Oleanna Adapted To A Film

This last week in class, we watched the Oleanna film adaptation, and I'll be the first to say that I loved it. To be quite frank, I really hated the play. I found that the weird pacing and the constant interruptions bugged me, and that I couldn't get the tone from the text. I did enjoy some of the themes, but the fact that it was all dialogue made it too hard to visualise in my mind.

This all changed when I watched the film. Firstly, I think that the two actors played the characters of John and Carol really well. William H. Macy, the man who played John, is a personal favourite of mine (he's played parts in some of my favourite films) and while it scared me the role that he played in this, I think he did a fantastic job in portraying John. I believe that the actress that played Carol did a phenomenal job of portraying Carol, even if she did make me hate her, even more.

The fact that this was a film helped to change the fact that I couldn't visualise anything. By having the room shown to me, I was able to build a spacial dynamic between the characters, something that the play gave me no opportunity to do. The same worked for me, in the change of the clothes, and the way that Carol stood, which helped me identify the power shift a lot more easily. The disheveled appearance of John as the play moves on also helped with this.

However, the biggest shift from the play was with pacing. Having the two people actually saying the lines, and making it seem like a real conversation, instead of just voices in my head, made the dialogue flow in a much more effective way, and I really enjoyed it, this time around.

One of my classmates, Gautam, says in his blog, that the end of the film is a failure, because it slightly changes the ending of the play. I could not disagree with him more. The play and the film are not supposed to be direct adaptations. The role of the film, and the play, is to appear to the audience as something interesting to watch, not to translate 100%. By changing the end slightly, they have insured that the audience will think about the ending a lot more, because it creates a more open ending.You can read Gautam's entry here. Gautam's Blog

Basically, what I'm trying to say is that I enjoyed the film a lot more than I did the play, because it made sense to me in the film medium.

Mask In Streetcar and Hedda

In the plays "A Streetcar Named Desire" by Tennessee Williams, and "Hedda Gabler" by Henrik Ibsen, we see masks used as tools to characterise the two protagonists, Blanche and Hedda, respectively. Both of these characters have come from lives that require them to be something that they are not. Blanche feels the need to portray herself as a much younger woman than she, so that she can feel accepted by the others. Hedda was pressured into being a son to her father, and she now uses that pressure as her mask, to make it appear as if she is a different person than she actually is. In both of these books, masks are used to help portray the pressures that society is putting on the characters, and how they deal with it. This is done through characterisation and through imagery.

Blanche uses the mask of her youthful dressing to hide her true self from Stanley and from Mitch.

Hedda uses the mask of her male upbringing to hide herself away from the pressures of being a woman in late 1800's Norway.

The Allusion of Oleanna

The tile of Oleanna alludes to the fact a 19th centurary utopian society named Oleana. This utopian society was in Pennsylvania, and was named after its Norwegian founder, Ole Bull, and his mother Anna.

In 1852, after a successful musical tour of the US, Ole Bull wanted to leave his mark in America . He bought 11,000 acres of land in Pennsylvania for Norwegian immigrants to settle. On this land, four main fiefdoms were developed, one of which was named Oleana. People flooded in, excited about the new, free land. The land was located in a valley between thick forests and they quickly realized the land was not suitable for farming. The community failed. By the middle of the 1850s the colonists all returned home or settled elsewhere in America .

I believe that this is an allusion to the fact that Carol is so obsessed with overthrowing the chains of oppression, even though they don't actually exist in this play.  A song was added at the end of the play, as an epigraph, which critiques the life in Norway, and was written to show the idealism felt by Carol in the play as well.

Again, I believe that it talks about how "grass is always greener" on the other side, and is used ironically here, to show how insane Carol is when she wants to try and find something more from the help that her teacher is giving her.

Themes and Motifs of Oleanna

In Oleanna, we see a couple of prevalent themes. These themes are all shown directly through the conversation, and carry a lot of weight, especially in today's society. These themes are as follows:

Communication:

The majority of this play is about the use of communication, and how it changes our perception of somebody, and our actions towards them. In Oleanna, communication plays a massive role in the pacing and setting of the scene. It doesn't work as well in the textual version of the play, as you don't have the same effect while reading it, but the use of interruption is one major role in this. Whenever John speaks to Carol, and as he is about to drive down a point, he is interrupted. Other examples of communication also include the teacher/student dynamic, the use of power in communication, which is shown through John abusing his power at the beginning, the use of ghost characters, and Carol's reliance on "the group" to put words in her mouth. Body language and intention also play a heavy role in the play, as they shape Carol's actions towards John in the second and third act.

Political Correctness:

Oleanna is very critical of the air of political correctness that was around in the 1990's. In this play, we see Carol feeling threatened by John, and she turns to her group, who I believe are a feminist activist group, for advice. They advise her that he is raping and assaulting her, even though he hasn't done anything that's anything like that. This makes the political correctness movement absurd, and points out the ability to misuse it for revenge or nefarious ends. 

