Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
28–37
doi: 10.1093/adaptation/apq011
Advance Access publication 11 August 2010
Abstract This article argues that despite the growing and articulate chorus of adaptation scholars
who critique the language of fidelity and its consequential denigration of adaptation as an art form,
some of these contemporary scholars continue to repeat reductive cultural hierarchies and the
binary structure of fidelity criticism. I suggest that where this does happen, it does so because of a
cultural binary that structures the language of fidelity: masculine/feminine. Consequently, critical
discourses of adaptation often utilise a gendered language that constructs a masculine/feminine
hierarchy between novel/film and frames the problems of fidelity and adaptation studies as feminine.
It is important to move beyond the moralistic and judgmental ideal of ‘fidelity’. At the same
time, we have to acknowledge at the outset that ‘fidelity’, however discredited theoretically,
does retain a grain of experiential truth. Words like ‘infidelity’ and ‘betrayal’. . . translate our
feeling, when we have loved a book, that an adaptation has not been worthy of that love (emphasis added).
Robert Stam (4)
Despite the growing and articulate chorus of adaptation scholars who critique the
language of fidelity and its consequential denigration of adaptation as an art form, this
article argues that some of these contemporary scholars continue to repeat the cultural
values that underpin the binary structure of fidelity criticism. I suggest that where this
does happen, it does so because of a cultural binary that structures the language of
fidelity: masculine/feminine. In the first epigraph, Naremore suggests that one of the
cultural values that shape fidelity criticism is a gendered language that is a result of viewing
adaptations as translation. In ‘The Gendered Language of Fidelity’, I follow the impli-
cations of this statement and, drawing on the work of feminist translation theorists,
critique the sexed and gendered structuring of the value for faithfulness that permeates
the general popular discourse, showing how fidelity employs a metaphor of hetero-
sexual love and marriage to maintain gendered language and hierarchies. Then, in
‘Feminine Reading and Genres’ and ‘Masculine Theories and Metaphors’, I focus my
critique on the more recent influential work of Robert Stam, with reference to Brian
McFarlane and Thomas Leitch, to show how the masculine/feminine binary can structure
Chamberlain argues that the value for fidelity in translation studies and criticism
attempts to resolve ‘what cannot be decided’. Similarly, in her article ‘Adaptation as
Undecidable: Fidelity and Binarity from Bluestone to Derrida’, Rochelle Hurst makes
her case against fidelity criticism by arguing that adaptation is ‘an undecidable . . . situ-
ated somewhere between the categories of novel and film, simultaneously recognized as
both and as neither . . . thereby refuting the hierarchy that situates the novel as innately
superior to the film, and therefore rendering problematic the desire for fidelity’ (187).
This article endorses a critical respect for what cannot be decided (and advocates the
productive possibilities of such a stance for adaptation studies). Still, as I will demon-
strate below, within adaptation scholarship intolerance for the undecidable remains.
Like translations, film adaptations (or motion picture versions) are considered derivative works
by copyright law and they can be made only by the owner of the copyright of the
adapted text or by someone who has been given permission by that owner.4 Ultimately,
the language of fidelity ‘betrays real anxiety about the problem of paternity and
translation; it mimics the patrilineal kinship system where paternity—not maternity—
legitimizes an offspring’ (Chamberlain 58). The legal dimensions of adaptation are
linked to the cultural debates about faithfulness, originality, and authenticity by their
emphasis on legitimacy. Of course, as Chamberlain notes, ‘the infamous “double stan-
dard” operates here as it might have in traditional marriages’ (58). The derivative work
has no hold over the source text, which may spawn multiple versions, and it is only ‘the
“unfaithful” wife/translation [who] is publicly tried for crimes the husband/original is
by law incapable of committing’ (Chamberlain 58). We can no more imagine accusing
a novel of infidelity because it has multiple adaptations than we can imagine accusing
a poem in Greek of being unfaithful because it has been translated into English, German,
and French. The public trial for film adaptations takes place within the public discourse
of newspaper, magazine, television, and new media reviews and in academic articles
and books that inveigh against the film’s adulterous tendencies, using various terms for
being inconstant, disloyal, untrue, false, a cheat, and a betrayal, words that recent schol-
arship insistently and rightly reject. These words can invoke other, more sexualised,
words associated with the destruction of the sanctity of the metaphorical relationship,
such as spoil, profane, defame, and debase. The adapter is accused of abusing,
ravaging, defiling, and molesting the original. In his review of Mansfield Park (Patricia
Rozema 1999), Peter Bradshaw is adamant that ‘Patricia Rozema takes some diabolical
liberties with her perversely experimentalist, and frankly preposterous, reading of Mansfield
Park’ (Bradshaw, emphasis added). In the Women’s Review of Books, Jane Marcus reviews
Sally Potter’s Orlando (1992), saying that she ‘can’t believe anyone who helped with the
making of this mockery of genius has ever read the book . . . or they would not have
dared to desecrate it’ (11, emphasis added). And, Michael Anesko declares that Jane
Campion’s adaptation of The Portrait of a Lady (1996) is ‘inexorably pornographic’ (185).
