12 Years a Slave, Fidelity, Pt. 1 (Final Blog Post)

By this point it has almost become trite to refer to director Steve McQueen’s Best Picture-winning 12 Years a Slave as a ‘controversial’ or ‘polarizing’ work; McQueen’s use of unflinching—at times painful—realism is one of the film’s most enduring, eye-opening qualities, while also being the film’s (arguably) greatest lightning rod of contention.

One consequence of being a Best Picture-winning film, it almost goes without saying that 12 Years a Slave has been a massive critical success (Out of Africa or Dances With Wolves warrant those italics, among others). Its formidable aggregate score of 97% on Rotten Tomatoes would seem to support that notion. The small minority of critics who wrote against the film commonly criticized McQueen’s work as safe, while criticizing certain aspects of the film’s desired ‘aesthetic purity’ (despite its grisly subject matter).

The majority of critics writing for the film have praised such aspects as the performances of the principle cast, the visceral and unrelenting sense of realism, lush cinematography, and purported fidelity to Solomon Northup’s story. While I may not agree with the premise that fidelity should be utilized as an evaluative criterion, examining the fidelity of 12 Years a Slave—in relation to its source novel—is a telling way to identify where artistic license has been taken by McQueen and company, while allowing audiences and critics to speculate as to the rationale behind such changes.

Lupita Nyong'o won universal acclaim--and numerous accolades--for her debut film role.

          
Familiarity with Solomon Northup’s memoir is certainly not a prerequisite for viewing (or appreciating) 12 Years a Slave, and yet, knowledge of the original story provides a great deal of historical and narrative context. This understanding also succeeds in highlighting instances of dramatic license taken by McQueen and screenwriter John Ridley, which often stand in stark contrast to what is suggested or portrayed in Northup’s memoir.

One of these moments occurs early in the film as we witness a recently enslaved Solomon pleasuring a slave woman he discovers in bed with him. This occurrence is never mentioned or alluded to in Northup’s memoir, and is an entirely fictitious creation of McQueen and Ridley. 

 

Solomon Northup's unexpected sexual encounter.   Another instance of narrative license transpires shortly after Solomon is kidnapped and placed on a Louisiana-bound steamer, when a sailor threatens to rape a slave woman and a male slave intervenes. The sailor immediately kills him without hesitation; a decision questioned by many, as slaves were obviously considered valuable pieces of property, and the sailor is not the owner.

 

Solomon Northup and his co-conspirators en route to New Orleans. One final example of notable artistic license was observed through McQueen and Ridley’s portrayal of Solomon’s first owner, William Ford (played by Benedict Cumberbatch). In his memoir, Northup paints Ford as benevolent man who is simply blinded by both his circumstances and upbringing, saying, “There was never a more kind, noble, candid, Christian man than William Ford.” This glowing characterization found in Northup’s memoir is drastically altered in the film adaptation, which portrays Ford as something of a hypocrite. This portrayal certainly seems to contradict Northup’s memory of Ford, of whom Northup wrote: “Were all men such as he, slavery would be deprived of more than half its bitterness.”

12 Years a Slave, Fidelity, Pt. 2 (Final Blog Post)

When examining the fidelity of Steve McQueen’s Academy Award-winning 12 Years a Slave, the majority of consideration is ostensibly reserved for (and limited to) specific scenes or instances appearing in the film, and how accurately they are transposed from Solomon Northup’s memoir (and subsequently represented onscreen).

Interestingly enough, one of the most notable departures McQueen’s adaptation makes from its source is not illustrated through a single scene or occurrence, but rather, the portrayal of one of the novels more notable characters, slave owner William Ford.

Portrayed onscreen by Benedict Cumberbatch, William Prince Ford was an antebellum farmer, preacher and slave owner residing in pre-Civil War Louisiana. Ford is best remembered today for his depiction in Twelve Years a Slave as Solomon Northup’s first master, having acquired him in New Orleans following his (Northup’s) kidnapping from Washington DC in 1841.

Benedict Cumberbatch as William Ford.

Despite the obvious disinclination to view William Ford—or any antebellum slave owner—in a positive light through a 21^st century lens, Northup’s memoir paints Ford as an unquestionably benevolent man who is simply blinded by both his cultural circumstances and upbringing. According to Northup, “There was never a more kind, noble, candid, Christian man than William Ford.”

In fact, Northup’s view of Ford—and the institution of slavery in general—appears surprisingly lenient by today’s standards (and Northup’s circumstances at the time). “It is not the fault of the slaveholder that he is cruel, so much as it is the fault of the system under which he lives. He cannot withstand the influence of habit and associations that surround him. Taught from earliest childhood, by all that he sees and hears, that the rod is for the slave's back, he will not be apt to change his opinions in maturer years,” Northup said.

