Sparkhouse (2002)

Women want money and men want sex, claims conventional wisdom. In Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, Catherine spurns Heathcliff to marry Edgar for his money. In the BBC miniseries Sparkhouse, Robin Shepperd and Sally Wainwright’s loose modern adaptation of Wuthering Heights, the “Heathcliff” is a girl and the “Catherine” is a guy. So, you can see where this is going.

Sparkhouse is not as bad as it may sound, and is probably the best of the three contemporary Wuthering Heights-inspired soap operas made within this decade. The other two, MTV’s Wuthering Heights, CA and The Promise, were about hip fashionistas persecuting each other from one sunny beach party to the next – which may work for the satire of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, but not as much for the dark atmosphere of Wuthering Heights. Sparkhouse actually retains the northern English moors (specifically, West Yorkshire) of the original setting and a sense of real hardship.

In the original novel, Catherine and Heathcliff have a primarily psychological connection, so film and television adaptations have traditionally made the point to not show the protagonists having sex – if they do, it is off screen and up to interpretation (e.g. the 1970 version). Sparkhouse nods to this tradition quite noticeably; at the beginning, it is clear that Carol Bolton (Sarah Smart), the female Heathcliff, and Andrew Lawton (Joe McFadden), the male Catherine, are saving themselves for marriage to each other. They are neither socially awkward nor particularly religious, as the stereotype goes. Their own unique connection is what drives this commitment.

Carol is the feisty girl from the dysfunctional family at Sparkhouse Farm. Her father is an abusive alcoholic, her mother loses her job and runs off with a random guy with a BMW and James Bond soundtrack, and her little sister Lisa is the one who gives her a reason to stay. Traditional to the Heathcliff role, she wears dark colors. Andrew is the middle-class, college-bound guy who looks like he belongs in a boy band. His family is less dramatic, but troubled in their own way. His bitter, domineering mother is somewhat of a mirror image with Carol’s creepy father. He wears white and lighter colors, traditional to the Catherine role, with a modern business-casual look. Carol and Andrew are neither blood-related nor adoptive siblings here, so the miniseries effectively takes that little complication out of their relationship. They love to run around the moors and read passages from Wuthering Heights in their favorite spot.

Andrew’s parents try to coerce him to break up with the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Money and class do not sway him. He and Carol go to the courthouse to get their marriage license, to the chagrin of his parents. Frustrated, he says he has done everything else to please them: “I’m good, I’m polite, I’m nice,” mirroring Catherine’s “I’m an angel” quip in the original novel. Andrew tells them that without Carol, he would become like them – that is, shallow and unloving. “I’m nothing without her… She is me. You can’t change that. Nobody can.” (An interesting aside: Sarah Smart played Catherine Linton in a straight adaptation of Wuthering Heights in 1998. So, Heathcliff and Catherine are literally the same person.)

But they can and they do – when Andrew’s father digs up the medical records showing that rather than being a virgin, Carol gave birth at age twelve. Andrew confronts Carol, who tells him the obvious – her father raped her, her sister is also her daughter, and she didn’t want either Andrew or Lisa to know. When the time comes for the church wedding ceremony, Andrew’s revulsion runs ahead of his love for her, and he fails to show up.

Carol goes ax crazy on the Lawtons’ car and hangs their dog offscreen. But once she gets that disturbing behavior out of her system, she is a very tame and sympathetic Heathcliff who is more sinned against than sinning. The exception is when she plays with the heart of the handsome but socially awkward farmhand John Standring (Richard Armitage), who seems to be a conglomeration of Isabella and Hareton. On the other hand, the self-described “nice guy” Andrew wreaks the most havoc and ends up losing any kind of sympathy from the audience.

When Carol returns to the country seemingly well off, Andrew is married to his nice, conventional college girlfriend Becky – which doesn’t stop him and Carol from meeting and making out on the moors. Meanwhile, Carol proposes to John. Andrew is not bothered by the fact that she is marrying him for money (an arrangement which John enters with eyes wide open), but that they will – obviously – have sex. While Carol reluctantly chooses to move on, Andrew insists on having it both ways and engages in some nasty, violent, stalkerish behaviors. He becomes as whiny as Hayden Christiansen’s Anakin Skywalker in the Star Wars prequels. Meanwhile, John – while having some obvious self-esteem problems – seems to know a bit more about real love. “Never think you can’t tell me things [from your past],” he tells Carol, contrasting with Andrew’s volatile and conditional affections.