Hedda Gabler Essay Analysis

In this essay by Weller Embler, which analyses the play of Hedda Gabler, by Ibsen, Embler states that he believes that Hedda is a tragedy, and one of Ibsen's purest. He says that Hedda's boredom, and her inability to deal with her husbands boring personality drives her to be discontent. I would agree with this, as we can see her boredom through her use of pistols as toys, and her constant need to meddle and mess with people. I would also agree that there is some merit to the fact that there is tragedy in this play, but I would not agree that Hedda is a tragedy.

Firstly, we see that that Hedda constantly lives her life to the fullest, and does whatever she wants, as a free woman. She eventually dies, which would typically be a staple of a tragedy, but the way that she dies isn't tragic at all, to me. I find that she dies free, and free of her repression, which, to Hedda, would be the ideal way to die. The fact that Hedda dies through suicide, and kills her unborn child, along with seriously hurting two people that love her very much, is rather tragic.

Another thing that I disagree with, and my classmate Gautam agrees with me on, is the fact that Embler says that the play is "a study of decay". He says that throughout the play, Hedda is slowly decaying. I would 100% disagree with this. Throughout the play, we see Hedda as a fairly static character, who simply doesn't care about what is going on. I disagree that anybody really changes throughout the play, and that, in fact, there are only two things that actually happen. The burning of the manuscript and the suicide at the end.

All in all, I feel like this essay had some good analysis of Hedda, and that it made some very good points. However, I don't agree with anything that it says, because I feel that he takes analysis without actually providing any context for it, or without looking deeper into the characters of the play.


A Note on Ibsen’s “Hedda Gabler”
Weller Embler
College English , Vol. 7, No. 8 (May, 1946), pp. 456-458
Link: http://www.jstor.org/stable/370462

Blog Portfolio Quater 7

This is the penultimate blog portfolio. This quarter, we spent the majority of time on three plays. These plays were The Heidi Chronicles, A Streetcar Named Desire, and Hedda Gabler. All three books were radically different, in both style and tone, but all had similar themes and messages.

Coverage:
Gender Descriptive Words in A Streetcar Named Desire

This blog entry describes the use of gender specific language in the play "A Streetcar Named Desire".

Poetry In Streetcar

This entry describes the significance of The Portuguese 43 in " A Streetcar Named Desire".

Poker And Bathing

This entry describes the significance of bathing and poker in "A Streetcar Named Desire" and how they characterise Stanley and Blanche.

Itallics In Streetcar

This blog describes the use of itallics in "A StreetCar Named Desire", and how they help define the style of Tennesse Williams

A Streetcar Named Desire Film Comparison

This blog describes the comparison between the film production of Streetcar, and the play version.

Streetcar Set

This blog post describes my own invention of a set for Streetcar, and how it would be used.

The Scoop On Scoop

This blog post talks about the character of Scoop, and how he acts as a foil to Heidi, in the Heidi Chronicles.

Scoop Vs Stanley

This post talks about the contrast and comparison between Scoop and Stanley, from "The Heidi Chronicles" and "A Streetcar Named Desire", respectively.

Hedda As Modern Woman

This blog entry is my response to an article written about Hedda Gabler. I very much disagreed with the article.


Depth:


I feel that the blog that I spent the most time on, and the one that showcases my abilities as an in-depth literature analyser is the comparison between film and play versions of Streetcar. I found that it led me to analyse different points, in a lot more detail than I would have if I had just watched the play.

Film Comparison

Interaction:
This article shows me disagreeing with what Gautam said about Hedda Gabler, and also disagreeing with his interpretation of the article.

Hedda As Modern Woman

Discussion:

Scoop Vs Stanley

This blog launched a discussion between me and Saumya over the negative portrayal of Scoop, and the similarities between him and Stanley.

Xeno-Blogging:

In this post, I commented on Saumya's interpretation of art in Heidi. I disagreed with some of what she was saying, but thought that she made some good points.

Art In Heidi

Wild Card:

This post is a short story that I've been working on, which is based on a recurring dream that I've been having recently. Its fairly graphic, but its been helping me to deal with it.

Dream

Dream

This is a little story that I've been working on. Its based on a recurring dream that I've been having recently. It does get a little graphic, so don't read, if you're squeamish.



My eyes began to open, my head feeling groggy and weak. This confused me, I didn’t remember drinking anything last night, and I would have remembered taking a sleeping pill. I thought about this for a moment, and then it hit me. I couldn’t see anything. My eyes were wide open now, and there was a blackness that scared me. It was right then that I noticed that something was covering my face. I reached up, horrified. Or at least, I tried to. As I raised my hands, a searing pain ran up arms. I couldn’t move my wrists, it was as if I had been handcuffed. I moved my arms, testing what was keeping them still. I HAD been handcuffed. My arms had been pulled behind me, and handcuffed through the back of the chair, which seemed like one of my dining chairs

My body went into shock. Why was I handcuffed? I didn’t have any enemies. I didn’t know anybody that would want me taken. I didn’t know any girls. Nobody would want me handcuffed.  What was going on? I began to struggle. My legs began to kick. My claustrophobia began to close in. I couldn’t see anything, and my arms were trapped. My chair was rocking now, my movements taking it from side to side. My arms were hurting, but I needed freedom. I need to get that mask off. I had to. It was right then that my chair fell over, and I slammed my head into the ground.

