police brutality in the city. Claudia Roth Pierpont recalls that Simone first sang “Four Women” in 1965 at a club in Holland for a young, homogeneously white crowd (2014: not paginated). In this particular concert, Simone sharply changes the pitch of her voice to dramatize each of the four roles represented, while she boldly looks her audience in the eye. She presents the song as follows: “Four women, four negro women, each one with a different color. Each one with a different hair, and one of the women’s hair is like mine. Each one with a different background” (Reelin’: 5: 43, 2008). Simone identifies her Afro with Aunt Sarah’s “woolly hair”. This direct reference to black pride, together with the militant attitude called upon in “Mississippi Goddam”, were at the time visual and rhetorical signs identified with male activists such as Stokely Carmichael, his arm outstretched in a fist. Even though African American women participated extensively in movements of black power and in expressions of black cultural nationalism as leaders, grassroots activists, and writers, Feldstein contends that many organizations remained mainly male dominated (2013: 99-100) 7 . However, with her self-presentation, Simone offered a vision of black pride, within and outside the United States, that insisted on female power. Angela Davis, a member of the Black Panther Party, asserts in this vein that Simone’s music was “always more than a soundtrack of the movement. It was much more foreground than background. It was not mere accompaniment. It announced, asserted and innovatively played the changes of the movement” (Davis, 2016: not paginated) 8 . 3 “Young, Gifted, and Black”: Nina Simone Sings Classic Blues Drawing from the female blues tradition, Simone recorded Nina Simone Sings the Blues (1967). The first singers to record blues music were women: in 1920 the singer Mamie Smith recorded her single “Crazy Blues” and its unprecedented, record-breaking sales within black neighborhoods helped inaugurate the style of classic blues, a distinctly female genre. Hence, the designation “classic blues” refers to the blues that black women performed, and sometimes composed, 363 From civil rights chronicler to Chanel nº5 9 For more information on classic blues and feminism see Davis (1999); for its cultural impact see Harrison (2000); for the influence of blues on literature see Cobo-Piñero (2015). during the 1920s and 1930s 9 . In Simone’s album, out of the eleven pieces, she authored three songs (“Do I Move You? ”, “Real, Real”, and “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl”), and co-authored “Backlash Blues” and “Blues for Mama”. One of her creations, “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl”, is reminiscent of Bessie Smith’s “Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl” (Williams, 1931). Sexual allusions abound in both blues, establishing metaphoric claims for black women to enjoy sex freely: “I want some sugar in my bowl / I want some steam on my clothes” (Simone). In line with this assertion, Hazel Carby argues that the 1920s women blues singers have become “icons of sexual power” in the black community (1998: 480). Classic blues, Carby further contends, articulates a discourse of cultural and political struggle over sexual relations, “a struggle that is directed against the objectification of female sexuality within a patriarchal order which also tries to reclaim women’s bodies as sexual and sensual subjects” (1998: 472). Similarly, Simone’s “Real, Real” asserts a vibrant declaration for black women to choose their loving partners: “Our love is real to me / It thrills me / With perfect liberty”. In “Blues for Mama”, co-written with the jazz singer Abbey Lincoln, Simone exposed the harsh realities, particularly for black women in the United States, and the need for solidarity and sisterhood. At the same time, the blues interrogates gender roles: “[They] think that you’re a woman / But acting like a man”. Classic blues also offered women a space for social protest. One of the instances is Bessie Smith’s twelve-bar “Poor Man’s Blues” (1928), a pioneering song that provided social commentary, as well as a space where race and class intersected. Recorded a year before the stock market crash that ushered in the Great Depression in the United States, this blues openly indicts the wealthy classes for the prevailing poverty, but not only in the black communities: “While you’re livin’ in you mansion, you don’t know what hard times means / Poor working man’s wife is starvin’, your wife’s livin’ like a queen”. Furthermore, this blues brings to the fore the loyal participation of African American soldiers who defended and served a country that, in turn, denied them their basic rights as citizens: “Poor man fought all the battles, poor man would fight again today / He would do anything you ask him in the name of the USA”. Likewise, Simone’s twelve-bar “Backlash Blues”, co-authored in 1967 with the Harlem Renaissance poet Langston Hughes, offers a heartfelt protest against race inequality and class exploitation, while the U.S. government is fighting a war in Vietnam with black soldiers in their troops: 364 Rocío Cobo-Piñero 10 Founded in 1867, Morehouse College is a private, black men’s college and one of the historically black institutions of higher education in the United States. It is the alma mater of many African American civil rights leaders, including Martin Luther King Jr. Mr. Backlash, Mr. Backlash Just who do you think I am You raise my taxes, freeze my wages And send my son to Vietnam. After this powerful opening, Simone introduces an affirmation and a ques‐ tion that evince the dominant racism against African Americans, treated as second-class citizens: You give me second class houses And second class schools Do you think that all colored folks Are just second class fools? The singer’s collaboration with a black intellectual was not an isolated instance. A year later, Simone would write “To Be Young, Gifted, and Black”, which paid tribute to the playwriter Lorraine Hansberry, who had died in 1965. The song became an anthem of black pride and reached the top ten on the R&B charts in 1969 (Feldstein, 2005: 1375). Alan Light believes that this song was Simone’s final contribution to the protest repertoire, “though it was one of inspiration and uplift rather than fury” (2017: 167). She borrowed the title from an off-Broadway play that Hansberry’s ex-husband, Robert Nemiroff, penned adapting some of her writings after her death. Having incorporated the composition into her regular set, Simone performed the song on the piano along with her band in a 1969 concert held in a Morehouse College gymnasium in Atlanta, Georgia 10 . Gaines recounts how the men in the band wore African dashikis, while Simone performed in an elegant black suit, made fashionably militant with high black boots and a large afro hairstyle. The song “is an exercise in black pride, directed at motivating the coming generation, such as the excited group in attendance at Morehouse College, many of whom were young African American women wearing afros themselves” (Gaines, 2013: 250). With Black Studies courses and programs emerging around this time in U.S. universities, this song asserts “a politics of redefinition, updating a Du Boisian ‘talented tenth’ sensibility with the more inclusive language of black positivity” (Gaines, 2013: 250-251). The studio version of “To Be Young, Gifted, and Black” was released as a single. The Congress of Racial Equality named it the “Black National Anthem”: 365 From civil rights chronicler to Chanel nº5 11 Nadine Cohodas relates with detail these nomadic journeys in Simone’s biography Princess Noir: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone (2012: 275-374). After Nina Simone’s death in 2003, five biographies have been published: Acker, 2003; Hampton, Nathan, 2004; Brun-Lambert, 2009; Cohodas, 2012; Light, 2017. To be young, gifted and black, Oh, what a lovely, precious dream To be young, gifted and black, Open your heart to what I mean. 4 Consuming Nina Simone In a moving homage to Nina Simone on the release of the collective album Nina Revisited…A Tribute to Nina Simone (Hill, Glasper, 2015), Angela Davis remembers the day Simone visited her in prison, where she was held for a year due to armed political activism: In 1971 I was deeply moved when I was informed that Nina Simone wanted to visit me in jail. When she did not appear at the appointed time, I worried that the visit had been called off. But as it turns out, the occasion for the delay was the jail authorities’ refusal to allow her to bring into the secured area the gift she wanted to present to me. When she finally appeared, she was holding a beautiful red helium-filled balloon. I learned that she had engaged in an extended verbal battle with the guards, whose evocation of the rules was no match for Nina Simone’s tenacity. Over the next period, as it gradually lost its buoyancy, this balloon remained one of the few permanent fixtures in my cell. Even when it was entirely deflated, I preserved it as a treasured artefact of my time with the amazing Nina Simone. (2016: not paginated) I have transcribed the whole recollection, because I find the image of the deflated red balloon, and the anecdote itself, both symbolic and representative of Nina Simone’s legendary tenacity in those years, and her subsequent period of decline. Disappointed both with the ongoing racial tensions in the United States as well as the end to her marriage, in 1973 Simone began a self-imposed nomadic exile - in Barbados, Liberia, Switzerland, the United Kingdom, and the south of France - that lasted until her death in 2003 11 . Her music defied categorization, blurring the lines between jazz, classical, folk, blues, and soul music. By making gender central to her racial politics, Simone defied links between racial progress, racial power, and masculine sexual power. Perhaps due to this musical complexity, Simone’s legacy has not easily been incorporated into collective memories, real or imagined, that Americans 366 Rocío Cobo-Piñero 12 She was twenty-four years old and trying to make ends meet when she was convinced by the recording company to sign away the rights to the album for under $3,000. have of the 1960s or into more scholarly accounts of the period (Feldstein, 2013: 110). For many European listeners, Simone’s “My Baby just Cares for Me” remains paramount. Regrettably, due to misinformation and manipulation, Simone signed away the rights of the song to the recording company when her first album, Little Girl Blue, was released in 1959, a misstep that contributed to its abusive appropriation. As a black woman in the United States, Simone provided the song with an element of resistance to white standards of beauty when referring to her lover: “Liz Taylor is not his style / And even Lana Turner’s smile / Is somethin’ he can’t see” (Kahn, Donaldson). In the 1959 song, there is an implied indifference to upper-class aspirations: “my baby don’t care for shows”, “clothes” or “high-toned places” (Kahn, Donaldson). However, when this same song provided the soundtrack for a 1987 Chanel nº 5 commercial, featuring rich white people, it becomes a mere accessory to “the fantasy of urban love and luxury living that dominated advertising images in the late eighties” (Loudermilk, 2013: 127). In the thirty-second commercial, directed by Ridley Scott, the French actress Carole Bouquet is first seen high up in a Houston office building where, against the backdrop of skyscrapers, she kisses an older man on the forehead. She drives her expensive black car into the desert, stopping at a gas station where she is ogled by the youthful attendant. In the final scene, she drives out into the hot sun of Monument Valley (Colorado), where she meets the man of her dreams and they kiss. The tale ends with the words of a smiling Bouquet, who murmurs the slogan for the perfume: “Share the fantasy”. All the while, “My Baby Just Cares for Me” plays in the background, sung with little accompaniment by Nina Simone, whose performance of the number was once described as “honky tonk singing over a shuffle rhythm” (Dougherty, 1987: 45). Charly Records, who had the rights to the entire 1958 album, relaunched the song as a single, and it spent eleven weeks on the U.K. singles chart, peaking to number five in the late 1980s. The single reached the top ten in several other European countries. Yet, Simone never benefited from the royalties of over a million dollars that the jazz standard generated. This “ill-informed” decision to sell the rights to her first album still outraged her three decades later (Light, 2017: 232) 12 . The popularity of the song after the Chanel commercial was further enhanced by a music video created in 1987 by the Oscar-winning studio Aardman Animations. The clip used clay in stop motion animation to depict Simone as a black cat, singing in a club, pursued by another feline who ultimately 367 From civil rights chronicler to Chanel nº5 13 S. Tillet (2014) claims that Simone’s popularity within contemporary U.S. popular culture is due to the increased use in rap music of the digital sampling of her voice, the interpolation of her piano rifs, or covers of her classics. Many of these are depoliticized, commercial hip-hop hits. Pierpont (2014) adds that ever since President Obama listed her version of “Sinnerman” as one of his ten favorite songs of all time in 2008, the cult has gone mainstream in the United States. falls through the roof and into her arms. The video not only infantilizes the song, but it also dehumanizes the singer, who is portrayed as a cat. The shape of the female animal is also unfortunate: full, sensual lips, and exaggerated breasts that verge on caricature. After the commercial, the new recording of the song, and the animated clip, Light indicates that “she had a completely new audience, brand-new people who just came [to the concerts] for one song […] a new, young audience had discovered the number for the first time” (Light, 2017: 231-232). Most of her new audience, however, was not aware of Simone’s activist participation and inspirational role as a key voice in the 1960s