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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

jammies

I felt the focus on labor throughout the film was very minimal. The film seemed to be focused much more heavily around the romance, with the labor concepts functioning more as a background device used to provide context for the relationship between Sid and Babe. All of the events in the film seem to serve or move the relationship, and the relationship is always at the foreground of the story.

As mentioned in previous blog posts, the trials of the union and the laborers are belittled in the film, taking a back seat to the relationship between Sid and Babe. Their relationship seems to suck all the seriousness out of any other events. Sid fires Babe, but there are no significant consequences. Hines' chased Sid, the superintendent, with throwing-knives and nothing more became of that. The relationship on the other hand was very serious and, at least to me, seemed to be the only high stake in the film. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It is a musical with a lot of sentiment injected into it, but that's one tried and true way to sweep people off their feet (some people). The elements of romance, as we stated in class, are a little outdated now, so this film likely does not have the same effect on me as it did on the audiences of the '50s. The concept of manhood seemed to be pretty normal, not too exaggerated in this film, keeping in mind the times. The film seemed to be smoothed out and tamed to make it more accessible.

The dancing. I liked the dancing. I'm no critic when it comes to dancing, though, because I don't see a lot of dancing, I don't know anything about the technical or theoretical aspects of dancing, and I'm a poor dancer. Sooo I don't have much context to judge this musical against, but just as an initial thoughtless reaction, I enjoyed the dancing, particularly one of the union dances: the one that sounded like a swing/big bandish song where the dancers all went ssshshhhhhh as they put their hats on. I saw a lot of moves that probably influenced Michael Jackson's dancing. Well, maybe. There were a lot of jacksonish spins and this glidey sideways walking thing that looked like the prehistoric relative of the moonwalk.

The Pajama GAME

Ok, Meaghan stole my title.

Disclaimer: this was one of my favorite movies when I was about twelve and it was one of the first movies I ever bought for myself. Having said that, I think it's pretty cool to see the movie from my 12-year old standpoint, and then again 10 years later.

I capitalized the word game in my title, because that's what I think this story/film is: a political game, with Sid and Babe as the key players. The literally do a "song and dance" around each other and the issue of the 7 1/2 cent raise. When Sid first asks Babe out, she says no, and explains that her reasoning is simple: he is the superintendent and she is the grievance committee. It can't work. Later on, in the midst of the "Small Talk" number, Babe again pleads with Sid because she is scared that the strike will come between them. She's right. I like the addition of the scene where Sid fires Babe. She took a big risk jamming the line in the factory, and as the superintendent, Sid had every right to fire her. If felt as if Babe tried to play the odds, and in that instance, failed.

I know we haven't discussed it in class, but I think it's also interesting to look at the changes from the Broadway musical to the film. Censorship is obviously an aspect of adaptation for this film. In the song, "I'm Not At All in Love," Babe's line is changed from "All you gotta do is be polite with him, and they've got you spending the night with him," to the film's version, "All you gotta do it seems is work for him, and they've gotcha going berserk for him." It seems that the original Broadway version of that line would fit better with the original novel. There are also some small changes due to language. In "Small Talk," the line "What do you think they charge for ham now? Got so a buck ain't worth a damn now," is changed to "What do you think they charge for fruit now? Got so a buck ain't worth a hoot now." One of the most interesting changes to me, however, is that Prez, the president of the Union, has a larger role in the show. He has his own storyline in which he tries to woo Gladys, Hasler's secretary. There was a slight hint of it in the film when he says something like, "Her is the most beautiful girl" to Gladys while at Hernando's Hideaway (amazing number when seen live). "Her Is" is an number in the show that is sung in the first act and reprised in the second. So I am curious if Prez's storyline was cut because he was just a secondary character, or that giving him more screen time would thus give the union more screen time.

seeing red

after reviewing the cover art of the new printing of the novel, i was constantly thinking of color in the film, and in particular, red. it's all about red in the pajama game–if you look carefully (or even not that carefully), in almost every scene there are both dominant and subtle elements of red scattered throughout. i started making a list and had to stop because there were so many, but here are a few:
• red dresses, skirts, and ribbons on the girls of the factory
• babe's red shoes and the red piping on her blue coat
• red heart buttons (part of the union?)
• red in the factory lights, exit signs, pipes, and giant spools of thread
• sid's red bowtie in the opening scene, his red striped shirt at the picnic

the most important symbol of red came during babe's reprise of "hey there," in which she sings about her inner conflict over sid. she tells herself to get over him and not to "let him make her fall apart." when she gets to the word "pride," the traffic light outside her window flashes to angry red, coloring her bedroom and her body in red light as she lies on her bed.

is that what red is about? pride? it reinforces the proud, standoffish image of babe on the cover of the novel, flashy red dress and staring in self-absorption into her compact mirror. and it makes sense that in the end, this is what she sacrifices in order to be with sid, and in order to win the "7 1/2 cents" even when they can't get retroactive pay for it ("but don't you see? we've won!").

and what do sid and babe come out in at the end of the musical? one shared pair of red pajamas.