The final resolution of the love triangle puts a different spin on Wuthering Heights than most other film adaptations. While Carol/Heathcliff and Andrew/Catherine had a real and passionate love going on, they made some irreversible choices and needed to move on. While not going into the second half of the book for content (as usual), Sparkhouse ends with its spirit and resolution. The John/Carol/Andrew love triangle has many parallels to the Hareton/Catherine II/Linton love triangle, and the bittersweet ending draws similar conclusions.

This film has its share of flaws – the obsessive animosity of Andrew’s parents toward Carol from her childhood is never explained or explored. It is simply there to make the story work. Andrew, as mentioned before, starts as a believable boyfriend who derails into an obsessive stalker and an emo cliché without much to prompt such a drastic change. Yet this novel adaptation goes into territory that other adaptations have shied away from – and for the ladies, Richard Armitage may be reason enough to check it out.

Sources:

British Broadcasting Corporation (www.bbc.co.uk/drama/sparkhouse/)

Internet Movie Database

Bridget Jones's Diary (2001)

Like Rebecca, the romantic comedy Bridget Jones’s Diary is an adaptation of an adaptation. Specifically, this film directed by Sharon Maguire is based on Helen Fielding’s “chick lit” novel of the same name. Fielding has always been open about her inspiration from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Even further, Fielding admitted inspiration specifically from the 1995 BBC miniseries with its ironic Mr. Darcy played by Colin Firth. Like Joan Fontaine in both Rebecca and Jane Eyre, Colin Firth’s casting in Bridget Jones’s Diary emphasizes the similarities between the modern adaptation and the original novel. Fielding herself wrote the film’s screenplay with help from Richard Curtis and also Andrew Davies, the award-winning scribe from the BBC miniseries itself.

The story’s plot focuses on the Darcy/Lizzie/Wickham love triangle. Renee Zellweger in her Oscar-nominated leading role is the loose equivalent of Elizabeth Bennett, but she feels less like the specific character and more like a modern Everywoman who frets about her weight, listens to sappy pop music during certain moods, and dreads becoming a spinster – unlike Lizzie, who is less concerned about what others think and who initially says she will never marry. It is interesting to note that female protagonists in modern re-imaginings of literature tend to be less strong and confident than the originals. It is counterintuitive, but generally true: Elizabeth is a much stronger character than Bridget Jones, Jane Eyre is more confident than the second Mrs. DeWinter in Rebecca, and Elizabeth is again much more active than Bella Swan in Twilight.

One thing she does have in common with Elizabeth, however, is her verbal wit and tendency to make unfounded assumptions about people – good or bad. Set up by their parents at a New Year’s gathering, Bridget and the lawyer Mark Darcy reluctantly meet. Bridget immediately judges Mark Darcy by his ugly reindeer sweater. While Mr. Darcy does not call the protagonist “tolerable” this time around, he does call her “a verbally incontinent spinster who smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish, and dresses like her mother.” His character is considerably different from the other Mr. Darcy, however. Instead of the easily handsome original, his character takes on the role of the less obviously attractive “nice guy” who does not have the same way with women as his rival.

Bridget further lowers her opinion of Mr. Darcy upon hearing Daniel Cleaver’s story about their past friendship, without hearing Darcy’s side which is, of course, the true side. She knows theoretically that he is everything that can go wrong in a relationship, but she falls for him anyway. Pride and Prejudice adaptations have tended to cast Mr. Wickham as an afterthought; Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingly seem to get the most attention with Wickham as a side plot. Here, however, Hugh Grant brings out all this character’s charisma and seductive personality. Like Colin Firth, he contributes a familiarity to Austen material: he played Samuel Faulker in the 1995 adaptation of Sense and Sensibility.

With emphasis on these three characters, Bridget/Lizzie’s siblings are noticeably missing. Family relationships are important in the original Pride and Prejudice, but Bridget Jones’s Diary reflects more modern times where families are smaller and more separated. Bridget is an only child who lives alone. She has several close friends, but it is not the same, and at times she finds herself belting along with the radio about being “all by myself.”