and 1970s Civil Rights Movement 13 . Her actual physical appearance, one that had been so significant and purposefully politicized in her earlier repertoire, was erased both in the commercial and in the animated clip. The question of skin tone and hair, and their meanings for African American women, were highly controversial in the fictionalized biopic Nina (2016), written and directed by U.S. filmmaker Cynthia Mort. The casting of Zoe Saldana, a movie star of Dominican descent and “a light-skinned beauty along European lines”, sparked heated discussions about persistent color bias in popular culture (Pierpont, 2014: not paginated). The real Nina Simone had a much darker skin and her blackness, as mentioned earlier, was pivotal in her life, art, and political engagement in the 1960s and 1970s. By contrast, the artificially broadened nose, the Afro wig, and the dark makeup led some critics to call the main actress of the film “a blackfaced Saldana”, in direct reference to the 19 th theatrical practice in the United States, where white actors and actresses used dark make-up to caricature black people (Hoffman, 2016: not paginated). Aside from the exasperating face-altering prosthetic and related complexion issues, the movie focuses on the last decade of Simone’s life (1993-2003). The sensationalist depiction falls into a melodramatic account of her bipolar disorder and constant rows with her young, personal assistant, Clifton Henderson, to whom she is allegedly sexually attracted. Simone, who would be sixty years old in 1993, appears to be forty at the most on the screen, played by a slender and sexualized actress in her thirties. In addition, the film shows a vulnerable, unstable, overmedicated, and decadent artist who, at the beginning of the movie, is restrained at an LA hospital after a nervous breakdown. While one of the 368 Rocío Cobo-Piñero doctors is informing the white, middle-aged nurses about Simone’s extensively diagnosed illnesses, one of them asks: “Who is she again? ” It is a question that receives a puzzled response: “I’ve never heard of her” (Lovine, Mort, 2016: 7: 55). The soundtrack similarly disappoints. Simone’s uniquely low tonal register is replaced by Saldana’s mellow singing of lines from “Feeling Good”, “See Line Woman”, “Wild Is the Wind”, “My Baby just Cares for Me”, and “Black Is the Color of My True Love”. The audience get glimpses of Simone’s involvement in the Civil Rights Movement through quick flashbacks that last only seconds. Additionally, “Four Women” is mentioned merely in passing in a decontextual‐ ized setting. Later on, Saldana sings the first two lines of “Young, Gifted, and Black” to the character of Lorraine Hansberry who, in real life, would have never listened to the song, because it was Simone’s posthumous dedication to her. To add insult to injury, one of the black characters (the fictionalized mother of her personal assistant), mentions that she once loved the song “Mississippi”, but does not even properly credit the whole title of the song: “Mississippi Goddam”. At the time, the tune was musically, lyrically, and politically ferocious. Simone’s public rage and the use of the curse “Goddam”, were “intentionally incendiary and emphatically unladylike” (Feldstein, 2013: 101). None of this profound musical history is retained in the film. Although the movie takes numerous fictional liberties, the director decided to use parts of interviews with Simone/ Saldana, which seemingly provide the motion picture with certain documentary veracity. However, to find cinematic accuracy and truthfulness in terms of Simone’s career, one need look no further than Liz Garbus’s biographical documentary What Happened, Miss Simone (2015). Garbus tells Simone’s story as much as possible in Simone’s own words, including many hours of taped interviews and her live performances and songs, which often told her story as well as any interview could. The use of news footage chronicling the tumultuous events of the Civil Rights Movement that compelled Simone to take an active stance against racial injustice, help to contextualize her musical career within a larger historical frame. Interestingly enough, the documentary only devotes the final ten minutes to Simone’s last decade of her life, a period which Mort’s movie so poorly reimagines. 5 Beyond the Entertainment Industry: Nina Simone’s Transnational Legacy In the footage of an interview with Simone in the late 1960s, she discusses her music and the choice she made to reflect the conflicting times in which she lived. As an artist, she claims, “it’s my duty […] and in these crucial times in our 369 From civil rights chronicler to Chanel nº5 14 The show toured the United Kingdom until 2019; in 2020, it started the United States circuit. lives, when everything is so desperate, when every day is a matter of survival, I don’t think you can help but be involved”. She concludes her remarks with the following rhetorical question: “How can you be an artist and not reflect the times? ” (Garbus, 2015: 54: 10). These words, as much as her music, reverberate with urgency in today’s turbulent social times in the United States and in Europe, where Simone spent half of her life. In direct reference to her transnational influence, Gaines indicates how the technical combination of voice and piano, and the competing differences that Nina Simone gives voice to, move fluidly across gendered and racial signs, and indicate a transnational set of sources as well as a diasporic location. Her transgressive use of politicized language can be described as “transvocal” (Gaines, 2013: 261). Following the 2014 murder by a police officer of the unarmed, black teenager Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, Baltimore mural artist Ernest Shaw decided to paint a huge three-headed colorful portrait of Malcom X, James Baldwin, and Nina Simone. When asked by the CNN interviewer why he chose to include Simone in-between the two “civil rights icons”, he responds: “she stood up for her beliefs. She sacrificed her career for her activism” (Basu, 2017: not paginated). The interviewer’s surprise about the artist’s decision to paint Simone as another salient member of the Civil Rights Movement proves that, until recently, she has fallen through the “cracks of scholarship” on music, on the Civil Rights, and on activism (Feldstein, 2005: 1351). In 2018 another step towards her historic reassessment took place: Simone’s childhood home in Tryon was named a national treasure by the National Trust for Historic Preservation in the United States; fewer than a hundred homes in the U.S. have earned that designation (Farber, 2018: not paginated). In Europe, one of the last tributes to Nina Simone is Josette Bushell-Mingo’s critically acclaimed theater piece Nina - A Story about Me and Nina Simone, premiered at the Young Vic Theatre in London in 2016 14 . The Swedish-based English theater actress and director of African descent takes on the singer’s political acts as part of the 1960s U.S. Civil Rights Movement, as well as the struggles in her personal life, finding a parallel with the pervasive inequality in today’s society. The actress questions on stage how far we have really come: “How did we come to a time when we have to say Black Lives Matter? ” Bushell-Mingo pauses, then stamps her feet, each stamp counting out the number of seconds it took for a police officer to shoot the unarmed black Chicago teenager Laquan McDonald sixteen times on October 14, 2014. 370 Rocío Cobo-Piñero Bibliographical References Acker, K. (2003). Nina Simone. Broomall: Chelsea House Publishers. Ake, D. A. (2010). Jazz Matters: Sound, Time, and Place since Bebop. Berkeley: University of California Press. Basu, M. (21 April 2017). “Nina Simone and me: an artist and activist revisited”. CNN. https: / / edition.cnn.com/ 2015/ 07/ 11/ entertainment/ nina-simone-revisited/ index.html. (Accessed on 25 January 2020.) Berman, R. (2004). “Sounds Familiar? Nina Simone’s Performance of Brecht/ Weil Songs”. In N. M. Alter, L. J. Koepnich (Eds.). Sound Matters: Essays on the Acoustics of Modern German Culture. (171-182). Oxford: Berghahn. Bertolt, B., Weil. K. (Composers). (1962) “Pirate Jenny”. Nina Simone in Concert. Philips. Brooks, D. A. (2011). “Nina Simone’s Triple Play”. Callaloo, 34 (1), 176-197. Brown, O. (Composer). (1962). “Brown Baby”. Nina at the Village Gate. Columbia Records. Brun-Lambert, D. (2009). Nina Simone: The Biography. London: Aurum Press. Carby, H. V. (1998). “It Jus Be’s Dat Way Sometime: The Sexual Politics of Women’s Blues”. In R. O’Meally (Ed.). The Jazz Cadence of American Culture. (469-482). Columbia University Press, New York. Cobo-Piñero, R. (2015). Sonidos de la diáspora: blues y jazz en Toni Morrison, Alice Walker y Gayl Jones. Sevilla: Arcibel. Cohodas, N. (2012). Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Dahl, L. (1996). Stormy Weather: The Musical Lives of a Century of Jazzwomen. New York: Proscenium. Davis, A. (1999). Blues Legacies and Black Feminism: Gertrude “MA” Rainey, Bessie Smith, and Billie Holiday. New York: Vintage Books. Davis, A. (5 September 2016). “Nina Simone’s music was so much more than the soundtrack to a movement”. Mail Guardian. https: / / mg.co.za/ article/ 2016-09-05-00-angeladavis-nina-simones-music-was-so-much-more-than-the-soundtrack-to-a-movement/ (Accessed on 31 January 2020.) Dougherty, P. (5 November 1987). “A New Woman for Chanel”. New York Times, 137, 45. Hampton, S., Nathan D. (2004). Nina Simone: Break down and Let It All out. London: Sanctuary Publishing. Farber, J. (19 June 2018). “Nina Simone: the growing legacy of a dazzling, defiant talent”. The Guardian. www.theguardian.com/ music/ 2018/ jun/ 19/ nina-simone-home-national -treasure-north-carolina-recognition-legacy. (Accessed on 2 February 2020.) Feldstein, R. (2013). How It Feels to Be Free: Black Women Entertainers and the Civil Rights Movement. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 371 From civil rights chronicler to Chanel nº5 Feldstein, R. (2005). “‘I Don’t Trust You Anymore’: Nina Simone, Culture, and Black Activism in the 1960s”. The Journal of American History 91 (4), 1349-1379. Gaines, M. (2013). “The Quadruple-Consciousness of Nina Simone”. Women and Perfor‐ mance: A Journal of Feminist Theory, 23 (2), 248-267. Garbus, L. et al. (Producers) & Garbus, L. (Director). (2015) What Happened, Miss Simone. USA: Netflix. Griffin, F. J. (2004). “When Malindy Sings: A Meditation on Black Women’s Vocality”. In R. O’Meally (Ed.). Uptown Conversation: The New Jazz Studies. (102-125). New York: Columbia University Press. Hampton, S. and Nathan D. (2004). Nina Simone: Break Down and Let It All Out. London: Sanctuary Publishing. Harrison, D. D. (2000). Black Pearls: Blues Queens of the 1920s. New Jersey: Rutgers, 2000. Hill, L., Glasper R. (2015). Nina Revisited…A Tribute to Nina Simone. New York: Sony. Hoffman, J. (2016). “Nina Review: Problems more than Skin-Deep in Cliché-Ridden Nina Simone Biopic”. The Guardian. www.theguardian.com/ film/ 2016/ apr/ 20/ nina-simone -biopic-review-zoe-saldana (Accessed on 30 January 2020.) Joseph, P.E. (2009). “The Black Power Movement: A State of the Field”. The Journal of American History, 96 (3), 751-776. Kahn, G., Donaldson, W. (Composers). (1959). “My Baby Just Cares for Me”. Little Girl Blue, Bethlehem Records. Kernodle, T. (2008). “‘I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free’: Nina Simone and the Redefining of the Freedom Song of the 1960s”. Journal of the Society for American Music 2 (3), 295-317. Light, A. (2017). What Happened, Miss Simone? London: Canongate. Loudermilk, A. (2013). “Nina Simone and the Civil Rights Movement: Protest at Her Piano, Audience at Her Feet”. Journal of International Women’s Studies, 14 (3), 121-136. Lovine J. (Producer) & Mort, C. (Director). (2016). Nina. USA: Ealing Studios. Ogren, K. J. (1992). Jazz Revolution: Twenties America and the Meanings of Jazz. New York: Oxford University Press. Olatunji, M. (Composer). (1962). “Zungo”. Nina at the Village Gate, Columbia Records. Pierpont, C. R. (2014). “A Raised Voice. How Nina Simone turned the movement into music”. The New Yorker, 90 (3). www.newyorker.com/ magazine/ 2014/ 08/ 11/ raisedvoice (Accessed on 15 January 2020.) Reelin’ in the Years (Production). (2008). Nina Simone Live in ’65 & ’68. USA: Jazz Icons Studio. Simone, N. (2003). I Put a Spell on You: The Autobiography of Nina Simone. New York: Da Capo Press. Simone, N. (Composer). (1967). “Do I Move You? ”. Nina Simone Sings the Blues. Sony Records. 372 Rocío Cobo-Piñero Simone, N. (Composer). (1966). “Four Women”. Wild Is the Wind. Philips. Simone, N. (Composer). (1967). “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl”. Nina Simone Sings the Blues. Sony Records. Simone, N. (Composer). (1964). “Mississippi Goddam”. Nina Simone in Concert. Philips. Simone, N. (Composer). (1964). “Old Jim Crow”. Nina Simone in Concert. Philips. Simone, N. (Composer). (1967). “Real, Real”. Nina Simone Sings the Blues. Sony Records. Simone, N. (Composer). (1968). “To Be Young, Gifted and Black”. To Be Young, Gifted and Black. RCA. Simone, N. Comfort A. (Composers). (1964). “Go Limp”. Nina Simone in Concert. Philips. Simone, N. Hughes, L. (Composers). (1967). “Backlash Blues”. Nina Simone Sings the Blues. Sony Records. Simone, N., Lincoln A. (Composers). (1967). “Blues for Mama”. Nina Simone Sings the Blues. Sony Records. Smith, B. (Composer). (1928). “Poor Man’s Blues”. Poor Man’s Blues, Columbia Records. Tillet, S. (2014). “Strange Sampling: Nina Simone and Her Hip-Hop Children”. American Quarterly, 66 (1), 119-137. Williams, C. (Composer). (1931). “Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl”. Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl. Columbia Records. 