The Pajama Party (edit at end)

OK, so I stole that from Rachael. But it's true; the end of the film kind of does turn into a big pajama party. The whole film is pretty much a pajama party. Like the story, none of the things that happen in the movie seem dire -- except for maybe Hines throwing knives. And I noticed that the film did try to create more of a conflict by having Sid fire Babe, but even that seemed to be fixed pretty quickly and easily at the end. And like Professor Newman said in class, the same thing happens at the end of the story.

Watching the film, I wondered how its creators were first inspired to turn the story into a musical. I mean, it didn't really scream song and dance numbers when I read it. But Sid does have a really heavy view of love in the story; he talks about how Babe makes everything totally fantastic, and the language he used to describe being in love was really different from his otherwise sarcastic voice. Like I said yesterday, though, I didn't really find the story that funny. But I think that the tone of the novel gave itself to the kind of raunchy humor that was displayed in the film, and Sid's view of love - yeah, when he wasn't being a pseudo-rapist - was represented in the love songs.

I also noticed that Doris Day's hair wasn't red, which was disappointing, because Sid called Babe "the redhead" in the story. But like I told Agatha, I think it's petty when people think a character's ruined just because the hair color's changed. At the same time, though, hair color has always meant a lot to me when reading about a character; it says something about their personality, about who they are. But I liked Doris Day as Babe. And to be honest, I didn't think that Sid seemed that operatic -- beyond his singing voice and that he seemed to dance with a very stiff spine.

As far as the dancing goes, I don't think it added anything political to the film. I'm not quite sure how it would. Parts of it were coyly sexual and there was that one song where Sid acted like a cowboy, which might have been a reference to his dominant attitude toward women. But the only big musicals I've seen are the most recent Hairspray and West Side Story, so I can't really say if being coyly sexual is part of most musicals or not. Rachael said that the Broadway version of The Pajama Game has much more explicit lyrics, though, that the film had to censor them.

* I just wanted to add that I may have heard that thing about musicals being coyly sexual in another class (es); I actually watched West Side Story for Juvenile Delinquency (go figure).

Dancin' in the Streets

I have to preface this blog post by saying that I really think that the musical adaptation largely trivializes and undermines labor's importance, choosing instead to focus on the seriousness of Babe and Cid's romantic relationship. In fact, it's the romance that ultimately solves the problem, due to Cid's need to reunite with Babe. Additionally, the union's claims are repeatedly reduced to silliness and the workers are mocked as lazy drunks. As an aspiring member of management, Cid is presented as a hard working hero, while Babe never really explains her motivations for believing so strongly in the union. Clearly, many of the (already minimal) labor issues wound up on the cutting room floor as the novel moved to the silver screen and attempted to reach a broad audience.

However, I do think the film at least expresses class solidarity through the dances in the film. Upper management never dances in the film, and Cid's few dance steps are solitary and usually pretty lifeless. Hasler, on the other hand, never dances at all through the film. While this probably stems from the talent of the actors in the film, I do think that the traditional musical chorus does show some unity within the union. The most animated dance scenes involve the full chorus of factory workers in brightly patterned clothes moving in unison. The union picnic and the rally at the end utilize a full cast operating to produce an impressive visual effect. The well-rehearsed tangle of bodies at the picnic illustrates unity within the labor movement, but also fails to differentiate individuals.

However, the image of a chorus can be problematic as a lens to see the working class. While all members of the management team are stoic and not very fun in the film, they have clearly distinguished characters. The chorus remains a coordinated but faceless mass of bodies on the screen, blindly moving as one unit. I think this image is strengthened by the “dancing” steamed pajama tops in the first all-cast dance. The pajama tops fill up with hot air as a part of the choreography, but underline how replaceable anyone in the cast really is. They simply stand in as bodies within the factory setting and as consumers, never fully realized as characters.

