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Regarding our last discussion about the 12 fallacies:

I think in my paper that I tried to disprove the fallacies about films killing imagination, having less psychological development, etc. Because I really tried to focus on the characters in the films. It was hard, though, not to think about the books I had read as well in choosing evidence, and in one review of the The Reader (book) on Amazon.com, someone said that it had a lot more character development than the film.

But I watched The Reader with my parents last weekend, and although, for example, my dad had questions about the character, it still got him to think about the character. So I think that this disproves the fallacy (which I don't have in front of me right now, so if I'm a little off base, I apologize!) And perhaps psychological stuff isn't as obvious, but I think it can be analyzed out of a film.

Let Us Out of Here!

I enjoyed the film version of Raisin in the Sun, especially its staginess. The external scenes added or transposed to the film version, though, didn’t quite add anything to the narrative. I felt like the most powerful and potentially political moments in the film took place within the confines of the Younger’s small apartment. There’s a claustrophobic quality to these scenes as we witness five outspoken and at times volatile characters crammed into a single room. I thought the scene that worked the best in this regard was when Walter, recently returning from the bar, is overtaken by the African music Beneatha plays. What begins as simple drumming on the table soon becomes a staging by Walter of a tribal hunt. He leaps around the room spearing imaginary prey (including his wife and other characters in the scene). But in doing so he seems trapped and imprisoned by the small cinematographic space framed by the camera. This is especially apparent when he leaps at the camera but can never cross its imaginary threshold. He must instead retreat back to the middle of the room and play the part of the hunter in the space allowed him.

A Festering Sore in the Sun

I understand there are a million things other than fidelity to consider when viewing an adaptation, but I still wish to comment that this film was very true to the text of the play. It was so close that I feel the writer Lorraine Hansberry must have had heavy involvement with the film. Most of the dialog is word for word with the text. That's totally fine, it was just an observation.

Another observation I made was the subtle censoring of some of the dialog. For example, "the most backward race of women (play)" vs. "the most backward nation of women (film)". Other racially specific lines of dialog throughout the film were also modified. Enough of it is left in the dialog, however, that I do not feel the minor censoring detracted from the dialogs impact.

Toward the end of the movie, there was an additional conversation between Walter and Mama that I do not recall reading in the screenplay. It is a conversation in which Walter asks Mama why she left the south, and equates her journey and risk with his own ambitions.

I felt George had much less of a role and his character was not explored as much in the film. Asagai on the other hand was just as much if not more involved. Asagai seemed much more a good guy in the film than he did in the book, and George seemed less a jerk. Mama's role was acted very well. I thought mama was awesome. Travis is funny. Beneatha was muchhh more annoying to me in the film.

Overall, I enjoyed the film. I feel that it was a successful adaptation in its honest and uncolored interpretation of the play, although I do not feel it added or commented on the existing text.

A Raisin in the Sun

So I want to take back what I said yesterday. It's true that when I read the play, I kind of wanted Walter to take the money at the end; maybe I have a thing for morally corrupt characters. But I think it was more because I wanted him to get back what he lost, and I knew the money would help him. I thought it would allow him to redeem himself. But watching the film and thinking about it, I realized that standing up for himself allowed him to redeem himself more than getting the money back could have. He had to show his son -- who Agatha thought was adorable; little kids tend to irritate me, but thanks to you, I didn't write him off -- what it meant to be proud. We talked about the generation gap yesterday, and how Mama thought that her children were her lineage. She says this in the movie as well, and I think Walter refusing the money really showed how the family was carrying on in the same way it had through the previous generations, even though they may not be able to understand each other on all other counts.

Women's dreams deferred

Don't worry, Agatha, this post is not going to be about any sort of crisis in masculinity, even if Walter thinks that he is having a masculine crisis. I believe that A Raisin in the Sun does show Walter in crisis and attempting to assert his masculinity, but that it points out the dangers associated with that as well as the role of women in supporting male dominance. One thing that struck me about the world of the play is the claustrophobic, feminized world it presents. Set entirely in the Youngers' cramped, Southside apartment, the play presents a family that has been built on the backs of Ruth and Mama, with both male characters frequently absent. However, this is not because Walter is busy earning the money to support the family; in fact, his earnings are so low that Ruth works full time and Mama frequently has to re-enter the workforce in order to supplement the family's income. And while Beneatha does not work, she attends a university in order to become a doctor, a healing profession that she eloquently speaks about.