373 From civil rights chronicler to Chanel nº5 SHEKHINAH IN THE MUSIC VIDEOS OF LEONARD COHEN Jiří Měsíc 1 Introduction Contemporary music video as we know it, has quite a long history. The so called “illustrated songs” appeared at the end of the 19 th century in the U.S. They consisted of photos and hand-painted pictures that were put together and projected by early types of image projectors at vaudeville shows and nickelodeons. It is generally accepted that the first such song was “The Little Lost Child” presented in 1894 at Amphion Theatre in Brooklyn with live musical accompaniment. These projections were mostly organised to promote sheet music and were popular until the 1920s (Goldberg, 1930: 141, 376). In 1926, there appeared the first movie called Don Juan with music recorded on the so called Vitaphone sound-on-disk system (Crosland, 1926). Since that time, groups and singers not only started to be filmed, but also recorded, such as Bessie Smith in the movie St. Louis Blues from 1929 (Handy, Murphy, 1929). Later, around the 1950s, music videos already promoted new singles, albums and even live shows, and used singers as main protagonists. One of the first examples is Tony Bennett’s piece “Stranger in Paradise” from 1953, or the Czechoslovak music video “Dáme si do bytu” from 1958 (Rychman). In 1967, Cohen’s contemporary Bob Dylan starred in the music video to the song “Subterranean Homesick Blues” that formed a part of the documentary Don’t Look Back by D. A. Pennebaker (Court, Grossman, Pennebaker, 1967), which set the precedent for majority of music videos ever since. However, Leonard Cohen did not star in any music video until 1983 and it took him another two years before he appeared in the first official video promoting his music. Obviously, his work was in sharp contrast to what was being aired on MTV channel at that time, since Cohen’s objective was to pay a tribute to the feminine qualities of G-d that he saw in women. For this reason, the first section focuses on Cohen’s emblematic song “Suzanne” from the album Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967). Suzanne is the first song of the album and the first song that Cohen 1 This duality in Cohen’s work was attacked by the poet Joan Crate in her essay “The Mistress’ Reply to the Poet” (1993). See the bibliography for the complete reference. ever sung in public. Although there is no official music video accompanying it, in this essay the song is analysed because its lyrics represent any female character that appeared in Cohen’s work ever since. On closer examination, we notice that Suzanne does not only bear the qualities of the Virgin Mary, but also of the feminine presence of G-d known in Judaism as the Shekhinah. Once this feminine character has been identified and described, the focus is put on videos themselves and their attempts to visualize this character. The first such video, or rather musical film, appeared in 1983 under the title I’m a Hotel. The film zooms in on the singer and his muse Suzanne whose feminine attributes are represented by various women. Her sexual character reminding of ancient Mother Goddesses (described in detail in the book by the Italian researcher Marguerite Rigoglioso, Virgin Mother Goddesses of Antiquity [2011]) is also analysed. This quality elucidates duality of the feminine character in Cohen’s work in general as he is worshipping its spirituality as well as sexuality 1 . Apart from that, the film portrays various forms of love that the feminine characters express towards their suitors, or partners. As the title suggests, Cohen himself is the person who embraces all these forms in his own work. The next music video, directed by the French artist Dominique Issermann, based on the song “Dance Me to the End of Love”, is the closest attempt at representing the lyrics of Cohen and their spiritual and human dimension. The focus is put on the death of the body and the liberation of the soul. As we see, the soul represented by a beautiful woman forms an indelible part of the body represented by the singer himself. The video tries to capture their interdependence while the Jewish references suggest that the Shekhinah penetrates and fills up the soul during the Sabbath ritual. However, in 1994, the same song got another visual portrayal, but this time the focus was put on the eternal qualities of love between people, which exemplifies a more general reading of Cohen’s work. The inspiration for the next video, the song “First We Take Manhattan” from 1988, reveals a certain divergence from Cohen’s thematic as far as the lyrics are concerned. Yet, Issermann, in another monochromatic work, captured the dissolution of the body and the liberation of the soul, despite the fact that Cohen’s lyrics were more politically oriented, thus marking a certain shift in his thematic for the next decade. 376 Jiří Měsíc Cohen’s political preoccupations flourished further in his politically oriented album The Future (1992), from which appeared three official music videos: Democracy, Closing Time and The Future. Although the first video depicts the scenes from the American history, Cohen managed to incorporate Jewish symbolism into it, especially the abandonment of the Shekhinah at the end of the Sabbath ritual. In the next video Closing Time, the director put the emphasis on Suzanne / the Shekhinah character providing love to every man around during the Apocalypse, thus emphasising her sexual qualities. The last video, The Future, is intended to present the overturned “order of the soul” and the new world arrangement. After the release of the album, Cohen’s musical career was interrupted because of his retreat to the Zen Monastery at Mount Baldy close to L.A. in California. When he reappeared in 2001 with a new record, his focus was different: the album offered inner exploration, meditation, religious themes - Kabbalistic symbolism - and love. The video In My Secret Life (2001) served to promote Cohen’s resurging themes. It captures the moment when the singer became an observer of life, rather than a participant in domestic affairs. Nevertheless, this portrayal is quite contrary to the lyrics speaking about the abandonment of Suzanne / the Shekhinah after experiencing her proximity. The last video in which Cohen participated is called Because Of (2005) and was shot by his daughter Lorca Cohen in their home settings. In it, Cohen further cemented his reputation of a womanizer pronouncing his words of gratitude to women who were “especially kind to him in [his] old age”. The song as well as the album may be seen as the abandonment of spiritual thematic caused by the life crisis and the unreceptive public. It was originally planned to be a farewell to his artistic production but, nevertheless, Cohen was able to come up with a more dignified work arising from his World Tour between 2008 and 2013. The last section of this work deals with the official videos promoting the albums Old Ideas (2012), Popular Problems (2014), You Want It Darker (2016) and the posthumous work Thanks for the Dance (2019). Out of all of them, stands the visual narrative by Dominique Issermann giving a wholistic portrayal to the album Old Ideas. The video presents an ode to various shades of feminine beauty such as in the video I’m a Hotel. Worth mentioning were also three videos co-produced by the video channel Nowness in partnership with the Leonard Cohen Estate and Sony Music Canada (Happens to the Heart, Moving On, Thanks for the Dance). The reader is encouraged to watch the musical videos on YouTube during the reading to understand their interrelation with the lyrical content of the songs. Their links are provided among the bibliographical references. 377 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen 2 Such as, “you” referring to the exchange of words between Suzanne and Christ, which is probably the correct reading of the public performance with Judy Collins. 2 Suzanne (1967) On April 30, 1967 Leonard Cohen appeared with the American singer-song‐ writer Judy Collins at SANE concert in New York organised in protest against the Vietnam War (Collins, 1987: 145). For the first time, he did not perform as a poet, but as a musician. Together they played and sang the emblematic song “Suzanne” whose lyrics dealt with Cohen’s typical themes: a mysterious woman called Suzanne whose body is being touched by the singer’s mind, Christ who touches the singer’s body with his mind, and again Suzanne who touches the singer’s body with her mind. The chorus describing such a mystical exchange appears three times as follows: And you want to travel with her you want to travel blind and you know that she will trust you for you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind. And you want to travel with him And you want to travel blind And you think maybe you’ll trust him For he’s touched your perfect body with his mind. And you want to travel with her And you want to travel blind And you know that you can trust her For she’s touched your perfect body with her mind. (Cohen, 1967) The pronoun “you” refers to the singer himself, as it was argued by the American philosopher Babette Babich (2013: 51). Therefore, it is a soliloquy in which the singer addresses himself, although other readings would be justifiable too 2 . More importantly, it describes a process in which the singer undertakes a transformation thanks to the will of Christ and Suzanne to touch him. For this reason, the song is often seen as the record of a spiritual experience in line with Jewish and Christian mystical teachings which see the feminine element of the Divine as a necessary means for the spiritual ascent. 378 Jiří Měsíc 3 In an interview in 2009, Suzanne Vaillancourt, then living in a caravan in Venice Beach (CA), said: “I was the one that put the boundaries on that [sexual encounter] because Leonard is actually a very sexual man and very attractive and very charismatic. And I was very attracted to him, but somehow, I didn’t want to spoil that preciousness, that infinite respect that I had for him, for our relationship, and I felt that a sexual encounter might demean it somehow” (Stefanescu, 2009). 4 “[I]n medieval symbolic vocabulary the tower was emblematic of virginity and chastity. It was the symbol of the Virgin Mary as well as the attribute of the virgin-martyr Moreover, Suzanne, or shoshana in Hebrew, means lily. It is known that her character is based on Suzanne Verdal who was then a girlfriend of the well-known sculptor Armand Vaillancourt. The story partly recounts her meeting with Cohen; inviting him to her loft near the river in Montreal where she served him tea with orange rind. She acknowledged in many interviews that they never consummated their friendship, instead they let their minds freely penetrate one another 3 . However, when her character entered the song, she was not only the physical woman, but she also represented Notre Dame de Bonne Secours church on St. Lawrence river and Our Lady of the Harbour, the statue of the Virgin Mary that overlooks the harbour and blesses the sailors entering the city (Rasky, 2010: 98; Burger, 2014: 286). Aubrey Glazer, a rabbinic scholar, thinks that she also embodies the feminine attributes of G-d known in Judaism as the Shekhinah (2017: 232). The word is of the feminine gender and means “dwelling” or “presence” of G-d in Hebrew. She is often described as the Queen of Sabbath when she descends upon her believers. Figuratively speaking, her worshippers reach her harbour in their own homes / dwellings which must be properly cleaned and prepared for her visit. Not only does the word dwelling means home, but also heart in which the Shekhinah reposes from Friday sunset till Saturday evening. During the Sabbath, Jews burn candles, smell fragrant spices and eat festive meals. Some scholars speak about the sexual act between man and wife on this day as a way to invite the Shekhinah between them (Matt, 1995: 155). The Jewish philosopher Rafael Patai describes coupling with the Shekhinah herself, which “restores [man] to that state of completeness which is the privilege and high blessing of the male and female together” (Patai, 1990: 252). This Jewish predilection for enacting divine unity as a carnal act presents a stark contrast to the Christian tradition which has been always defined by philios (love towards friends) and agape (unconditional love towards G-d), which seems to be the case at first glance when listening to the song. Unsurprisingly, Cohen managed to add sexuality into the story when he portrayed Christ descending from his “wooden tower” (the symbol of virginity 4 ) 379 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen Barbara” ( Jansen, 2001: 290). St. Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153) spoke about tower as the symbol of virginity in his book of sermons Corona Beatae Mariae Virginis. and becoming a sailor / seeker. “All men will be sailors then / until the sea shall free them,” but, perhaps, until they reach Suzanne who is waiting for them in the harbour at the end of their journey. Once they reach her, Suzanne takes them by their hand and leads them to the river to show them beauty “among the garbage and the flowers” (Cohen, 1967). They will be initiated into women mysteries and we may even suppose that they become reborn as I argued in the essay “The Song of Initiation in the Work of Leonard Cohen” (Měsíc, 2013). Moreover, for Jews, Suzanne / the Shekhinah represents the same White Lily that appears in the Biblical love poem “Song of Songs” (2: 2) where she is demonstrating her love for the King. Their flattery language leads to the consumption of love when she / the Lily leads the King to her bed “where [she] had been conceived” (Song of Songs 3: 4, NLT). While the Jewish tradition sees the mystical woman of the poem as the Shekhinah descending on her faithful, the Christian tradition sees her as the Holy Spirit. Therefore, both traditions see their encounter as the union between G-d and His believers and compare their love to a woman who gives love to her husband. In addition, the Shekhinah comes accompanied with an extra Sabbath soul called neshamah yeterah (Schwartz, 2007: 63), which completes the believers on the most Holy of days and confesses upon them divine attributes. Therefore, we could think that the Shekhinah / Suzanne is the missing part of the soul that is revealed / given to the faithful on the Sabbath night. For these reasons, it is not surprising that she is also sexualised, as can be seen in the poem from the book Parasites of Heaven published the very same year. Apart from the original lyrics of the song, there appears another work titled “Suzanne”. This time she is described as the whore of Montreal leaving men drooling over her: Suzanne wears a leather coat. Her breasts yearn for marble. The traffic halts: people fall out of their cars. None of their most drooling thoughts are wild enough to build the ant-full crystal city she would splinter with the tone of her step. (Cohen, 1966: 31) 380 Jiří Měsíc 5 This was also noticed by the Jewish scholar Elliot R. Wolfson in his essay “New Jerusalem Glowing” in which he compares another Cohen’s character “Queen of Solitude” to the Virgin Mary and the Shekhinah: “for Cohen, the ‘Queen of Solitude’ denotes the Shekhinah, which he identifies as well as the Virgin Mary” (Wolfson, 2006: 150-151). Therefore, Suzanne bears the characteristics of the Virgin Mary of the Christian tradition 5 , yet Cohen’s oeuvre leads us to think that she also represents the Shekhinah possessing sexual overtones, which can be also felt in the first live recording with Judy Collins filmed in 1976 (PBS’ Soundstage Program). There both Cohen and Collins sing to one another like two lovers. Their performance reveals that the song is intended to provoke the union of minds, or perhaps of souls. They do not look at each other directly, instead they keep having their eyes closed to reconnect with one another and with Suzanne herself. Cohen has said a few times that the song is a doorway that he has to open carefully: “Otherwise, what is beyond is not accessible to [him]” (Burger, 2014: 542-543), which suggests going beyond one’s mind and reaching one’s soul. For this reason, Suzanne may be also compared to Carl Gustav Jung’s concept of anima, which provokes further assumptions on the power of this feminine character. Jung stated that the convergence of the feminine and masculine divisions of the archetypal self is tremendously important for the inner development of an individual. Man should, for this reason, come to terms with the feminine quality of his soul called anima (“vital force” in Latin) while the woman has as her goal to attain the union with her animus (the rational part of her self) ( Jung, 1998: 114). In relation to the song, Suzanne would thus represent one of two parts of the divided soul / self and her “touching” with singer’s mind” would symbolize a certain cross-marriage of the self ( Jung, 1998: 221). Therefore, we may infer that it needs a male to awaken the potency of a woman’s animus and a woman to awake the potency of a man’s anima to reach certain spiritual state as suggested by the song. Seen in this light, Christ’s search and his encountering of Suzanne would symbolize the unity of these two potencies leading to the wholeness of the self. 3 I’m a Hotel (1983) I’m a Hotel is a 25-minutes-long musical film written by Leonard Cohen, edited by Mark Shekter and directed by Allan F. Nicholls. It was produced by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), the Canadian Film Development Corporation, and premiered in 1983. In 1984, it won a Golden Rose award at Montreux TV Festival in Switzerland. Cohen features there as a bystander, 381 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen 6 See the Qur’an 48: 4 for more details about this divine concept. playing the role of “The Resident”. He observes a series of love moments between the personnel of the hotel and its guests based on his songs: “The Guests”; “Memories”; “The Gypsy Wife”; “Chelsea Hotel #2” and “Suzanne” with whom he finally reunites. The first scene portrays Cohen singing the song “The Guests” in his rather dark room, smoking and looking at a black and white photograph of Suzanne, while the guests are entering the hotel and checking in. Apart from them, we see the manager and his wife, the bellboy and the chambermaid helping the guests with their luggage. At the end of the scene, Cohen is descending the stairs and glimpses Suzanne in the hallway. The song’s lyrics accompanying the scene are influenced by two Sufi poets, Rumi (1207-1273) and Attar (1145-c.1221), and portray a banquet where the guests meet their Beloved and come to the mystical union with Him. Then they are thrown out and the whole “initiatory” experience is repeated. The guest house does not necessarily need to be a physical place. In Rumi’s symbolism, it can be the heart which contains divine power, earlier described as dwelling, which suggests that the whole scene of the film may be taking place in one’s heart, in a chamber, hosting the wedding of the bride and the groom, in other words, of the Shekhinah, known in Arabic as Sakīnah  6 , and the believers. In addition, the idea of a nocturnal journey suggested in the song and in the video is frequent in many Sufi rituals, such as in lila derdeba of the mystical group of Gnawa from Morocco. The night ritual is accompanied by music and dance and nourished by sensory perceptions, such as wearing colourful dresses, smelling incense and spices, listening to music and observing, or participating in dance. The practitioners often fall into a trance in which they lose their self and temporary control of the body (Dieste, 2013: 266). As I saw myself, it resembles an epileptic seizure and other adepts need to sustain the struggling body of the practitioner. By this act, the person gets spiritually healed and attains the union with the Creator. Cohen’s song portrays the similar night journey of the soul being healed and reborn into the world once it reached the union with the Shekhinah. The next scene focuses on the hotel ball where Cohen sings his song “Memories”. The bellboy and the chambermaid finally decide to consume their passion for one another while Cohen follows them through the basement up to the ball room where their suggestive sexual dance attains its final part and ends with fireworks. Other clients of the hotel are also in the room, but they dance hugging each other and do not follow the same rhythm of the song. It ends with 382 Jiří Měsíc two dancers (the bellboy and the chambermaid) suggesting coitus while Cohen cries (not sings) “oh my fantasy, oh my fantasy, oh my fantasy…”. When the scene shifts, Cohen is once again smoking in his dark room. As for the lyrics of the song, they portray a ball in which Frankie Laine (1913-2007), an American singer-songwriter, is singing the song about Jezebel, the Queen of Israel known for worshiping Semitic gods Baal and Asherah and expulsing Yahweh worshippers from her lands. Naturally, she is regarded as malicious by the Jewish believers. In the song, she is compared to “the tallest and the blondest girl” whom Cohen asks: “won’t you let me see / Your naked body? ” There is no suggestion of any mystical union of souls, or of the Shekhinah. Rather Jezebel is the Suzanne of the second poem from the Parasites of Heaven we mentioned earlier. She is purely sexualised as it was revealed by Cohen himself in the introduction to his Tel Aviv concert on November 24, 1980: For my last song, I must offend your deepest sensibilities with an entirely irrelevant and vulgar ditty that I wrote some time ago with another Jew in Hollywood, where there are many. This is a song in which I have placed my most irrelevant and banal adolescent recollections. I humbly ask you for your indulgence. As I look back to the red acne of my adolescence, to the unmanageable desire of my early teens, to that time when every woman shone like the eternal light above the altar, unimaginably more quiescent, potent, powerful and relevant than anything I could ever command. (rpt. in Leibovitz, 2014: 199) The third scene is accompanied by the song “The Gypsy Wife” inspired by Federico García Lorca’s play Bodas de sangre (1932). It portrays a group of entrepreneurs having a meeting with the hotel manager. Out of a sudden, his wife comes to serve them coffee and changes herself to a gypsy dancer. She is not wearing any shoes, her clothes change to “bridal’s negligée” and then she starts dancing on the boardroom table, which reminds of Salome dancing with the head of John Baptist as described in the lyrics. Suddenly she sits with her legs apart on the lap of the manager of the hotel and their faces suggest that they are reaching orgasm. Then the scene changes into a bar setting, all the managers are having a reverie and the woman dances like a prostitute offering herself to everyone. The manager becomes ashamed of her behaviour and then she disappears with another man. The scene ends with Cohen left in the bar strumming his guitar while the final shot zooms in on a lit candle, perhaps the same candle Jews light at the beginning of the Sabbath when welcoming the Shekhinah. The lyrics speak about a wife abandoning her husband. Cohen wrote them when his life partner Suzanne Elrod, the mother of his children Adam and Lorca 383 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen Cohen, was abandoning him. In 1979, he said that “the song is written to my gypsy wife, or the wife that is gone, or to the woman that is gone. You could look at it as the woman who is gone from personal life” (Rasky, 2010: 91). In the scene she was portrayed as the Suzanne of the poem from Parasites of Heaven book. The fourth scene draws on the song “Chelsea Hotel #2” in which two young lovers are not able to consummate their love, which is contrary to the song’s lyrics which speak about oral sex with Janis Joplin that Cohen had in the legendary Chelsea Hotel in New York City in 1967. A young couple in their room is showing signs of passion, yet the man is unable to go further. There is a rose on fire, and the scene shifts to an elderly man “The Admiral” and the woman “The Diva”, both in their own rooms reminiscing about love when they were young. Suddenly someone knocks on the door - Suzanne - and both the Admiral and the Diva open the door and stare at each other while Suzanne walks through the corridor. This depiction leads us to think that Suzanne appears only when love is not consummated physically but spiritually, as it was introduced in the song “Suzanne”. The final scene of the film starts with Suzanne walking through the corridor while Cohen is looking at her photo in his room. The clock is striking midnight. He descends the stairs to look for her in the hallway, but she keeps disappearing. He is following her down to the basement, then he is back singing in his dark room. Suzanne starts observing all lovers of the film: bellboy and the chambermaid, she stands at the manager and his wife’s door, then at the admiral and the diva’s door beyond which they are dancing together with flashes of the young couple who are their younger “selves” when they were unable to consummate their love. The scene shifts to Cohen singing and laughing in his room, Suzanne caressing a ringed turtle dove, a dove flying into Cohen’s room. Finally, Suzanne passes by the manager in the hotel’s bar, and appears in Cohen’s mirror in his room, where he is playing chess with himself to pass the time and strumming the guitar. The room is illuminated by flames and then darkened, suggesting that he has been waiting night and day for Suzanne. Suddenly, they both speak to each other and drink coffee and then Cohen is alone once again. At the end of the scene, they meet in the hallway and go up the stairs together meaning that they have been finally reunited in all the senses mentioned in the “Suzanne” analysis above: the Shekhinah with her faithful believer, Christ with the Virgin, animus with anima and, finally, there is a union of a human couple making all these beautiful phenomena possible. The film ends with the song “The Guests” which was being played at the beginning to suggest the cyclical nature of the hotel life and of love itself. The 384 Jiří Měsíc guests are coming and leaving, and their stories repeat themselves and are staged by other people, or even by the same people in their hearts. Cohen has named this work I’m a Hotel perhaps for being able to encompass and/ or experience all the types of love that have been depicted. He has also showed that Suzanne can be reached by any kind of love that was portrayed, but Cohen awaited her in solitude and seclusion in his darkened room / dwelling / heart, somehow echoing the words of the 13 th century Sufi mystic Yunus Emre: We entered the house of realization, we witnessed the body. The whirling skies, the many-layered earth, the seventy-thousand veils, we found in the body. The night and the day, the planets, the words inscribed on the Holy Tablets, the hill that Moses climbed, the Temple, and Israfil’s trumpet, we observed in the body. Torah, Psalms, Gospel, Quran - what these books have to say, we found in the body. Everybody says these words of Yunus are true. Truth is wherever you want it. We found it all within the body. (rpt. in Sels, 2003: 26) Obviously, it is possible to see the Cohen’s hotel as “the house of realization” which reveals all the mysteries normally obfuscated by the human reason. As a way to reach them, the Sufi mystic suggested the bodily experience: love making. 