Sexual violation and lasciviousness are the implied alternative metaphors to fidelity.
In Novel to Film: An Introduction to the Theory of Adaptation, Brian McFarlane interrogates
this kind of language and suggests the need to move away from ‘words like “tampering”
Adaptation and Gendered Discourses 31
and “interference” and even “violation”, [because they] give the whole process an air
of deeply sinister molestation’ (12). McFarlane comes close to recognising the metaphor
of sex in fidelity criticism by showing that even apparently banal words like ‘interfer-
McFarlane displaces the object of sanctity from the original text to the viewer’s memory of
it but the word violence functions to uphold the gendered language of fidelity and its
moralising. The circular logic of fidelity causes him to both describe the product of
adaptation and prescribe the process of adaptation. Hurst also critiques McFarlane for
repeating the ‘fidelity fixation’, a result of his insistence on ‘media specificity’ (175). We
should also question whose memory is worth protecting, which viewer is the viewer when
every reader-viewer has his or her own memory, including the adaptation scholar—this
impossible choice is an instance of adaptation’s undecidability. My analysis suggests that,
when it comes to fidelity, the repressed returns, in part at least, because of the language’s
entrenchment in pervasive views, assumptions, traditions, and beliefs about gender and
sex. In a parallel to the critic’s chivalric defence of the novel against the film’s interference
in a review, McFarlane makes a chivalric (if not paternal) defence of the viewer’s memory
from the film’s interference. Moreover, as I have noted above, whose memory is at stake
is unclear, and the return of a displaced fidelity offers protection not only for the abstract
viewer’s memory but also, potentially, a defence of McFarlane’s own personal memory.
In the second epigraph to this chapter, Stam argues that the language of fidelity
‘translate[s] our feeling[s]’ for (or, most often, against) the adaptation, feelings that exist
only in relation to our original feelings of love for the book. No matter how one dresses
the moralistic and the judgmental’. Stam’s mistrust of feeling and emotion and the
positioning of them as outside intellectual and critical analysis includes him in what
Rita Felski calls ‘a long-standing tradition of male-authored scholarship that is deeply
Leitch’s language is quite striking; like Stam, he describes novels as being loved and his
use of the word seduction demonstrates how adaptation ‘deals of necessity with sexually
charged materials’. Leitch suggests that adaptations of romantic love novels have over-
shadowed the adaptations of romantic adventure, keeping his examples limited to the
novels of Dumas père: The Three Musketeers, The Man in the Iron Mask, and The Count of
Monte Cristo (108). The value of his article is how it shows that some film adaptations
have not been understood as adaptations per se, thereby leaving a hole in the study of
the field. It is fairly clear, though, that the problem he identifies is that the genre of adap-
tation has been dominated, if not defined, by feminine romantic love adaptations rather
than masculine romantic adventure adaptations. Leitch lays out four identifying char-
acteristics of the adaptation genre (period setting, costume drama, fetishising of history,
and intertitles) that are found in both feminine and masculine adaptations, and then he
states clearly why there has been an over association of the genre with the feminine:
These four markers, all essential to adaptations that identify themselves as adaptations, may
be contrasted with a trait long and erroneously assumed to be a genre marker of adaptations
because it is found in most amatory romances, though in hardly any swashbucklers: rever-
ence for the source text. (114)8
Instead of reverence for read fidelity to and we are in the same critical territory that I have
been highlighting in this article: critical discourses regularly describe the problems and
difficulties of adaptation studies in terms of femininity. If the feminine adaptation is
most often the faithful adaptation, it is no surprise then that Leitch’s solution to the
problem of adaptation as a genre is to foreground the masculine romantic adventure
adaptation. I agree with Leitch that many of the films that do not fit the assumed ex-
pectations of what an adaptation looks like need to be re-evaluated, but it is not
necessary to engage in this kind of gendering of the genre to make the case.9
in agreement.10 What I am arguing is that they both miss the gendered nature of their
critiques and solutions. For Stam, this causes him to repeat demands of fidelity that he
rejects. As an alternative to the emotional, subjective, and feminine model of fidelity, he
In its more positive forms, equivalency theory promotes the analogous possibilities
between the novel and film. However, because equivalency theory looks for the adap-
tation to find cinematic equivalents of the novel’s various literary qualities, it inevitably
privileges the novel, finding that film does not have adequate equivalent properties or
qualities compared to the written word. Attempting to move beyond fidelity, and equiv-
alency theory, Stam offers an alternative ‘practical/analytical model’ (emphasis in the
original), which he argues can help us answer ‘many of the questions about adaptation
[that] have to do with the modifications and permutations of the story. Here we enter
into the realm of narratology’ (32). Stam takes his model of narratology from Gerard
Genette, specifically Genette’s Palimpsestes (1982), but recognises that, ‘since it involves
two semiotically distinct texts relaying the same narrative . . .. The issue becomes
one of comparative narratology (emphasis in the original)’ (34). The version of
narratology that Stam uses is very formal and structuralist, using dense terminology,
creating categories that break narrative down into its constituent parts, and it privileges
the text as a structure without context and requires a scientific-like objectivity in order
to taxonomise narrative features in full. Narratology, for Stam, is the very opposite of
the noncritical and ‘touchy-feely’ fidelity. It is, for him, analytical and objective, having
all the masculine qualities necessary to counter the feminine weaknesses of fidelity. The
following are some of the questions Stam says a comparative narratology should pursue:
There is also the question of stylistic equivalences across the two media. Which features are
‘translatable’ and which are not? What is the filmic equivalent of an ‘adjective’ or ‘qualifier?’