The resulting portrayal of Ford in McQueen’s adaptation represents one of the most notable divergences in fidelity from the novel. The aforementioned glowing, almost commendatory characterization of Ford found in Northup’s memoir is drastically altered in the film, which not only glosses over the purported benevolent and compassionate aspects of Ford’s personality, but actually depicts him as something of a hypocrite (we see Ford giving Sermon to his slaves in a raised voice over the agonizing screams of his slave Eliza).

William Ford preaches to his slaves (over screams).

Although only McQueen and screenwriter John Ridley will ever know the reasons behind the somewhat drastic alteration of Ford’s character, critics and fans are free to speculate. From a narrative standpoint, it stands to reason that the revisions to Ford’s character were made to strike a greater contrast between Ford and Northup’s second owner, the boorish, ill-tempered Edwin Epps. This decision also casts an uncomfortable light on the institution of Christianity as a whole during this period. By placing two Christian slave-owners on opposite ends of the moral spectrum, McQueen appears to be commenting on the perceived failure of Christianity to recognize—and rectify—the inhumanity of slavery, despite the ‘nobility’ or Christian-nature of the most benevolent slave owners.

Unsurprisingly, this divergence in fidelity has proven to be one of the most controversial and discussed changes of McQueen’s adaptation. In fact, following the release of 12 Years a Slave, descendants of William Ford spoke out in his defense, claiming the film unfairly paints him as a tyrant. Ford’s 77-year-old great-great-grandson (also named William Ford) spoke in his favor, “By all accounts, my great-great-grandfather treated his slaves well and did his best for them. He was born at a particular time in history when slavery was accepted throughout the South. It wasn’t illegal. That doesn’t make it right or moral by today’s standards but back then it wasn’t an ethical issue. Northup saw him as a kindly person. He was a highly moral man.”

Also worth noting is Cumberbatch’s view/interpretation of Ford’s character, which he attempted to objectively appraise during promotional interviews for the film. “It’s horrendous, he knows he’s feeding the Christian to the lion, and it tortures his soul, but he still does it. That’s it, that’s the demarcation; that however good a man Ford is, he’s not truly good. He can’t be.” Cumberbatch went on to address Solomon’s sympathetic memory of Ford, but stated that despite the circumstances of the time or his upbringing, he was personally unable to objectively consider Ford a ‘good’ man.

Being aware of Cumberbatch’s personal interpretation of Ford’s character raises an interesting question: was the decision a conscious choice by McQueen and Ridley to oppose Northup’s fond depiction of Ford in his memoir, or is the Ford we see onscreen Cumberbatch’s honest appraisal of Ford’s character as represented in the text? This question provides a noteworthy alternative perspective to the decision, as it seems Cumberbatch’s personal interpretation of the character closely coincides with the version of Ford we see in the film, as opposed to Northup’s memoir.

12 Years a Slave, Fidelity, Pt. 3 (Final Blog Post)

Another divergence in fidelity frequently discussed among critics occurs following Northup’s initial kidnapping, aboard a steamship bound for Louisiana. A lecherous sailor enters the hold and attempts to rape a slave woman, causing a male slave to intervene. The sailor kills him without a second thought, an inclusion that seems unlikely, as slaves were obviously valuable property, and the sailor had no claim to him. 

This dubious addition—in the novel, Solomon’s co-conspirator on the boat dies of tuberculosis—raised numerous questions regarding the scene’s fidelity, even amongst critics unfamiliar with the novel, simply due to its historical improbability.

It seems plausible that this alteration was made in an attempt to heighten the drama of Northup’s voyage, as death by tuberculosis isn’t necessarily explosive or shocking. But Noah Berlatsky of The Atlantic raised a possibility I hadn’t considered; it is noted that after being stricken with tuberculosis himself, Northup’s face was noticeably scarred for the remainder of his life. Berlatsky speculated that this alteration was made so that Ejiofor’s “beautiful, expressive, haunting features” would not go through the remainder of the film covered in scar make-up. Personally, I think the real answer is a combination of both theories.

One of McQueen’s most discussed—and controversial—departures from fidelity occurs early in the film, via flash-forward, as we witness the recently kidnapped Solomon Northup engage in an unexpected sexual encounter with an unknown slave woman (played by Vivian Fleming-Alvarez). The discomfort is almost tangible during this painful sexual episode, in which the woman uses Northup’s hand to bring herself to climax. The pain and confusion are intelligibly emoted by the expression on Northup’s face, and Chiwetel Ejiofor’s performance in this scene—and the film as a whole—brilliantly conveys the fear and incertitude inherent to a slave’s existence (particularly one who was, in reality, a free man).