4 Dance Me to the End of Love (1985) In 1985, Cohen’s then partner, the French director and photographer Dominique Issermann shot a black and white video to the song “Dance Me to the End of Love” that was released one year earlier on the album Various Positions. As I argued elsewhere, the video focuses on the liberation of the soul from the body (Měsíc, 2018). The settings of the heart / hotel were exchanged for the hospital where Suzanne walks among the patients to give farewell to her lover, Leonard Cohen himself. When she reaches his deathbed, she puts the shroud over his face, which suggests that it is the last moment when they have a bodily contact. Then Cohen appears as a ghost observing her. The camera changes focus on 385 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen her hand and the wedding ring, suggesting that she also embodies Suzanne Elrod, Cohen’s former partner. After that, she walks through the corridors of the hospital and is pursued by the ghost of the singer. His serious face appears in various shots in which he is singing “dance me to the end of love” in a deadly voice. She begins dancing just when the violin player appears, touches Cohen’s ghostly hand and, again, the focus is put on her wedding ring. It falls into the laboratory vase, probably to get purified, showing that she is freed from the corporeal bond. Suddenly there appear recently born children in transparent hospital incubators. They both stare at them when Cohen puts Suzanne’s head under his jacket and suffocates her. As a ghost herself, she undresses and appears on stage posing as a Greek statue in front of the audience with half of people having shrouds over their heads not to see her. She wears a shroud over her body too. Cohen stares at her intensively, and the scene shifts to Suzanne walking through the hospital chamber. Then she disappears behind the shroud and probably gets reborn in another body, which may be also interpreted as the Shekhinah entering the soul of her worshipper. In Cohen’s view, the soul is free only after experiencing love. Love is thus closely related to death and rebirth, which was revealed by Cohen in a CBC interview from 1995. There he said that the song was inspired by string quartets performing at concentration camps during the Holocaust and he compared the consummation of love to death in fire: [The song] came from just hearing or reading or knowing that in the death camps, beside the crematoria, in certain of the death camps, a string quartet was pressed into performance while this horror was going on, those were the people whose fate was this horror also. And they would be playing classical music while their fellow prisoners were being killed and burnt. So, that music, “Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin,” meaning the beauty there of being the consummation of life, the end of this existence and of the passionate element in that consummation. But, it is the same language that we use for surrender to the beloved, so that the song ― it’s not important that anybody knows the genesis of it, because if the language comes from that passionate resource, it will be able to embrace all passionate activity. (Cohen, 1995) Therefore, the musical composition itself suggests a danse macabre, which is not a Hollywood-style love song about lovers living for one another. It makes death as the main protagonist of their love, while mixing the spirit of Greece and sirtaki with waltz (Manzano, 2010: 243-244). Curiously enough, the second video from 1994 directed by Mark Pellington made to promote the same song on the live album Leonard Cohen in Concert focuses on a sentimental depiction of love between two partners. It shows 386 Jiří Měsíc 7 The Greeks use these bracelets to soothe themselves in times of distress. Cohen singing in a theatre accompanied by two female singers and the band (accordionist, laud player, contrabassist, percussionist and, surprisingly, no violinist). Behind him, there is a big screen with wedding photos of various couples, they themselves appear in flashes as elders dancing together. Their dance is frequently interrupted by love scenes from some Hollywood movie while Cohen is acting out as an old crooner. He is having a bracelet of komboloi (worry) beads 7 in his hand and holds the ribbon microphone. There appears a mischievous smile in his otherwise serious face when he sings: “Dance Me to the End of Love” meaning “we will stay together till we die”, which is the message disseminated by the video. The couples have proud expressions in their faces, a woman touches a photo of her husband, then looks at an empty chair. Then a Hollywood movie love scene, a shot of a burning violin reminding of the Holocaust string orchestra, another love making, this time on the wedding shroud, donning of the ring (in contrast to the first video in which the ring fell down from the finger into a laboratory vase). It is obvious that the authors aimed at portraying a naïve romantic love leading to marriage and the family life. Such love brings order to our homes, but Cohen always saw it as a form of slavery, as can be read in an interview with the Canadian writer Stephen Williams from 1978. There, he claimed that he bought a small house for Suzanne to live separately, probably in order they could maintain passionate love for one another: I think marriage has been misconstrued in such a way that it has become an impossible event. Instead of buying bigger and bigger houses for the marriage and the children, people should do what I have done: discard that idea and buy or rent smaller, separate houses in a small neighborhood. The family lives in contact with one another but not under one another’s continual presence. The notion of the big family house is as obsolete as the Irish castle. When she’s not in California, Suzanne lives here. (Williams, 1978: 61) In spite of the above, the song has become the anthem of romantic lovers who see marriage as the climax of their love relationship. Unfortunately, this interpretation was further exploited in another video from 1995, this time staging the young Quentin Tarantino as a husband tortured by watching videos of men in chains on TV (Goffman, 1995). As in the previous example, there is no liberation of the soul, rather, the video emphasises hardships of the life in marriage, which must have been obvious to Cohen and perhaps mocked in the video itself when he wryly smiled at the love scenes presented. 387 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen 5 First We Take Manhattan (1988) In 1988, Cohen’s then partner Dominique Issermann filmed another video. This time she focused on the song “First We Take Manhattan” from the album I’m Your Man (1988), which was also dedicated to her. The black and white video, shot on the beach in the French town Trouville, shows Cohen watching the ocean and walking on the beach clad in a long black coat. Suddenly, there appears a young woman with the luggage heading towards him. He caresses her hair, removes her scarf and holds her tight to him, and suddenly her luggage falls on the sand. Then comes another scene in which another young woman is travelling on the train and glimpses a young man. She and many other couples are arriving onto the beach, clad in the same fashion and heading towards Cohen and the woman. A shot focusing on Cohen’s serious, unshaven face. Then there is a young woman running to a man before they fall into an embrace and kiss each other. Another scene portrays all couples abandoning their luggage and walking away, shots of the fashion magazine, a girl staring out of a car’s window, then Cohen turning around and staring into the camera. The video seems to be the continuation of the first video of Dance Me to the End of Love, and not only because of its use of colour. It shows people coming to the beach to abandon their luggage (bodies) and let their soul dissolve and disappear in the ocean. Surprisingly, it does not match the lyrics, which speak about the conquest of the popular music industry, boredom and the inability to love (Fournier, 1994: 166; Burger, 2014: 220). The lyrics also make a reference to the relationship with Suzanne Elrod with whom Cohen was already separated for a few years: “Ah remember me, I used to live for music / Remember me, I brought your groceries in / Well it’s Father’s Day and everybody’s wounded / First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin”. The English critic Jim Devlin made us aware that the song was originally called “In Old Berlin” and dealt with “the nature of evil”. According to him, some of its verses appeared in the “Dance Me to the End of Love” song (Devlin, 1996: 136). However, there is no Suzanne or Shekhinah coming to soothe the singer. Rather it portrays the crisis of a middle-aged man who abandoned the old concept of spiritual / mystical love and changed his focus to politics. Cohen started to explore human lives deprived of moral values previously defined by religion. Curiously, the video does not reflect any of these views as it aims at bodily dissolution, rather than on the conquest of evil. In spite of that, Issermann managed to maintain coherence of his work and made a video more appropriate to his earlier spirit. As we shall see in the next section, this new preoccupation 388 Jiří Měsíc of Cohen marked the next thirteen years of his career before he was able to return to his penchant for divine love and the Shekhinah. 6 Democracy (1992) In 1992, Cohen released his long-awaited album The Future. The first song which made it to the visual portrayal was “Democracy”. The video starts with a scene of the American flag and the painting portraying a family of first settlers of the continent, then it shifts to Cohen reading a Rhyming Dictionary and holding (rotating) the komboloi beads as in the Dance Me to the End of Love second video. Apart from that, we see native Americans, a boy with a bicycle observing flames, an Afro-American kid passing through the cemetery. There also appears a scene from the First We Take Manhattan video clip of Cohen walking on the beach, then Cohen going through his own self-portraits, putting out a wick (a reminder of the Sabbath candle? ), and shots of American life scenes and lyrics printed as in a medieval manuscript. The final scenes show Cohen lighting up the wick with the pistol lighter. The video is far more explicit regarding the lyrical content than the previous one. The only reference important for the present analysis is the above mentioned putting out of a candle wick with Cohen’s hand. It reflects the custom (minhag) by which the Jews are not allowed to put out fire with their breath due to the fact that flames, as well as the human breath, represent soul. In normal circumstances, according to the compendium of the Jewish law -Shulchan Aruch (1565) - Section 296 (Wine 5), Jews are instructed to put out the Sabbath candle in wine spilled on the table, but Cohen chose his fingers instead. Perhaps, because fingers are the instruments of the divine creation as they remind of the rays of divine light spreading its power into the universe. Cohen’s symbolism suggests that “democracy” is a purely human concept unrelated to the divine law, but related to the organisation of civil society during the week. As putting out the candle marks the end of the Sabbath and its ceremony Havdalah on Saturday night, it introduces the believers into the secular world and prepares them for the temporary abandonment of the Shekhinah. Cohen as if wanting to emphasize the cyclical nature of the ceremony, did not only put out the candle wick but also lit it up with a symbolic pistol lighter at the end of the clip. As for the lyrics, the song presents Cohen’s usual themes: war, religion and domestic problems. He prophesizes the arrival of “democracy” to the U.S. However, according to him, it is not a democracy in the European style which begot tyrants and committed atrocities. Rather, “democracy” is an unfolding experiment which started in the U.S.: 389 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen I had a verse in my song, Democracy, which as you know has endless verses, but one of them was, ‘It ain’t coming to us European-style, concentration camp behind the smile, it ain’t coming from the East with its temporary feast as Count Dracula comes strolling down the aisle.’ I asked myself, a territory that has produced everybody from Dracula to Ivan the Terrible to Stalin, is this really the fertile ground for parliamentary democracy? I didn’t think so. It was clear to me that the real laboratory of democracy is America. It’s America where the races are really confronting each other, where the classes are confronting one another, where even people of a different sexual orientation are confronting one another. That’s where democracy started, and that’s where it’s really unfolding. (Sweeting, 1994: 18) In 1995, there appeared a spoken version of the song filmed for the PBS series United States of Poetry produced by another poet Bob Holman and directed by Mark Pellington (the same director of the 2 nd video Dance Me to the End of Love). They filmed sixty poets among whom were Allen Ginsberg, Lawrence Ferlinghetti or Lou Reed reading their own iconic works. Cohen’s episode was called “The American Dream” in which he sits at the desk with sun glasses on and is counting komboloi beads, obviously under distress. Behind him, there spreads the American flag which turns into a big bar code at the end of the clip. These two clips are intended to portray Cohen’s civil concerns, yet the abandonment of religion in civil matters results in the weakening of morals. Therefore, Cohen posed the question of how we can live in such a society and whether it can give birth to something like religion itself: “democracy” as a new / renewed code of conduct and moral values. 