Sometime later, I woke. I could feel a sticky liquid on my scalp, sticking the mask to my head. Blood, I knew it. I felt woozy. I also noticed that I was sitting up again. Somebody had come and checked on me, while I was unconscious. I grimaced. It was right then, that the mask was pulled off my head. The pain, from the mask ripping away flesh on my head as the blood went away with it, burned, and I screamed in terror and pain. I was blinded as bright light flooded into my eyes, and I felt woozy, as if I had a concussion, which I was certain I did.

I felt a shove, and fell to my knees. My head rung, and I turned around, a grimace on my lips. A man was standing there, a pistol in his hand, and a balaclava over his head. He pointed it at me, with the .45 barrel staring me in the eye.

“Get up.”
I did so.

“Come here.”
I did so.


The man smiled at me. “Look, kid. We have a job to do. Your father sent us to get you to do something. We have permission to do whatever we want, until you do it. So you’d better listen up.” That was who was behind it. My father. The man behind all my misery. I nodded. There was something about this man that I recognised, but I couldn’t tell what. I would have to bear with him, until I could figure it out.

“Your father wants you to learn what its like to kill. So that you can get into the family business.” I knew that this was going to go bad, quick. I used to refuse to kill, back then. “We’ve got somebody here, a young woman. Nobody you know, your father needs her in the ground. We figured we would kill two birds with one stone.” He snickered at his extremely unfunny pun.
“Why don’t you follow me? And don’t think about running. Those handcuffs are set to explode. You make a break for it, and we’ll blow your hands off. This gave me pause. I needed my hands. Couldn’t really do much without them, could I? I fell into step behind the man, as he walked out of the room, and down what seemed to be a stone corridor.

His hand was clutched tightly around the pistol, as if he was nervous. Maybe he didn’t want anything to do with this either. I figured that this was the time to ask. “Who are you?” I stammered, my nervous teeth chattering together.
“You don’t want to know, kid.”
That made my fears worse. I did know this man.

We kept walking down the corridor, me stumbling a little, my head aching, and what seemed to be vertigo settling in. We reached a large wooden door, and the man pulled it open. He pushed me through, and I fell to my knees, grazing both of them. I stood up, stumbling to my knees, and felt blood dripping down them. I grimaced again, knowing that that wasn’t the worst of what was coming.

Still on my knees, I look ahead of me. There was a girl sitting there. She was about 5’7. Maybe four or five years older than me. She was gagged, but her eyes were wide in terror. She had long, blonde hair, which was grimy and tangled. She must have been in here for a while. Her eyes were blue, and she was quite a pretty girl. How could my father do this to somebody?

The man turned to me. “That’s her. She was giving your father some trouble. Snooping around, something about the college paper. He needs her gone.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t going to have a part in my father’s twisted games. I’d escaped him once, and I didn’t know how he’d found me this time. I wasn’t going to get back into this. “I’m not going to kill this girl for you.” The girl shrieked at this, or tried to, as her gag muffled it. The man smiled. “Oh. You’re going to want to, soon enough. Just to end it.”

The man nodded behind me, and I felt a massive pain in the back of my knee, as a large wooden object slammed into it. I cried out in pain, and looked down, my leg bent at an awkward angle. It wasn’t broken, I could tell that. But I couldn’t put weight on it. The man smiled at me. “Do it. Or it’ll get worse.” I looked at the girl, and I could see tears welling up in her eyes. I shook my head again, and again, the object, which I thought to be a bat, slammed into my leg. This time, from the front. I felt my knee crumple under the blow, and I bit down on my tongue in pain. Blood began to drip out of my lips, and I feel to the ground once more.

“I won’t do it. You’ll have to kill me.”

“Oh, you know we can’t do that, boy. Your father will kill us. And this girl still needs to die. So even if we killed you, we would still have to off her. Might as well do it yourself, and save yourself in the process.”

I shook my head once more.

“I admire your bravery, kid. But I can’t have any of that. Stan, take off his handcuffs. I don’t want to wreck his legs anymore. Let’s deal with his hands now. “

The man with the bat, standing behind me, chuckled, and removed the handcuffs from my wrists. I rubbed them, feeling the raw skin hurt as I touched it. I felt my hand being grabbed, and the man behind me saying, in a slight Irish accent, “Your last chance. Either you do it, or I’ll break your fingers.” That gave me pause. I needed my fingers for my job. Without them, I would be nothing. I told the guy to wait a moment. To let me stand, and catch my breath.

I stood, or tried to, as I had to catch myself when I tried to put weight onto my left leg. I looked at the girl. She couldn’t have done anything that awful. She was young. My father was evil. I couldn’t kill her. I turned to the first man, who’s name I still hadn’t figured out.

“I’ll do it.”

The girl shrieked again, and began to shake. I looked at her, sadness in my face. I had to do it. If I didn’t, they would hurt me more, and kill her anyway. I might as well come off ahead.