Screening The Novel

The book takes as its theme the relationship between literature and the contemporary means of production and distribution collectively termed 'the media' - in particular, film and television. The intention of the book is to explore and evaluate the mutual opportunities and restrictions in this relationship. In the grammar of our culture there seems to be an accepted opinion that print is superior in terms of cultural production to film, radio or television, that to read a book is somehow a 'higher' cultural activity than seeing a play on television or seeing a film. By the same token, a novel is a 'superior' work of art to film or television. The longer perspective reveals that traditionally there always is a greater respect paid to the previous mode of literary production - poetry was superior to drama, poetic drama was superior to the novel, and film attained cult and classic status initially over television.

"Thrilling.... PRIVATE SCREENING succeeds on all counts. It's a footrace of a read, daring you to put it down." ATLANTA JOURNAL & CONSTITUTION The nation is stunned silent when presidential hopeful James Kilcannon is shot dead in front of his rock-star girlfriend Stacy Tarrant. Fiercely independent attorney Tony Lord dares to defend the shooter, but the already bizarre plot takes another twist. As America watches, a mysterious and ruthless figure, known only as Phoenix, takes to the airwaves-- and takes the wife of a wealthy newspaper mogul and Stacy's manager as his hostages. Phoenix mounts a televised trial of his own--in which Stacy Tarrant and Tony Lord are helpless defendents, millions of viewers are jurors, and--unless his chilling demands are met--Pheonix is the unstoppable executioner....

This text attempts to shape definitions of the American science fiction film, studying the connection between the films and social preconceptions. It covers many classic films and discusses their import, seeking to rescue the genre from the neglect of film theorists. The book should appeal to both film buff and fans of science fiction.

Some of the most memorable movies of Hollywood's Golden Age were based on novels that never received the acclaim they deserved. No-one who saw Rod Steiger in The Pawnbroker could forget the actor's wrenching performance but does anyone remember the author of the book on which the film was based? The same can be said of Jane Fonda in They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, Greta Garbo in Susan Lenox, and Humphrey Bogart in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. This book retrieves these novels and re-evaluates the careers of the eight neglected novelists whose works inspired eight different directors – among them Stanley Kubrick, Sidney Lumet, John Huston and Sidney Pollack. Each chapter offers detailed analysis on both the original text and the resulting movie. Taken together, the double examination of novel and film raises some important questions about the nature and problems of cinematic adaptation.

Gore Vidal's mixture of autobiography, reminiscence and observations on the cinema.

From Hollywood classics like Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights to the 1990s wave of Jane Austen films, adaptations of the British Nineteenth-century novel have been sensationally popular. This book examines how British and American filmmakers used the domestic novels of the past to construct stable gender ideals for the present.

Rather than limiting the cinema, as certain French New Wave critics feared, adaptation has encouraged new inspiration to explore the possibilities of the intersection of text and film. This collection of essays covers various aspects of adaptation studies--questions of genre and myth, race and gender, readaptation, and pedagogical and practical approaches.

“A crackerjack thriller” by the #1 New York Times–bestselling author of Silent Witness: A lawyer defending a Vietnam vet is caught in a kidnapper’s web (Publishers Weekly). All of America is watching when a sniper’s bullet cuts down presidential hopeful James Kilcannon. As the nation rises up in outrage, one lawyer is bold enough to represent the Vietnam veteran accused of firing the fatal shot. Tony Lord has never shied away from a fight, and he will do whatever it takes to get his client a fair trial. A year later, tragedy strikes Kilcannon’s rock-star girlfriend, Stacy Tarrant. Her assistant is kidnapped by a masked terrorist known as Phoenix, who threatens to execute him on live television unless he meets Phoenix’s demands. As Tony helps Stacy through the ordeal, he discovers that Phoenix has connections to the Kilcannon slaying and intends to mount his own televised trial—in which Tony and Stacy are the defendants and Phoenix is the executioner.

As the subtitle indicates, this book has three majors concerns. The first and most important concern is an examination of the film adaptations of Woolf’s novels—To the Lighthouse, Orlando, and Mrs. Dalloway—in the order the films were released. This is the heart of the matter, a fairly conventional effort to acknowledge film reviews as well as the criticism of academicians in film or literature as a starting point for a fresh view of these three film adaptations. Since many film specialists prefer that no film ever be adapted from literary fiction and many literature specialists have similarly wished that their favorite novels had never been filmed, the effort to mediate the two sides can be challenging. Of the three films, To the Lighthouse is the least successful, tending toward the old Masterpiece Theater mode of attempting to be faithful to the “source text,” to use the term of the film theorist Robert Stam, but missing the essence of the novel. Director Sally Potter’s Orlando is cinematically the most venturesome and attractive, although some Woolf readers condemn Potter’s erasure of Woolf’s intent to celebrate her affair with Vita Sackville-West (whose son Nigel Nicolson called Woolf's Orlando “the longest and most charming love-letter in literature”). Mrs. Dalloway tends toward the Merchant/Ivory style of treating literary masterworks—indeed, the film credits include a debt of gratitude to the producer/director partnership—and is generally carried by the star power of Vanessa Redgrave, although it is difficult to imagine her having a crush on another young woman, even at eighteen. The book’s second concern is Woolf’s interest in what she would call “the cinema.” As a member of Bloomsbury, she saw and participated in the discussion of the cinema, especially avant-garde films, which she considered to be more the future of cinema than film adaptations, upon which she heaped great scorn for their ravenous, if not rapacious, consumption of vulnerable literary fiction such as Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Woolf specialists such as Leslie Hankins proclaim her one of the earliest and most significant British film theorists for the brilliant essay “The Cinema” (1925), as film was just beginning to establish itself as art and not merely popular entertainment. The third concern is a complex effort to explore the David Hare/Stephen Daldry film adaptation of Michael Cunningham’s Pulitzer Prize–winning novel The Hours, an homage to Mrs. Dalloway in which Virginia Woolf has a starring role, as portrayed by Oscar winner Nicole Kidman. The film and Kidman’s prosthetic nose produced a violent division among the Woolfians who either commended its bringing legions of new readers to Mrs. Dalloway and potentially to “Woolf”—Mrs. Dalloway becoming the best-seller it could not have been in her lifetime—or were outraged by the film’s diminishment of probably the most important female British novelist of the 20th century. Even Nobel Laureate Doris Lessing spoke out against the travesty of a novelist she considered a foremother of later 20th-century writers.