Schirmer Encyclopedia of Film

It seems certain that the first ‘‘fiction’’ film, L’arroseur
arrosé (The Waterer Watered, 1895) by Louis Lumière
(1864–1948), was based on an 1889 comic strip by
‘‘Christophe’’ and that two of the most famous early
American narrative films, Edwin S. Porter’s (1869–
1941) The Great Train Robbery (1903) and Dream of a
Rarebit Fiend (1906), were derived, at least in part, from
contemporary theatrical and comic strip material respectively.
Generally the earliest attempts at narrative cinema
were taken from already existing literary or theatrical
sources and have provided by far the largest proportion
of script material for the cinema ever since. This process,
however, has been regularly plagued by arguments over
the vexed question of fidelity. To what extent should (or
can) a film be ‘‘faithful’’ to its original source? Which
aspects of literary or theatrical technique are compatible
with the film medium and which cannot be successfully
transferred? To what extent should filmmakers alter characterization,
setting, or plot to suit their own interpretation
of the original? Does it matter if the filmmaker
changes the original almost completely and yet comes
up with a cinematic masterpiece in its own right? Should
a film adaptation, in other words, always have to justify
itself in terms of its closeness to its literary original, or
can the two be accepted and judged independently?
The questions continue to be debated. Most theorizing
tends to split types of adaptation into three categories:
strict, loose, or free (using these or somewhat similar
terms). They also often distinguish between classic or
well-known works where audiences already have some
knowledge of the original and may expect to see this
reproduced reasonably faithfully on the screen, and less
famous or forgotten works where audience loyalty to the
ADAPTATION
original is less significant. Many critics accept a compromise:
if the essence of the original (theme, mood, tone in
particular) is preserved and not deliberately or incompetently
distorted, then other, less crucial, changes are
acceptable. The claim that a successful adaptation should
be medium specific—thoroughly rethought in terms of
film and the filmmaker’s own creative approach and not
hampered by inappropriate adherence to literary or stage
techniques—is also now commonly held. Such a view,
for example, would approve of A Clockwork Orange
(1971) by Stanley Kubrick (1928–1999), despite its
being disowned by the author of the original novel,
Anthony Burgess (1917–1993), who felt that Kubrick
overemphasized the violent and negative aspects of the
book.
The most difficult task for the filmmaker is probably
to take a classic or currently popular work and present it in
a way that avoids alienating those who have a commitment
to their own interpretation of the original while simultaneously
producing something that works successfully as a
film in its own right. These adaptations would normally
fall into the category of strict or loose, though free reworkings
of, for example, William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
( Joe MacBeth, 1955), Charles Dickens (1812–1870)
(Rich’s Man’s Folly, 1931; based on Dombey and Son), or
Jane Austen (1775–1817) (Clueless, 1995; based on
Emma) certainly exist. One of the most highly acclaimed
examples of an adaptation that has managed to please both
die-hard admirers of the original books and to be accepted
as a cinematic masterpiece is Peter Jackson’s (b. 1961)
version of J. R. R. Tolkien’s (1892–1973) The Lord of
the Rings trilogy (2001–2003).
SCHIRMER ENCYCLOPEDIA OF FILM 37