Throughout the entire play, Walter demands to be listened to and complains about his female dominated home life. He wants his wife and mother to support his foolish plans and dreams, while completely ignoring their own dreams and belittling his sister's efforts to become a doctor, asking her to become a nurse instead. He asserts his dream with masculine privilege, demanding a priority and respect more from his place as “man of the house” rather than any real effort. His conversation with Ruth about the eggs totally disrespects her position as food preparer and breadwinner for the household, and blames black women for the subjugation of African Americans. However, it is clear that Mama and Ruth are holding the family together, trying their best to get a better home and working hard to provide Beneatha with an education. I think that Hansberry beautifully portrays the hard work of the plays female characters and their dreams. However, Walter consistently pushes their dreams to the back burner in an effort to advance his own. Additionally, Hansberry presents the systemic barriers that keep the Youngers from achieving their dreams, from racism and poverty to Walter's chauvinism.

In this light, I have a problem with the end of the play. In many ways, Walter throws his family's dreams under the bus in an effort to accumulate more money, but gains the respect of his wife and mother. Both women see that Walter tried to at least do something to achieve his dream and celebrate his assertion of dominance. I am still having trouble relating this to the rest of the play. The women continue to support Walter's failed dreams, deferring their own for his.

Drowning Out the Superintendent With Song

I was thinking about the form of musicals and generally how easily they can take on a lighter tone. In Pajama Game we generally feel this lighter tone amongst the musical scores and brightly designed costumes. This lends to the portrayal as the union as a good thing and a way for workers to have the ability to control the nature of business. In Bissel’s novel, we see more of a sarcastic, critical and bleak picture of this world. When reading the book I would never imagine Babe Williams parading around in a bright blue trench coat. Bissel’s world, to me, seems dull and boring and immensely more painful to live through.

I wonder then if this is because of this difference in interpretation, the transfer from literature into a lighthearted musical, or merely an attempt on the part of the screenwriters to give a more favorable view on factory life. From the pictures we saw in class today we would assume that it is the first, as many union workers seemed to enjoy the thrill of a strike. Yet, I think more importantly that we are again brought back to the question of form and interpretation. It would be difficult to translate Bissel’s critique of the working world into a romantic musical comedy like the Pajama Game simply because the form of a musical and the ever-existing need for romantics in cinema. On interpretation, it seems again the difference between a collective view of a story and the individual view.

I read Bissel’s novel much as it was his own personal beliefs on factory life. In Sid Sorokin’s bled the personality I figured was engrained in the author. His voice, although often ignorant, seemed to project the absurdity of everything happening within the functions of “Sleep Tite.” He often rejects Babe’s pleas of understanding that everything will simply work out in the end (which it does) without anyone needing to get hurt. His final act of quitting seems to represent Bissel’s overall rejection of this world as just a naturalistic force where things simply happen without regard to people.

A musical does not really have room for this personal satire. Sid Sorokin’s focus must blend in with the commune of dance and work and picnics. His voice will not be heard above the singing joy of flamboyant sewers. This also coincides with the structure of making a film or a musical. So many pieces function as important that it is impossible to retain the sort of critical analysis within the novel. While the rhythm of dancing might lend to show the true nature of the working environment, it doesn’t show its absurdity (perhaps it does), but rather a more technical detail of the life.

I think that the loss of personality here is important when considering an adaptation. It causes the meaning of them to shift in an entirely new way. If the meaning of this is lost, why is it adapted in the first place? Does the story simply serve as a vessel to give a light-hearted, romantic twist on the union? Why then do they need the story at all?
Just another thought on why considering adaptation is useless.

The Politics of Parody (And Singin' and Dancin')

I didn’t see anything overtly political about the film The Pajama Game. Any labor politics (or management politics for that matter) seemed predominantly peripheral elements of the happy-go-lucky, boy-meets-girl, “Gee Babe, you’re swell!”, 50s film narrative. But there is an implicit political critique running throughout the film in its use of parody. The film parodies labor sabotage (in the over-exaggerated movements of the workers during the “slow-down”), consumerist culture (listing the various things in song that 7 ½ more cents can by), and pulp (I’m thinking about the seedy bar the characters go to that they need a match to see in). There are also other objects of parody throughout the film that I can’t remember or just missed. Is there any scholarship on the film as a parody? And if not, what are some ways we can read the film’s politics into its use of parody?

Also, do musicals in general offer a certain amount of parody in their form, especially since nobody—at least nobody considered legally sane or normal—breaks out in song and dance in everyday life? (I could see the film parodying a sit-in strike by having a dance-in strike.) But besides being a form of parody, maybe breaking out in song and dance is a form of political resistance. I’m thinking in particular of those IWW members who when arrested, especially if a lot of them were arrested together, would spend their time in the cell singing and making noise to drive the guards and perhaps the town nuts