7 Closing Time (1992) Another black and white video, but this time made by the director Curtis Wehrfritz, was shot in the “Matadore” night club in Toronto on November 30 th , 1992. Closing Time portrays a jamboree in a reverie kind of settings. The scenes feature flying dancers and chairs. The principal motif is a man accompanied by a seductive woman. They are both smoking and drinking. The man has one of his eyes covered by a patch, perhaps to put emphasis on the Eye of Providence. In one scene he is being seduced by another woman with whom he is dancing but refuses her advances. Finally, he dances with his original companion and touches her hummingbird tattoo on her back (the symbol used on the cover of the album). Later they sit at the table together and smoke. Two flying dancers appearing throughout the video finally meet on the rooftop and make love while the scenes focus on various people having a good time in the bar. Cohen acts 390 Jiří Měsíc 8 Like in the Qur’anic Surah 22: 2 describing the Last Judgement: “On the Day when you will see it: every nursing mother will discard her infant, and every pregnant woman will abort her load, and you will see the people drunk, even though they are not drunk—but the punishment of God is severe”. as an observer accompanied by two backup vocalists Perla Batalla and Julie Christensen. At times he grins. The lyrics speak about “Johnny Walker wisdom running high” and about one “very sweet companion” of Cohen further described as “the Angel of Compassion”. Her name probably refers to the angel in the history of creation from Midrash, an ancient text explaining Hebrew scriptures. In the story the angel is trying to persuade G-d to create human beings on the pretext that they will do kindness. There is no doubt that the angel is the Shekhinah. In the song, she is described as “rubbing half the world against her thigh” - meaning that she is sexually inciting all the dancers dancing with her, which leads us back to Suzanne’s sexual / erotic nature. In this bar where the binge is taking place, people are not bound by any laws: “the women tear their blouses off ” and “and it’s partner found, it’s partner lost / and it’s hell to pay when the fiddler stops: / it’s CLOSING TIME”. The warning closing time forecast a catastrophe: when people are thrown out of the Paradise, reminding of the song “The Guests” that we analysed earlier. Cohen himself described “Closing Time” as his “favourite song on the album. A very light-hearted apocalypse” (rpt. in Janssen, Whitelock, 2009: 151). As he suggests, the secular experience also leads to the divine ecstasy. People who “struggle” and “stagger” through their unrestrained passions may even “climb up the ladder / to the tower where the blessed hours chime”. Therefore, they are able to reach the divine in their own proper way, although they will probably lose everything 8 . And what else than partying should they do if their days are numbered? There is no other recourse than to give a way to unrestrained passions when the Last Judgement / Apocalypse is approaching, which is the theme explored before Cohen by the rocker Mike Fern in his song “A Bomb Bop” in 1959 and then by Prince in his iconic “1999” (which was actually released in 1982) in which Prince suggested partying before the end of the world. Of course, both singers were baffled by the possibility of a nuclear conflict. However, for Cohen, the end stood for something else: the climax of the crisis of values where people confuse G-d with money and sex with love. Moreover, it reflects the post-Sabbatical week when the divine’s power loses intensity, as the verse describing the place is as “dead as Heaven on a Saturday night”, which refers to the abandonment of the Shekhinah. However, Cohen’s companion is still there, she is a beautiful woman 391 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen who “gets [him] fumbling gets [him] laughing”. Perhaps, she is what is left from the Shekhinah, her physical beauty remains the same, yet she is empty of the spiritual content. One rabbi of the Congregation Beth Sholom in San Francisco, Aubrey L. Glazer suggests that the song also “echoes the conclusion of the holiest day on the Jewish calendar, Yom Kippur, whose final moment is known as Neilah. Cohen continues in his pursuit of an angelic face within human fallenness that rises up, or a descent for the sake of ascent” (Glazer, 2017: 175). Yom Kippur is significant as it is the holiest feast for the Jews. It takes place on the tenth day after the Jewish New Year in the month Tishrei (meaning a new beginning). It is said that on Rosh Hashanah, G-d opens The Book of Life into which he inscribes the fate of every person according to their deeds for the upcoming year. Afterwards, believers have ten days to repent for their sins to influence the negative verdict. The end of Yom Kippur seals the fate of everyone. If the song really touches this subject, sexuality would be a form of repentance for past sins and a way to begin a new cyclical year. 8 The Future (1993) The Future is another video from the same album forming a triptych of secular themes exploited by Cohen. As the previous clip, it was directed by Curtis Wehrfritz and shot by Miroslaw Baszak. Even the cast is the same, Leonard Cohen is accompanied by Perla Batalla and Julie Christensen and the dancers, but this time they perform their dance immersed in water. Their choreography is similar to the video Closing Time. The clip centres on Cohen in a basement reminding of the parking space for boats in Venetian houses. Some words, such as “crack” and “anal sex” are censored. Cohen is being rained upon, his suit is getting wet while the tide is rising. In another scene we see him with his trousers rolled up. His expression is extremely serious. He tries to adjust the jacket and the tie, trying to keep his face even in the time of crisis. The video ends with Cohen squatting in the middle of the pool of water with komboloi beads moving in circles. It follows upon distress introduced in the previous two videos and suggests that we are in the midst of the Apocalypse. The lyrics in its fiery imagery echo the “Gospel According to Matthew” (24: 7-14; 21-28; 37-42), predicting the Last Judgement. Cohen’s song is set in the same kind of setting. However, he tries to accelerate the spread of evil by asking for “absolute control over every living soul”. He resorts to the extremes, to crack and anal sex, Berlin Wall, Stalin and St. Paul and says that the future “is murder” since everything is going to be destroyed. The crisis of human values 392 Jiří Měsíc and morals is fully exposed, but, this time, he is not going to throw a party to enjoy his last moments. The singer wants to accelerate the destruction by assuming the position of the destroyer. Before the song was recorded, Cohen sung it with different verses as was revealed in one interview with Fritz Haver and analysed in the book Take This Waltz by M. Fournier. There Cohen claimed that people want to assume extremist positions to get rid of the vacuum in their lives: Well, that song evolved into ‘The Future’. And that is what a lot of people would be saying: give me love or give me Adolf Hitler. They will be saying it. The young Germans will be saying it. They are saying it already, because if there is nothing in the air, if there is no nourishment in the culture as there isn’t now, then of course young people will embrace the extremist, this refreshing extremist position, and have the feeling of shaving lotion on their skin. It is enough of the ambiguities enough of the complexities. (Fournier, 1994: 95) Nevertheless, to a certain extent, the song reflects the extremist position taken by society not by Cohen (the theme already exploited in his book of poems The Flowers for Hitler [1964)]). The song juxtaposes Christ and the Hiroshima nuclear attack, as well as Stalin and St. Paul, who sent his “Letter to Rome” in which he predicted a better future for G-d’s children (8: 14-17). Aubrey Glazer sees these opposing concepts as an attempt to dissolute the binaries and reach Nirvana, which Cohen explored during his Zen retreat. [B]y the song’s close, a complete dissolution of these binaries takes place, shifting closer a vision of Buddhist Nirvana. As a blowing out of self and its boundaries, the redeemer is also blown apart, akin to a nuclear blast. The dissolution of self and other, God and man, good and evil points to a greater non-dual view of existence. (Glazer, 2017: 198) Perhaps, the dissolution of the self that is suggested by the song is the return to the original paradisiacal existence. The existence that Cohen would reach after getting rid of his conscious self, which he identifies with “the little Jew who wrote the Bible”. In other words, with the person who drafted / interpreted biblical laws as we know them for his own benefit. The destruction of the self, however, goes hand in hand with the destruction of the world as we know it. For this reason, Cohen prophesised “the breaking of the ancient western code” and coming of “the lousy little poets […] trying to sound like Charlie Manson”, which echoes the verses of Matthew about false prophets (24: 11; 24: 24). Cohen was aware that people were sensing these future disasters and offered the explanation of their behaviour reflected in the concern for the environment 393 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen (Martin, 1993) and for the loss of the centre - meaning -, the belief in G-d, traditional values and such (Burger, 2014: 284). The song describes what happens if we abandon religion and moral codes attached to it. Yet, the Apocalypse brought the hope of renewal to the singer and when he reappeared eight years later, he was a different person, he was selfless. 9 In My Secret Life (2001) “In my Secret life” is a song from the album Ten New Songs (2001). The video was shot by an Italian-Canadian director Floria Sigismondi in Montreal and Toronto. Cohen chose her to re-introduce him to the popular music industry after his retreat at Mt. Baldy Zen Monastery in California. In 2002, the video won in the category “Best Video” at Juno Music Awards. The clip shows a concrete modernist architecture building and the domestic life of two people with egg-shaped heads. The opening scene focuses on a woman playing the song and dancing step. Then Cohen arrives on the scene in his vintage Citroen DS 23 and poses between the walls of the building observing the domestic life of its inhabitants while the most important verse of the song “In My Secret Life” is reverberating between the walls. The scenes focus on a family having breakfast, the father reading the newspaper, the couple kissing each other in bed, the woman vacuuming up the carpet, Cohen putting on his hat, smoking a cigarette, putting on his glasses, a school teacher like person with a long stick, people cracking up eggs before eating them, then there is a shot on some gym exercising and Cohen leaving the scene in his car. From our contemporary perspective, the video is incredibly boring and not even funny. The message it wanted to convey is that Cohen’s life is not enclosed like the life of the inhabitants of the building. Nonetheless, the lyrics speak about something else. On the album, Cohen returned to his theme and spoke about the abandonment of the mysterious woman (Suzanne, the Shekhinah, Virgin, Anima). It is a song of longing for her. As many of the biblical poets / prophets before him, he speaks about “marching” in search for her. Perhaps, like the prophet Elijah who marched 40 days and 40 nights through the desert (1 Kings 19: 8), or Christ himself who went to fast there and was tempted by the devil (Matt. 4: 1-11; Mark 1: 12-13; Luke 4: 1-13). However, the desert is exchanged for the domestic life, perhaps to emphasise that the Shekhinah is not to be found there. He has to keep on marching and reach the divine realm, because the earthly world always leaves him alone with his “heart like ice”. 394 Jiří Měsíc The album is a comeback onto the scene and return to Cohen’s earlier themes. It contains songs influenced by the Thora and Jewish mythology. One may even say that it is a return to Judaism through Zen Buddhism. Aubrey Glazer claims that Cohen experienced Shaktipat (energy-descent) there, “a mind-to-mind release of pure consciousness transmitted by master to disciple”, which helped him to rediscover the roots of his Jewish identity (Glazer, 2017: 108). However, the director of the video did not capture Cohen’s newly regained sensibility and resorted to the creation of a rather dull video portraying the domestic life of a modern family. One asks, was it her reading of Cohen’s music, or his own idea? Was this album post-Apocalyptic? Were Cohen’s forecasts about the future fulfilled? 10 Because Of (2005) Cohen’s last music video in which he was participating appeared in 2005 to promote the song “Because Of ” from his album Dear Heather. It was shot by Cohen’s daughter Lorca Cohen (named after Federico García Lorca). It centres on a bed on which two teenage girls jump in their underwear and caress an oversized face of Cohen appearing in the window. Other scenes focus on him sitting in his kitchen and having a glass of wine in his hand. First on the chair, then on the ground in a meditation position. He also appears in cuts with sun glasses on, observing young girls jumping on the bed, although the song speaks about older women who “have been exceptionally kind to [the singer] in [his] old age”, such as Cohen’s then partner Anjani Thomas, who is dancing with him at the end of the video and who is also singing in the chorus. Unfortunately, the video presents Cohen as an old pervert man who likes to observe teenage girls in their underwear. Obviously, it is a parody of his womanizer’s reputation that he was cultivating in the latter part of his career and which reflects only a one-sided and superficial interpretation of his work. As a matter of fact, the song’s lyrics are the celebration of womanhood and female beauty rather than containing sexual undertones. The woman is portrayed as a mysterious figure, as we said before about Suzanne, who is at the same time the Shekhinah / the Virgin Mary / Anima. The singer seems to have planned the song to be his farewell, although eight years later, he began recording again and building on the old themes of his work: the qualities of the divine feminine. 