The transformation of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead into a film of the same name raises interesting questions about the nature of adaptation. Most often, the register of conversations about the adaptation of a literary text into a film is that of disappointment. Disappointment manifests itself when actors do not faithfully portray the characters of the novel, when paradigmatic indeterminances with respect to mise-en-scene, for instance, costume are rendered in a manner which does not coincide with our personal expectations (think for instance Ellsworth Toohey’s attire which by no means replicate the novel), when central plot features are removed rendering the narrative illogical or incomplete, and definitely when a film fails to capture what we feel is the spirit or the essence of the novel.
Notwithstanding the attempts of at least the last decade to redress the imbalance, the medium of the novel has historically assumed a superior position in the cannons of criticism. This superiority derives from the fact that as we read, we fashion our mind’s imaginary mise-en-scene of the novel on the private stages of our minds. When we are confronted with someone else’s phantasy, as Christian Metz pointed out long ago ‘we feel the loss of our own phantasmatic relation to the novel, with the result that the adaptation itself has become a kind of bad object.’(54-5).*
Fittingly, recent criticism has begun to deconstruct such hierarchies that are embedded in conceptions of adaptation while highlighting the varied signifying potentials of novel and film. Given the varied signifying potential of film, namely the use of sound, dialogue, visual cues such as movement, acting style, grain of voice, and images not available to the novel medium, critics posit the undesirability of literal fidelity. Ultimately, criticism of adaptation should be less rooted in unacknowledged hierarchies and welcome the difference among the signifying potentials of novel and film (76).* Having been aware of the hierarchies that operate with respect to criticism of adaptation, at least in traditional criticism and those that operate at a lay level [how many times have you heard the words- but the book was better! Don’t watch the film, just read the book!], I found myself aware of my own viewing experience. I found myself analysing The Fountainhead for moments where the film hadn’t properly translated into the film medium but reverted to the signifying means available to the novel form, notably, textual features. For instance one of the most jarring, though comic, moments of the film was when the words ‘NOT BUILT’ were scrawled over the drawings of Henry Cameron which had, well, not been built. Though the film indeed recovered, the most disagreeable moment in The Fountainhead was the structuring image of the novel at the outset of the film. The Fountainhead provided an interesting space through which I could interrogate the varied signifying potentials of novel and film and it shouldn’t merely be considered an adjunct of Rand’s novel.
* Stam, Robert, ‘Beyond Fidelity: the Dialogics of Adaptation’ in Film Adaptation, J. Naremore (ed.), London: Athlone, 2000. 54-76.
Notwithstanding the attempts of at least the last decade to redress the imbalance, the medium of the novel has historically assumed a superior position in the cannons of criticism. This superiority derives from the fact that as we read, we fashion our mind’s imaginary mise-en-scene of the novel on the private stages of our minds. When we are confronted with someone else’s phantasy, as Christian Metz pointed out long ago ‘we feel the loss of our own phantasmatic relation to the novel, with the result that the adaptation itself has become a kind of bad object.’(54-5).*
Fittingly, recent criticism has begun to deconstruct such hierarchies that are embedded in conceptions of adaptation while highlighting the varied signifying potentials of novel and film. Given the varied signifying potential of film, namely the use of sound, dialogue, visual cues such as movement, acting style, grain of voice, and images not available to the novel medium, critics posit the undesirability of literal fidelity. Ultimately, criticism of adaptation should be less rooted in unacknowledged hierarchies and welcome the difference among the signifying potentials of novel and film (76).* Having been aware of the hierarchies that operate with respect to criticism of adaptation, at least in traditional criticism and those that operate at a lay level [how many times have you heard the words- but the book was better! Don’t watch the film, just read the book!], I found myself aware of my own viewing experience. I found myself analysing The Fountainhead for moments where the film hadn’t properly translated into the film medium but reverted to the signifying means available to the novel form, notably, textual features. For instance one of the most jarring, though comic, moments of the film was when the words ‘NOT BUILT’ were scrawled over the drawings of Henry Cameron which had, well, not been built. Though the film indeed recovered, the most disagreeable moment in The Fountainhead was the structuring image of the novel at the outset of the film. The Fountainhead provided an interesting space through which I could interrogate the varied signifying potentials of novel and film and it shouldn’t merely be considered an adjunct of Rand’s novel.
* Stam, Robert, ‘Beyond Fidelity: the Dialogics of Adaptation’ in Film Adaptation, J. Naremore (ed.), London: Athlone, 2000. 54-76.
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