A Face in the Crowd

This was the first movie I've seen with Andy Griffith. That's surprising to me. Anyway, I liked both the short story and the movie. One thing that really stood out to me when comparing the two was the relationship between Marsha and Lonesome. In the book, they seemed much less a couple. Marsha seemed a lot more resistant in the book. The movie didn't express that in the same way. Another thing that caught my attention was the way in which Lonesome is discovered and named. It changes the status of Marsha's character because in the movie, she is the one who finds him in a jail and gives him his catchy name.
When I was reading, I was picturing in my head Ray Romano's older brother, Robert, as Lonesome. Andy Griffith doesn't look much the same, but I definitely bought the role. Andy Griffith's character redefined my mental image of Lonesome. Griffiths HAW HAW was also different from the haw haw I had imagined while reading the story, but it worked well nonetheless.
Prof. Newman mentioned this being a dark role for Griffith, and after watching the film, I would agree. I think the character of Lonesome is significantly darker in the film than in the story. The film really focuses on his will of control and his growing insanity. While those traits are definitely present in the story, they are exaggerated and magnified in the film.

Anyway, I liked it. Good reading. Good watching. Good story. Good acting. Good characters. Good plot. Good stuff. Good produce. Cool beans. String beans. 7 bean salad. Chunky soup. Thick hearty stews. Bread bowls. Abnormally large pepper shaker. Fine wines. Live Jazz. Good service. Benevolent owner. Olive Garden.

A Face in the Crowd

A Face in the Crowd raised a question about the concept of time when thinking about different forms of storytelling. The very “present” telling of A Face in the Crowd seems very contradictory to the memorandum that is The Arkansas Traveler. I think the aspect of the presentation of time is very important when considering the transfer from literature to film. With literature the audience can read it and reflect on the constant changing motions of the characters. In film the audience is swept along with the pace of the film and reflection only comes after its completion (unless you leave for a snack break.

I think this could be the main reason that so many adaptations are considered “failures.” The structure of A Face of the Crowd calls for a consistent following of Lonesome Rhodes as dynamic personality. In the short story, Rhodes’s personality is more explained as a fact rather than a developing point. Kazan uses an adaptation of time with this film to explain the rise of the man. Kazan lets us see Rhodes in his element. This agrees more with the forward moving nature of the cinema. It lets us see a man as he is, rather than what he has become.

Once more this points to how when switching forms the entire foundation of the plot must be altered if one wants to make the adaptation “faithful.” Because the form must be changed in A Face in the Crowd to sustain the interest in Lonesome Rhodes and his appeal to the masses. That appeal seems as what was made as the essence of the story. Because that was recognized Kazan was willing to restructure the entire tone of the piece in favor of this. This seems to be a important key to adapting a story. Many of the pieces we have seen thus far have just been a recreation through a visual medium. I don’t think, however, that recreation works when considering the element of time perception in the two different forms. Perhaps change is better when considering remaking a story.

Where Have All the Flower (or Socialist Folk Singers) Gone

First off, I want to comment on how much I enjoy the film Face in the Crowd. This has been my third or fourth time viewing it, and I'm surprised at how it never seems to grow stale. I'm also glad to get a chance to finally read the story from which it came. I've held a kind of ambivalent attitude towards Budd Schulberg's work. While part of me thinks it's great--What Makes Sammy Run?, On the Waterfront, A Face in the Crowd, etc.--part of me wonders if there are other factors, besides Schulberg, at work in what makes them great, especially his films: Kazan, Griffith, Brando, etc. There's also the fact that he named names to HUAC and was largely unapologetic about doing so.

One thing that makes me a little uneasy about the film is its use of a folk singer as the right wing demagogue par excellence. When I think about music associated with the right wing, folk music is not something that comes to mind. When I think of the latter, I envision Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, and others who are usually associated with (often extreme) left wing politics. The only type of music similar enough to folk that could be considered somewhat right wing is country music. But even country musicians (at least some of them) often have political associations that could be interpreted as leftist--I'm thinking of Hank Williams Sr. song Hey Joe as a response to Mccarthyism. So I wonder if Schulberg's use of a folk singer as representative of the common man/woman is more of a fear on his part of the common masses. This is something Raymond Williams addresses in Culture and Society: a fear of allowing the masses (the unruly mob) their own means of self-determination. This is also at the heart of the debate of fictional representations of labor: do proletarian writers of whatever decade stand outside the workers as a pseudo-interested observer or are they attempting to rise with them. Perhaps the film and story, then, despite their many merits, suffer from from this potentially ungrounded fear on Schulberg's part.

one face of eve

i, like rachael, really regretted the loss of the witty, in control, female narrative from the novella version. i did also enjoy the film for itself, however–but, as usual, for telling a different story. remember that filmmaker from hutcheon who retold the story of the cuban political hero (i can't find/remember the exact reference now) because he felt that the story had been misrepresented? well even though i suppose this is fiction, the film's inversion of lonesome rhodes' guilt to marcia's guilt felt like that kind of adaptation. it wasn't just a matter of telling a different story–it was more a matter of saying "no, you've gotten this wrong; this is how it happened," this time making marcia more fully responsible for rhodes' behavior. a face in the crowd went from being a story of mutual blame back to blaming marcia as biblical eve for her 'original sin' of introducing the knowledge of fame to lonesome.