395 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen 11 Latest Official Music Videos After Cohen’s last music video in which he participated, there appeared various official music videos to his work produced by Sony Music Entertainment. All of them draw on songs from the albums Old Ideas (2012), Popular Problems (2014), You Want It Darker (2016) and the posthumous album Thanks for the Dance (2019). Unfortunately, except for few exceptions, the music videos do not present any religious or spiritual focus and seem to be independent artistic creations. The following section presents a short description of the most relevant ones. In 2012, Dominique Issermann created a compilation of photos and shots to promote Cohen’s album Old Ideas (2012). An almost 14-minutes-long sensual video called Moments Of was shot with her iPhone and captures feminine beauty through the series of ordinary life situations giving a visual portrayal to 9 songs from the album. The very first shot focuses on the song “Amen” in which we see Dominique’s niece, Anne, in the bathroom, with a neck almost as long the neck of Botticelli’s Venus. Her naked body is carefully observed, and the scene ends up with Cohen’s chorus singing “Amen, Amen…” zooming on her backside. The other video presents a woman drinking coffee. Issermann is interested in little details, such as a tea spoon in the mouth of the actress and details of her face. Another piece presents the wife of Nick Cave, Susie, who is posing in a dark passage as the mysterious woman of the song “Darkness”. She presents a contrast to the virginal quality of previous women. Instead, she resembles the dark / sexual aspect of Suzanne and the Shekhinah. Next, the focus is put on another of Issermann’s nieces, Marie, and her naked breasts accompanying the song “Crazy to Love You”. We observe her through a glass bulb while Cohen sings a paean to the beauty of her body. In the next shot for the song “Come Healing”, while the focus is put on a lit candle, reminding of the Sabbath candle we mentioned earlier, the lyrics speak about the solitude of longing when waiting for the Shekhinah. Then, we see the model Anne Rohart in the song “Lullaby” as she is walking in her flat. She is also filming in first-person during her walk on the street and then lying in bed. In another scene, another model is preparing herself to take a New Year’s bath on the same beach in Trouville where Issermann shot the video of the song “First We Take Manhattan”. While in the last scene accompanying the song “Show Me the Place” we follow Cohen through the hotel corridor and see him removing shoes and socks in his room to take a nap in his bed with the fedora hat on while the song presents a supplication for the source of life, and, perhaps, a death which would liberate the soul from its bodily confinement. As we see, all these scenes draw on to the musical film I’m a Hotel as well as on Issermann’s previous work with the 396 Jiří Měsíc 9 I analysed the motif of rebirth in Cohen’s work in my article “The Song of Initiation by Leonard Cohen” (2013). See the bibliography for the full reference. singer. Surprisingly, the video has never been presented as official by Sony Music Entertainment. The video Travelling Light based on the eponymous song from the album You Want It Darker (2016) was made by the Belgian artist Sammy Slabbinck who also designed the cover of the album. The video features archival footage material from the singer’s life. It opens with the poignant words of Cohen smoking a cigarette on his balcony: “I feel a lot stronger, but I’m actually a lot weaker. I wake up in my bed and I feel like, ‘That’s how I used to feel’ … and then I swing my legs off the bed and I try to stand up! ” Laughing. The video contains scenes from the videos made by Dominique Issermann analysed earlier and a rare material from his concerts and other biographical videos. The song gives the final farewell of Cohen who died shortly after its release in 2016. “I’m traveling light / It’s au revoir / My once so bright / My fallen star”. Leaving the Table from the same album was directed by Christopher Mills and premiered at Polaris Music Awards in Canada in 2017. The video presents an old man jumping from a big stone cross and flying over the landscape of his life. The images appearing in the video are hand painted and pasted into the scenes. It is another melancholic video focusing on the singer’s life rather than on spiritual qualities of his lyrics. Happens to the Heart from the posthumous album Thanks for the Dance (2019) is the first video released on Nowness, “a video channel premiering the best in global arts and culture across Art & Design, Culture, Fashion & Beauty, Music and Food & Travel” (Nowness, 2020). As other videos in this series Thanks for the Dance: Artistic Responses to Leonard Cohen, it was produced in partnership with Sony Music Canada and Leonard Cohen Estate. The video was directed by Daniel Askill who focused on Cohen’s Zen Buddhist practice. It shows a girl dressed as Leonard Cohen―a black coat, suit and a fedora hat ―going through the forest and experiencing a rebirth 9 . She is throwing away clothes with tears in her eyes before meeting a Buddhist master who gives her monastic robes to start a Buddhist training. The lyrics make a reference to Suzanne Elrod, who hurt the repenting singer, and to Roshi, who was Cohen’s master in the Zen Monastery at Mount Baldy and who was shortly before his death accused of forcing various Buddhist students to perform sexual practices with him (Knoll, 2013). In the video, the girl reaches the lake and stares at it from above the rock before she sits down in a lotus position, closes her eyes and starts levitating. The message is clear, the suffering about which Cohen’s lyrics speak leads to nirvana. 397 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen Moreover, the levitation comes in a moment when Cohen sings about using his father’s shotgun to commit suicide. In other words, in a moment describing the end of the physical / bodily existence. The Nowness creative director Bunny Kinney comments on the series of videos as follows: [O]ur ambition with this series of short films is not only to uphold and celebrate Leonard Cohen’s incredible artistic legacy with new visuals, helmed by some of the most exciting image-makers working today, but to also further explore Cohen’s work and the core thematic of his music: from love and loss to artistic expression itself, identity, self-reflection, transformation and transcendence. (Nowness, 2019) Moving On (Thanks for the Dance, 2020) is the next official video from the same series. It was shot on the Greek island of Hydra on which Cohen was living in the early 60s. We may see the scenes from his room in which he wrote his poems and his novel Beautiful Losers (1966) as well as the island’s landscape and the sea. The video was directed by Laure Prouvost and Ciarán Wood who wanted to reconstruct Cohen’s footsteps on the island. For this reason, they used first-person filming to show what Cohen might have seen with his own eyes. The lyrics refer to the old beauty who abandoned the singer - Suzanne / the Shekhinah / the Virgin Mary / Anima, who is called “Queen of Lilac, Queen of Blue” (which are the royal colours) in the song. Cohen asks her: “Who’s moving on? / Who’s kidding who? ” somehow emphasizing that her abandonment of him was not fair. Unfortunately, the directors of the clip did not pay any attention to the lyrics, although their video presents an indisputable beauty of the island. Thanks for the Dance is the latest official music video in the Nowness series directed by the photographer Harley Weir. It stages a former Disney actress Rowan Blanchard who plays the role of a bride going through various stages of life, an old man reappearing in several scenes reaching for her and Botticelli’s Venus personified by the British actress Lily Cole. Venus is surrounded by three toddlers, one of them is dark-skinned. Her relation to the woman is obvious as they both reflect one another’s sexuality and virginity at once. By this, the director follows upon the work of Cohen and the duality of Suzanne. However, there is a distracting moment of two elderly men in a tub, taking off their shirts and smoking. (Are they two parts of Cohen? Cohen the man and Cohen the artist? ) Then the moment of rebirth comes into mind, as the man’s foot is walking over oyster shells (probably left from Botticelli’s Venus) and a young kid appears floating in the tub water. In the final scene, we see the silhouette of the man with a hat and a bride wallowing in mud. Her white dress is soiled when the scene shifts to the bath plug being pulled out, which represents the 398 Jiří Měsíc moment of birth. As in the previous instances, the focus is put on artistic creation rather than representing the lyrics which deal with two partners and their post-coital debate. In this case, the lyrics do not have any religious, or spiritual connotations. The song was written for Cohen’s female partner Anjani Thomas and released earlier on her album Blue Alert in 2006. However, the director has expanded on its meaning and employed symbolism representing Cohen’s oeuvre as a whole. Thus, she imbued the song with spirituality through her visual portrayal. 12 Conclusion While Cohen’s work presents an extraordinary artistic coherence, the directors who approached it were not able to capture it in its totality. Rather, each of them focused on certain aspects to base their own artistic creations on. Therefore, their videos provide an interpretation which, in most cases, does not match the lyrics, their characters nor their landscape. Cohen’s Shekhinah is not a beautiful woman, but a feminine aspect of G-d that does not manifest as a human being, although it may incarnate in the believers during the Sabbath. To understand such a phenomenon, our human mind which does not have any other recourse than to imagine concepts as things and beings, sees these processes as a reflection of human relationships. That is why the directors portray Cohen’s work as purely erotic and we do the same when reading mystical poetry in which we often see the union with G-d as a sexual act between people. Yet Cohen’s religious zeal is largely avoided by the film makers. Perhaps, due to their atheistic beliefs, or to the inability to portray it visually. Nevertheless, seeing religious symbolism in Cohen’s work is unavoidable considering that the author draws on Abrahamic religions in all his œuvre. His characters, who always represent the feminine and masculine parts of the self, of people and G-d, of the singer and the Shekhinah, have a certain cultural / biblical baggage which they carry in their ordinary lives. Cohen’s language is the perfect example of this “baggage” since it speaks about the consumption of love and rebirth of the soul, which is also the consequence of the Shekhinah entering the believer. Therefore, although the settings are biblical, Cohen’s lovers live in our secular world. Our prophet himself spent the last decades living in Mid-Wilshire in Los Angeles, not in the Desert of Paran. The overview of his filmography is not as extensive as of other popular singers. The analysis has presented 8 music videos with the direct participation of the singer and other 6 videos based on the songs from his recent albums. Intentionally, I have avoided some latest lyrical videos which do not present any 399 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen worthy material and one semi-official video called Take This Waltz (1986), which was filmed in Granada and in Fuente Vaqueros (Spain) as an homage to Federico García Lorca, and which does not present any visual narrative important for this analysis. Nowness is going to continue with their project so we will be seeing more attempts at visualising Cohen’s songs in the future. However, the faithful representation of the Shekhinah is an elusive feat still left to be realised. Bibliographical References Askill, D. (Director). (2019). Happens to the Heart [Music Video]. Canada: Sony Music Canada. https: / / youtu.be/ 2AMMb9CiScI/ (Accessed on 26 April 2020.) Babich, B. (2013). The Hallelujah Effect: Philosophical Reflections on Music, Performance Practice, and Technology. Surrey, England: Ashgate. Burger, J. (2014). Leonard Cohen on Leonard Cohen. 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Kabbalah: Journal for the Study of Jewish Mystical Texts, 15, 103-53. 403 Shekhinah in Leonard Cohen LIST OF AUTHORS P EDRO A LEMANY N AVARRO is a two-time winner of the National Award for Excellence in Academic Performance in Spain and is currently a postdoctoral fellow at the Department of German Studies of the University of Seville. Although his main research field is that of Jewish Studies, Alemany’s further interests include modern philosophy, psychoanalysis and film studies. His scholarship is also informed by his graduate studies at Cornell University. palemany@us.es M ANUEL A LMAGRO -J IMÉNEZ is a Professor in the Department of English and American Literature at the University of Seville. His main field of research is concerned with Modernism and Postmodernism. Among his many publications there are articles on J. Joyce, E. Pound, H. James, D.H. Lawrence, and V. Woolf, as well as more contemporary authors such as J.M. Coetzee and the hypertext of Shelley Jackson. He is the director of the Research Group “Discourses of Post‐ modernity”, with which he has organized diverse Conferences and Symposiums on Postmodernism, as well as extra-curricular courses on “Representations of the Postmodern”, from an inter-disciplinary perspective. almagro@us.es M IGUEL A Y ERB E -L INARE S hat Germanistik an den Universitäten von Sevilla und Köln studiert. Seit 2002 ist er an der Universität des Baskenlandes tätig, wo er deutsche Sprachgeschichte und deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters unterrichtet. Seine Forschungsgebiete sind u. a. Historische Entwicklung der deutschen Sprache, Probleme beim Übersetzen altgermanischer Texte des Mittelalters ins Spanische, Vergleichende Literaturwissenschaft und Diskursanalyse sowohl aus diachroner als aus synchroner Sicht, in deren Rahmen er an verschiedenen staatlichen Forschungsprojekten beteiligt war. miguel.ayerbe@ehu.eus M ONT S ERRAT B A S CO Y L AMELA S ist seit 2011 an der Universität Alcalá tätig. Sie hat Germanistik an der Universität Santiago de Compostela studiert und 2007 an derselben Universität mit einer Dissertation über Bettina von Arnims Werk Die Günderode promoviert. Seit 2002 hat sie an verschiedenen Forschungsprojekten über Gender Studies und Literatur von Frauen teilge‐ nommen und mehrere Publikationen über deutsche und österreichische Autor‐ innen veröffentlicht. montserrat.bascoy@uah.es S ERGIO C OBO -D URÁN holds a PhD in Communication from the University of Seville. He is currently Assistant Professor of the Audiovisual Communication and Advertising Department of the University of Seville. He is also a member of the ADMIRA research group. He has presented papers in congresses, articles and book chapters on audiovisual fiction, script, non-fiction cinema and television series. He has also edited two books about TV series, Breaking Bad (2013) and Sons of Anarchy (2017), about the representation of the serial killer in contemporary television fiction (2015) and another one related to the aesthetics and narratives of Spanish new waves cinema (2016). cobosergio@us.es R OC Í O C O BO - PIÑERO is a postdoctoral fellow and lecturer at the University of Seville, in the Department of English and North American Literature, where she completed her PhD. She received her MA in African American Studies from the University of Pennsylvania, USA. Her major fields of interest are contemporary African and African American literature, music and popular culture. She has published, among others, in the Journal of Postcolonial Writing; Atlantis and Ilha do Desterro: A Journal of Literatures in English and Cultural Studies. She has also contributed in the volumes Afropolitan Literature as World Literature (2020); Black US and Spain: Shared Memories in the 20th Century (2019); and Women on the Move: Body, Memory, and Femininity in Present-Day Transnational Diasporic Writing (2018). She is also the author of the book Sounds of the Diaspora: Blues and Jazz in Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, and Gayl Jones. rociocobo@us.es L E O P OLDO D OM Í NGUEZ arbeitet als Dozent an der Universität Sevilla. 