Lighting and music and angle, for example, could be seen as ‘adjectivally’ placing characters
‘in a certain light’, or seeing them from ‘a certain angle’. Does a wide-angle or fish-eye lens
on a face form the equivalent of the adjective ‘grotesque?’ . . .. What is needed, and what I
have only begun to gesture toward here, is a thoroughgoing comparative stylistics of the
two media. (40–41)
Within this thoughtful paragraph remains the search for equivalences. Stam points to
‘stylistic equivalences’ and asks ‘which features are “translatable” and which are not?’
Despite his rejection of equivalency theory, Stam’s textual analysis continues to look for
what he says does not exist: ‘But what might be the ideal cinematic means for evoking
Adaptation and Gendered Discourses 35
the ennui that permeates a novel like Madame Bovary?’ (33). By looking for an ideal evocation,
Stam returns to a value for fidelity, showing a clear intolerance for the undecidable.
Although he proffers narratology as on the side of intellect in opposition to fidelity’s
for speaking about adaptations’ (24) because, for me (as it is for others like Hurst), the
exciting, if sometimes anxiety-producing, element of adaptations is that an adaptation is
an undecidable. As soon as we try to fit it into a critical model, metaphor or binary, it
NOTES
1
Linda Hutcheon considers adaptation in terms of recent translation theory that views translation as ‘an
act of both inter-cultural and inter-temporal communication’ (16).
2
I would also suggest that the language of fidelity is not exclusively gendered insomuch as gender can be
understood as discrete from other power relations such as colonialism; as a metaphor, fidelity also evokes
the image of a loyal, but ultimately indebted, servant. It recalls the ideal of the suitable helpmeet whose
role as companion hides the truth of her or his indentured status, requiring the knowledge of the power
structures and abuses that govern the relationships between owner and slave, master and servant, teacher
and disciple, leader and follower, and employer and employee while simultaneously effecting the repression
of that knowledge.
3
For more on how metaphors shape not just the way we speak about the world but also the way we expect
the world to be, see Lakoff and Johnson.
4
For the definition of derivative work see US Code 17 § 101, which can be found at http://www.law.cornell
.edu/uscode/html/uscode17/usc_sec_17_00000101----000-.html
5
Fidelity, of course, assumes that the viewer has read the novel. Stam’s argument seems to suggest that it
also assumes that the viewer/reader enjoyed the book and considers it a good one, when it would be possible
to expect fidelity of an adaptation to a novel that one did not necessarily like or did not think had any
quality.
6
For more on cultural images of the woman reader, see Kate Flint’s The Woman Reader, 1837–1914 and
Janice Radway’s Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy, and Popular Literature (1984).
7
See Monk for more on heritage cinema as women’s cinema.
8
I have disagreements with Leitch’s criteria but it is not necessary to iterate them for this article’s argu-
ment. I would also argue that he overstates the link between fidelity and the amatory adaptation. My forth-
coming monograph on adaptations made by women filmmakers of women’s novels suggests that these
feminine adaptations are often purposefully and self-consciously unfaithful to their source texts (and recognised
as such). Bridget Jones’s Diary is a case in point; see Cobb ‘Adaptable Bridget’.
9
As noted above, I would argue also that Leitch’s four markers of the adaptation genre are highly debatable.
10
See Leitch’s Film Adaptation and Its Discontents.
REFERENCES
Anesko, Michael. “The Consciousness on the Cutting Room Floor: Jane Campion’s The Portrait of a Lady.”
Henry James on Stage and Screen. Ed. John R. Bradley. New York: Palgrave, 2000.
Bradshaw, Peter. “Mansfield Park.” The Guardian 31 Mar. 2000. 30 Apr. 2010. http://www.guardian.co
.uk/film/2000/mar/31/culture.peterbradshaw1.
Chamberlain, Lori. “Gender and the Metaphorics of Translation.” Rethinking Translation: Discourse, Subjec-
tivity, Ideology. Ed. Lawrence Venuti. London: Routledge, 1992.
Cobb, Shelley. “Adaptable Bridget: Generic Intertextuality and Postfeminism in Bridget Jones’s Diary.”
Authorship in Adaptation. Ed. Jack Boozer. U of Texas P, 2008.
Felski, Rita. Literature after Feminism. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2003.
Adaptation and Gendered Discourses 37
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am grateful to Neil Ewen and the reviewers for their helpful criticism and advice on
the revising of this article.