thus marcia moves from being this incredibly together, strong woman whom i'm pretty sure we all agree with when she tells lonesome to get out of her life, to this crazed, hands-clutching-her-face, edvard munch's "the scream" type of persecuted person who is suddenly supposed to be responsible for the antics of a grown man.

this theme is developed from the beginning by first portraying lonesome as an innocent, with no desire to want to tell anybody what to do about anything, and who slowly becomes power-crazed and selfish because of the role he is forced into by marcia and by the industry.

the end of the film, however, steps back from fully blaming eve for the fall of adam, in mel miller's final declamation to lonesome. he flatly remarks that audience's memories are short, and eventually someone will "give him another go" on a much cheaper venue, but that whatever he has from now on, it "won't be the same." once man has sinned, he has forever fallen…even in the entertainment industry.

as marcia and mel stand at the bottom of apartment and look up, listening to lonesome scream threats about suicide, mel again reinforces lonesome's culpability for himself by telling marcia not to listen to his rants. finally, she nods and gets into a taxi never to see him again. i was so glad that they didn't take this out of the movie.

A Face In the Crowd

So - I still have to finish the story, but I want to type this first.

I think that the film version really showed not only the rise and fall of a celebrity, but also the audience reaction - how an audience can build someone up and tear them down. Because in the end Lonesome Rhodes was really a sad character; I wish I'd seen whether or not he jumped, because then I could've judged in the end if he was sincere or not. I think - for better or for worse - that Andy Griffith really gave himself to the character. I know the laugh was a bit much, but it definitely wasn't the performance that I expected from him; it was better than I expected.

Face in the Mirror

One of the primary changes that A Face in the Crowd makes to the short story “Your Arkansas Traveler” is the insertion of an audience. The story could not include outsider reactions to the radio or television show, of course, because it was tied down to a first person narrator. Therefore, we got a cynical view of Lonesome Rhodes as a deceitful drunk. Of course, Lonesome is a deceitful drunk, but not to his adoring fans across the country, only to the less than innocent people producing his show and seeing his horrible personal life. The story does an admirable job of exposing the steamy underbelly of the entertainment industry, but in doing that it reduces the audience into an unthinking mob. Marcia admires Lonesome's charisma as much as it repulses her in the story. The film, on the other hand, provides a glimpse into the adoring crowds as they see themselves in Lonesome's “down home” charm.

The insertion of an audience reveals two elements of the world of marketing and media: the need for people to connect to personalities represented on TV and the radio, as well as the danger of that identification. The early shots of Lonesome “talking to” isolated housewives as they work in their homes. His sympathy towards and insight into domestic labor draws the isolated women into a community with Lonesome. Of course, his name connects with lonely people across the country, while his “grass roots wisdom” gives people a sense of authenticity. In the increasingly commercial culture of the 1950s, the audience seems desperate to connect with anything authentic, even if it is used to sell them something.

Even though the film does give a face to the audience searching for meaning and human connection, it still reduces Lonesome fans into a mob. Because Lonesome lacks any actual authenticity, he is able to play them like his guitar, manipulating their trust to increase sales and do his own dirty work. By seeing themselves in the television, people fall prey to the machinations of the advertising industry.

From Wyoming to Arkansas

I have to say, I really enjoyed the short story. I thought it was great to have a witty, female narrative. Unfortunately, I'm not having the same response to the film. One of the best aspects of the story is the Margy character and how she is the one person to not be bowled over by Lonesome's charm. She is a "northern intellectual" (if that's what you want to call it) and she finds his folksome nature fake. She has a sharp wit reminiscent of Rosalind Russell in "His Girl Friday." But this is completely lost in the film. The first setting is changed from Wyoming to Arkansas, which loses the north-south dynamic between the two. One of the weirdest changes to me is that she goes looking for him. That is the exact opposite of the story. What makes the story work is that he is dropped in her lap, whether she likes it not, and she has to content with what this means for her life. Changing her demeanor completely changes the dynamic. She's not supposed to sleep with him! The unconsummated love furthers that awkward relationship, but these changes really seem to ruin it.

P.S. Having said all that. I really liked the film, on its own, when not considered as an adaptation. The last scene was especially chilling and, I think, made up (some what) for the lack of tension between the two characters in the beginning of the film.

Lonesome Rhodes

After reading the short story, the mental image I have for Lonesome is Raymond's brother Robert from Everybody Loves Raymond. I'll be happier after the screening, because right now it's impossible for me to picture Lonesome as anybody but Robert, Raymond's brother.