2015 promovierte er mit einer Dissertation über Dieter Fortes Prosawerk Tetralogie der Erinnerung (1992-2004). Er hat Forschungsaufenthalte an der Freien Univer‐ sität Berlin, der Justus-Liebig-Universität Gießen und der Universität Leipzig absolviert. Außerdem hat er an mehreren landesweiten Forschungsprojekten teilgenommen. Er hat zahlreiche Veröffentlichungen im Themenbereich Erin‐ nerung und Literatur seit 1989/ 90. Wichtigste Veröffentlichungen: La presencia del flâneur en Tetralogie der Erinnerung de Dieter Forte (2016), “Erzählen ist überleben”. Der Erinnerungsdiskurs im Prosawerk von Dieter Forte (2018), Historia, memoria y recuerdo. Escrituras y reescrituras del pasado en la narrativa en 406 LIST OF AUTHORS lengua alemana desde 1945 (2018), Das Heimatlose erzählen. Raumdarstellung und Inszenierung des Erinnerns im Prosawerk von Marica Bodrožić (2019). ldominguez3@us.es B RUNO E CHAURI G ALVÁN holds a B.A. in English Studies, a master’s degree in European Studies, a master’s degree in Translation and Interpreting in Public Services, and a PhD in Modern Languages, Translation and Literature. He started his research career analyzing translation and interpreting in healthcare settings, with a special focus on contexts related to mental health. In recent years, he has changed his field of study in order to approach intersemiotic translation, exploring different phenomena occurring in transmutation processes between texts and illustrations. At both stages of his research experience, he has partici‐ pated in several international conferences, and he has published extensively in internationally recognized translation journals such as Babel, Onomázein, or Hermeneus. He currently works as a lecturer in English and Translation Studies at the University of Alcalá. bruno.echauri@uah.es M ARGARITA E S TÉVEZ -S AÁ is Associate Professor in English and American Literature at the University of Santiago de Compostela. Her research interests include the work of James Joyce and, more recently, contemporary Irish fiction by women. She has published essays in which she studies the topic of immigration in recent Irish fiction, such as “Antidotes to Celtic Tiger Ireland in Contemporary Irish Fiction: Anne Haverty’s The Free and the Easy and Éillís Ní Dhuibne’s Fox, Swallow, Scarecrow” (2010) and “Immigration in Celtic Tiger and post-Celtic Tiger Novels” (2013). She has also read contemporary novels in English from a transcultural perspective in “Trauma and Transculturalism in Contemporary Fictional Memories of the 9/ 11 Terrorist Attacks” (2016), and “‘Us returniks’: Transcultural Atlantic Exchanges in Mary Rose Callaghan’s and Elizabeth Wassell’s Novels” (2018). More recently, she has co-edited with María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia the volume The Ethics and Aesthetics of Eco-caring: Contemporary Debates on Ecofeminism(s) (2019). margarita.estevez.saa@usc.es S ILVIA G ARC Í A H ERNÁNDEZ holds a PhD in Modern Languages, Literature, and Translation from the Universidad de Alcalá. She is currently an Assistant Professor at the same university. Her main research areas include contemporary British literature, with a special focus on women writers, and foreign language teaching. She is a member of two Research Groups: Literatures and Cultures in the English Language and Language and Education. silvia.garciah@uah.es 407 LIST OF AUTHORS C LAUDIA B EATRIZ G ARNICA holds a PhD from the Universidad Nacional in Cuyo. She is also a researcher in the Department of Literary and Cultural History, German, and Comparative Literature at the Faculty of Humanities of the Universidad Nacional in Cuyo. She has widely published and taught postdoctoral courses on Argentinian German immigrants, post-war German literature, thematology, imagology and travel literature, both in Argentina and abroad. She was co-founder of the Argentinian Association of Comparative Literature and of the Argentinian Germanist Studies Association. She is also a member of the Latin-American Germanist Studies Association and of the International Germanist Studies Association. A LB ERTO L ENA holds a PhD in American Studies from Exeter University and Cinema Studies from Valladolid University. He is currently working as civil servant at the Department of Education in Castilla y León (Spain). He is the author of essays on Francis F. Coppola, Benjamin Franklin, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Alfred Hitchcock, Ernest Hemingway and Thornton Wilder. He is currently researching on the representation of Germany in American Culture and the Holocaust. alena_ord@yahoo.co.uk C HRI S TIANE L IMBACH lehrt Übersetzen und Dolmetschen an der Universität Pablo de Olavide in Sevilla. Sie unterrichtet ebenfalls am Instituto Superior de Estudios Lingüísticos y Traducción. Sie promovierte an der Universität Gra‐ nada zum Thema „Audiovisuelles Übersetzen und Barrierefreiheit“ und hat an verschiedenen Forschungsprojekten in diesem Bereich teilgenommen sowie Innovationsprojekte geleitet. Sie ist ebenfalls durch das spanische Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores y de Cooperación ernannte beeidigte Dolmetscherin und Über‐ setzerin in der Sprachkombination Deutsch-Spanisch und Spanisch-Deutsch. Zu ihren Forschungsgebieten und -interessen gehören die Didaktik des Dol‐ metschens, Interkulturalität und Übersetzen, Barrierefreiheit aus einer überset‐ zungswissenschaftlichen Perspektive und audiovisuelles Übersetzen. Hervorzu‐ hebende Publikationen sind u.a.: Career opportunities in the field of Translation and Interpreting illustrated by the character of Missandei in the series Game of Thrones; The case of the interpreter Missandei in the series Game of thrones approached from different ethical codes. clim@upo.es Y IYI L ÓP EZ G ÁNDARA is a Lecturer at the Department of Language Education of the University of Seville. She trains both primary and secondary school language teachers, and lectures on TEFL and research in language education. Her research focuses on the field of bilingual education, where she has published 408 LIST OF AUTHORS on the use of digital resources and materials inside and outside the bilingual classroom and the effect of CLIL programmes on L1 competence development. Other research interests include critical approaches to language education and learner empowerment. She is currently engaged in a research project funded by the Spanish Ministry of Education on the literacy practices of young learners in deprived urban areas. yiyi@us.es M ARTA M ARIÑO -M EXUTO is currently preparing her PhD at the University of Santiago de Compostela. She graduated in Classics at the University of Valla‐ dolid in 2015. Afterwards, she obtained a Master’s Degree in Literary Theory and Comparative Literature at the University of Salamanca and a Master’s Degree in Teacher Training: Secondary and Upper Secondary Education, Vocational training and Language Teaching at the University of A Coruña. Her research field is mainly the rewriting of ancient myth in modern literature, whether it can be classified as inspiration or rather as a subversion of the classic conventions. Recently she has published “La transformación del mito en Un hombre que se parecía a Orestes, de Álvaro Cunqueiro” (2018) and “La presencia del mito clásico en To Helen (I y II) de Edgar Allan Poe” (2018). mmarinom@gmail.com J IŘÍ M Ě S Í C holds a Ph.D. in English and American Literature from Palacký Uni‐ versity in Olomouc. His main interest are the mystical branches of Abrahamic religions (Christian mysticism, Kabbalah, Sufism) and their echoes in popular literature and song, especially in the work of the singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen. Besides this, he is a published poet and translator of John Pass, Ariana Reines and Gertrude Stein into Czech. Currently, he teaches ethics and cultural studies at ESIC University in Madrid. jirimesic@gmail.com E VA P ARRA -M EMBRIVE S ist Professorin für deutsche Literatur und Übersetzung un unterrichtet seit 1992 an der Universität Sevilla. Zu ihren Forschungsschwer‐ punkten gehören die deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters, mit zahlreichen Publi‐ kationen u. a. zu Roswitha von Gandersheim, Walther von der Vogelweide, Frau Ava und Hildegard von Bingen, und, seit 2008, der Kriminalroman von Frauen. Sie ist Mitherausgeberin der Popular Fiction Studies seit 2013. membrives2@gmail.com L ORENA S ILO S is an Associate Professor at the University de Alcalá, where she teaches courses on German language and translation. She was awarded a PhD in Swiss studies and has lectured at the Otto-Friedrich Universität Bamberg, at 409 LIST OF AUTHORS Queen Mary, University of London and at the University of Barcelona. Her main research areas are Swiss literature, reception studies and literary constructions of identity. She has published extensively and has contributed to numerous conferences and workshops, both in Spain and abroad in the fields of literature and reception studies. Lorena.silos@uah.es I R ENE R AYA B RAVO holds a PhD from the University of Seville, where she currently teaches. Her main research lines focus on audiovisual narrative and television history. Besides participating in several publications about filming, television, narrative, genre and gender she has coordinated three books: Reyes, espadas, cuervos y dragones. Estudio del fenómeno televisivo Juego de Tronos (2013), De la estaca al martillo. Un viaje por los universos de Joss Whedon de Buffy a Los Vengadores (2015), and El viaje de la heroína. 10 iconos femeninos épicos del cine y la televisión (2019, Asecan Award Winner). She is a member of the research group ADMIRA - Analysis of media, images and audiovisual tales in its history for social change (SEJ496). iraya@us.es M ARINA T ORNE RO T ARRAGÓ has a PhD in education from the University of Seville with a dissertation on media literacy (2017). She graduated in English Philology from the University of Seville and holds a course of pedagogical adaptation from the Institute of Educational Sciences, as well as a Spanish as a Second Language Teacher course at the Instituto Cervantes. She held workshops on methodologies in teaching Spanish at Columbia University in New York. She was certified as an English teacher by the state of New York, where she taught English (2007-2010). She has also taught at the University of Seville in Educational Sciences, Master of Teacher Training and Institute of Languages. She has been a teacher in different places like Business School ESIC, Trinity College, UNIR and in companies like INDRA, teaching Business Studies in English. mtornero@us.es 410 LIST OF AUTHORS Popular Fiction Studies edited by Eva Parra-Membrives and Albrecht Classen Bisher sind erschienen: Frühere Bände finden Sie unter: http: / / narr-starter.de 1 Eva Parra Membrives, Albrecht Classen (Hrsg.) Literatur am Rand/ Literature on the Margin Perspektiven der Trivialliteratur vom Mittelalter bis zum 21. Jahrhundert/ Perspectives of Trivial Literature from the Middle Ages to the 21st Century 2013, 304 Seiten €[D] 68,00,- ISBN 978-3-8233-6764-2 2 Albrecht Classen, Eva Parra-Membrives (Hrsg.) Bestseller gestern und heute / Bestseller - Yesterday and Today Ein Blick vom Rand zum Zentrum der Literaturwissenschaft / A Look from the Margin to the Center of Literary Studies 2016, 230 Seiten €[D] 68,00,- ISBN 978-3-8233-6938-7 3 Eva Parra-Membrives, Wolfgang Brylla (Hrsg.) Facetten des Kriminalromans Ein Genre zwischen Tradition und Innovation 2015, 240 Seiten €[D] 78,00,- ISBN 978-3-8233-6946-2 4 Albrecht Classen, Wolfgang Brylla, Andrey Kotin (Hrsg.) Eros und Logos Literarische Formen des sinnlichen Begehrens in der (deutschsprachigen) Literatur vom Mittelalter bis zur Gegenwart 2018, 342 Seiten €[D] 78,00,- ISBN 978-3-8233-8123-5 5 Paloma Ortiz-de-Urbina (Hrsg.) Germanic Myths in the Audiovisual Culture 2020, 218 Seiten €[D] 78,00,- ISBN 978-3-8233-8300-0 6 Manuel Almagro-Jiménez, Eva Parra- Membrives (Hrsg.) From Page to Screen / Vom Buch zum Film Modification and Misrepresentation of Female Characters in Audiovisual Media / Veränderung und Verfälschung weiblicher Figuren in den audiovisuellen Medien 2020, 411 Seiten €[D] 88,00,- ISBN 978-3-8233-8367-3 For a long time now, women have struggled for the vindication of their rights and for their visibility. This struggle may seem a story of success, maybe not complete or equal for all women, but at least one which slowly but surely carries with it the promise of equality for all women. However, a closer look reveals that in various fields of culture the representation of women frequently undergoes a manipulation which makes the image of women lose the intention initially attempted. This is often the case with adaptations of literary texts to the screen, when the initial literary message is changed because of, for example, marketing demands or some ideological stance. Rarely do we find the opposite case where the indifferent or emasculated original female characters are turned into guardians and/ or apologists of feminine power. The present volume focuses precisely on the way in which the image of women is modified in films and TV series, when compared with the original literary texts. ISBN 978-3-8233-8367-3 Popular Fiction Studies 6