However, in many ways, Bridget’s mum (Gemma Jones) takes on the roles of Mrs. Bennett and Lydia Bennett. Besides trying to set up her daughter with suitors, she herself runs off with a lover – an infomercial salesman – and causes a scandal for her poor taste if not for her obvious betrayal of marital vows. This conglomeration is not simply an expedient way to touch on two different characters, but a method of interpretation connecting the novel’s Mrs. Bennett and Lydia Bennett. In Austen’s book, the mother is just as ditzy as the daughter. Mrs. Bennett was probably like Lydia as a child, and Lydia will probably grow up to be like Mrs. Bennett. When Bridget’s mum comes home, her husband admits he should have been more attentive to her – highlighting Mr. Bennett’s similar weakness from the novel.

A few other supporting characters touch on loose similarities with the characters. Mary Bennett is reflected in one of Bridget’s friends, a gay ‘80s one-hit wonder pop singer who thinks he is more famous than he really is. Bridget has a creepy coworker Mr. Fitzbergert who flirts and makes passes at her, somewhat like Elizabeth Bennett’s repulsive cousin Mr. Collins.

In terms of tone and atmosphere, Bridget Jones’s Diary picks up on some of Jane Austen’s sarcastic style with the voiceovers. While having lots of narration is usually a very basic screenwriting no-no, Bridget’s thoughts add wit and personality to the BAFTA-nominated script. They also serve to satirize the social rules.

The 21^st Century does not have the same repressive mores lampooned in Jane Austen’s time period, but it does have “The Rules,” contemporary conventional wisdom and double standards for women’s dating behavior. Rather than breaking them from the outset, as Lizzie Bennett would, Bridget Jones initially plays by these rules. She worries about her weight, even though she is not fat. She lures Daniel Cleaver by pretending she to ignore him, trying not to come across as “too available.” She pretends she wants to go home in order to get sex with him. She agonizes over which underwear to put on. Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy finds himself falling for Bridget’s supposed awkwardness; like Elizabeth Bennett, Bridget has a playful disposition which is much more interesting and fun than that of his boring professional girlfriend Natasha.

Needless to say, The Rules do not work for Bridget – Daniel still does not stay with her. From then on, Bridget tries to be more confident. She throws away a book called What Men Want and replaces it with another self-help book, How To Get What You Want. Of course, the self-help books and increased exercise are still part of the film’s gentle satire of therapeutic, self-improvement society. Bridget ultimately gets beyond these things as well and learns to accept herself. Instead of ignoring Mr. Darcy, she unabashedly runs outside in her underwear – finally able to let go and embrace a sort of autonomy that is not so easily embarrassed.

Bridget Jones’s Diary is primarily a loose Chick Lit adaptation instead of an educational film to be analyzed. It is all good fun – but familiarity with its inspiration, the 1995 Pride and Prejudice, is needed to fully appreciate this movie’s context and humor.

Sources:

Internet Movie Database

PopMatters.com

Jane Eyre (1996)

Italian director Franco Zeffirelli is famous for specializing in adaptations of classic literature, especially Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet, Othello, Hamlet, and The Taming of the Shrew. Also a devout Christian, he directed the miniseries Jesus of Nazareth and Brother Sun, Sister Moon, a biopic of St. Francis. As a director of adaptations, he is definitely familiar with other interpretations of the same source material – like the famous 1944 Orson Welles version of Jane Eyre. Watching this film, it is obvious that Zeffirelli, as the director and co-writer with Hugh Whitemore, is not only adapting and interpreting Charlotte Brontë’s novel, but creating points and counterpoints to the older film. While the 1944 version focused on the gothic and grotesque elements, his 1996 version focuses on the beauty and elegance of the story.

            In a nod to the 1944 version, Helen and the girl in trouble for curly hair are one and the same character. Confronted with the absurdity of punishing a child for a natural trait, Mr. Brocklehurst retorts with a similar line: “I am here to correct nature.”

Zeffirelli takes the scene further. “Why should you punish her for the way God made her hair?” challenges Jane. Ordered to fetch the scissors, she reluctantly obeys, but lets her own hair down next to Helen. The next scene shows them both with short hair. While this content is not in the book, it visually shows their bond in a way that reflects the spirit of the novel.

            Unlike the 1944 version, where the school is defined by the sinister Brocklehurst, Zeffirelli’s Lowood has more true Christian influence. Grown up, Jane (Charlotte Gainsbourg, I’m Not There) fondly says goodbye to Miss Templeton before going off to see new horizons. When she arrives at Thornfield, it is a beautiful and lush place, and Mrs. Fairfax is a cheerful hostess. A hollow wind accompanies the line, “If there was a ghost at Thornfield Hall, that would be its haunt.” Otherwise, the atmosphere is pretty and colorful – not gothic at all. Even Mr. Rochester (William Hurt, Kiss of the Spider Woman) is actually pretty friendly in the scene where he falls off his horse and meets Jane for the first time. In other scenes, he tries to talk tough, but it is obvious from the start that he is a teddy bear. This sensitive 1996 Rochester is a very different interpretation from the more hardcore Orson Welles version. Charlotte Gainsbourg herself delivers an OK performance as a compassionate and softspoken if somewhat bland Jane – neither bad nor outstandingly good. However, the two leads have great chemistry when they are together. “You have me entirely,” says Rochester when he catches her sketching him.

            It is not as though Zeffirelli is incapable of doing an unpleasant scene. The opening shots of young Jane in the red room are actually quite scary, helped by some jarring editing. Later on, however, the prominent color red is used in much more benign situations, like the color of Rochester’s coat, the color of Rochester’s chess pieces, and the color of the flowers at Thornfield. Red is an unsettling color, but also the color associated with love and passion – so Jane must take all of life. She cannot have passionate love without risk of danger.

            The most notable difference between this adaptation and the early one is the treatment of Bertha’s character. While the 1944 film plays it up for horror, Zeffirelli humanizes Rochester’s first wife. Instead of laughing like the Wicked Witch of the West, Bertha’s voice is more realistic. Zeffirelli’s film is also is the only version I have seen so far to have a black Mr. Mason – highlighting the novel’s possibly racist subtext which has been a source of controversy for modern critics. When Rochester finally must tell the truth to Jane about his wife, he reveals a Bertha who is more sympathetic than the 1944 monster and – to be fair – the source novel itself. She is shy with dark curly hair and white dress – she clearly used to be pretty, and now is just tired and unkempt. No one mentions her having a wild, sinful past.

Mrs. Reed is another threatening character who is downplayed in this film. In the opening is well-dressed and smug but underwhelming. When she summons Jane to come to her deathbed, she admits she was wrong – a blatant contradiction of the novel where she was self-righteous to the bitter end in a very purposeful subversion of the sentimental deathbed scenes in fiction of the time.

Saint John Rivers, on the other hand, does not disappoint in spite of having only a couple of glossed-over short scenes. Actor Samuel West makes the best of his little time on film. His screen presence alone captures the basic essence of the character: blonde and handsome and ambitious and good, but also somewhat cold and uptight – a bad match for Jane in what he himself admits would be a loveless marriage.

Browsing comments on YouTube and IMDB message boards, it seems like this is one of the less popular versions of Jane Eyre. I suppose I am in the minority for actually liking it a lot. This movie is neither played for horror nor self-consciously educational. The cinematography was gorgeous, the score was hauntingly beautiful, and love story was sweet and believable with a lot of compassion for the supporting characters. The director’s devout Christian faith shows through in the imagery and dialogue. While the 1944 version took a dark angle on it, the 1996 film has a more uplifting and humanistic angle – the equally important other side of the coin, emphasizing the “romance” part of “gothic romance.” 

However, I can see where criticism of this film comes from. Early in the film, showing Adele how to draw, Jane tells her, “The shadows are as important as the light.” Franco Zeffirelli’s version seems to overlook the shadows that are very necessary for a balanced interpretation of Jane Eyre. Religious hypocrites hardly do significant damage in this film. Mr. Brocklehurst fades out of sight, and Mrs. Reed repents like the easy sentimental stories that Charlotte Brontë was specifically trying to avoid. In short, no one is really allowed to be bad. While Franco Zeffirelli brings much sensitivity, beauty, humanism, and some much-needed production value to the conversation of Jane Eyre adaptations, the film needs a stronger sense of evil to be more compelling – and to stay true to the basic spirit of the book.