Despite her marginal role, Vivian Fleming-Alvarez also does a fine job illustrating the collective confusion and despondence of the situation. The audience clearly sees her desperation, and it is significant to note that once the sexual act is complete, she immediately turns away with tears in her eyes. It serves as a painful reminder that slavery was truly a horrifying existence, and what little solace could be found was ephemeral (at best). Coupled with Northup’s pronounced reserve, the hopelessness conveyed by Fleming-Alvarez contributes to a scene meant to demonstrate the fierce dehumanization of slavery.

As is the case with the majority of the film, this scene is depicted with unflinching realism. The camera refuses to move or sway, forcing the audience to absorb the scene as it unfolds. An analogous example can be found in the scene where Northup is nearly hanged, and remains in the noose with his feet barely supporting him. Both scenes make use of an unmoving camera, and long shot lengths that almost beg for a cut (to a new shot).

Regarding the inclusion of this scene, McQueen said: “I just wanted a bit of tenderness—the idea of this woman reaching out for sexual healing in a way, to quote Marvin Gaye. She takes control of her own body. Then after she’s climaxed, she’s back where she was. She’s back in hell, and that’s when she turns and cries.”

I personally found this addition somewhat counterintuitive to the portrayal of Solomon, as it raises potential questions regarding his character (this is not Solomon resigning to his fate as a slave, that comes later when he reluctantly joins the slave song) and seemingly undermines his unrelenting, singular desire to return home to his wife and children.

Despite the powerful sense of psychological realism evoked through the inclusion of this scene, the encounter is entirely fictitious. It should be noted that during the era in which Northup’s memoir was published, the inclusion of any idea remotely suggesting infidelity on his part—true or false—would have torpedoed Northup’s credibility as a narrator, and raised significant questions regarding the accuracy of his entire story. So while it remains possible that Northup was unfaithful to his wife at some point, there is nothing in his memoir—or anywhere else—to suggest this. 

The issue of credibility was especially important given the nature of Northup’s biography. In his book From Behind the Veil, Robert Stepto distinguishes Northup’s memoir from other slave narratives of the era as “integrated” and “sophisticated” by comparison, not building a narrative around prefaces, letters, and other documents, but by following a “unified single text and voice.” This meant the reliability of Northup’s account was of the utmost importance if his narrative was to be given any credence, because his is the only voice we hear. Thomas Doherty identified the primary purpose of the slave narrative: “to rebuke the institution of slavery and the racist ideology that sustained it.” Northup’s credibility had to be resolute to achieve this purpose through an integrated narrative. 

It is interesting to note that while this scene is touched upon in numerous reviews, it seems to have been a more substantial point of friction among critics familiar with Northup’s memoir. While I am a firm believer that fidelity is an overused criterion for evaluation, in this case I understand the contention. I am a staunch supporter of films that attempt to distinguish themselves from their source, but not at the potential cost of the protagonist’s character. 

It is difficult to dispute the impact of this scene in presenting a nuanced look at the desperate conditions inherent to slavery. The scene successfully lends itself to McQueen’s unrelenting sense of realism, but remains controversial in that it demonstrates psychological depth and turmoil by constructing a potentially character-defining event that didn’t actually occur. 

Works Cited 

 

Berlatsky, Noah. “How 12 Years a Slave Gets History Right: By Getting It Wrong.” The Atlantic (2013). Web. 23 Apr. 2014.

Doherty, Thomas. “Bringing The Slave Narrative To Screen: Steve McQueen and John Ridley’s Searing Depiction of America’s Peculiar Institution.” Cineaste 39.1 (2013): 4-8. Academic Search Premier. Web. 24 Apr. 2014.

Raitt, George. “Still Lusting After Fidelity?.” Literature Film Quarterly 38.1 (2010): 47-58. Academic Search Premier. Web. 22 Apr. 2014.

Stepto, Robert B. From Behind the Veil: A Study of Afro-American Narrative. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1979.

Thomson, David.  “What Do We Expect Of A Best Picture?.”  New Republic 244.23 (2014):  64-66. Academic Search Premier.  Web. 21 Apr. 2014.

Weiner, Jonah. “The Liberation of Steve McQueen.” Rolling Stone 1202 (2014): 44-47. Academic Search Premier. Web. 22 Apr. 2014.

Williams, Chad L. “Solomon Northup’s Odyssey.” Humanities 35.1 (2014): 16-52. Academic Search Premier. Web. 21 Apr. 2014.

12 Years a Slave--Fidelity in the portrayal of William Ford

When examining the fidelity of Steve McQueen’s Academy Award-winning 12 Years a Slave, the majority of consideration is ostensibly reserved for (and limited to) specific scenes or instances appearing in the film, and how accurately they are transposed from Solomon Northup’s memoir (and subsequently represented onscreen).

Interestingly enough, one of the most notable departures McQueen’s adaptation makes from its source is not illustrated through a single scene or occurrence, but rather, the portrayal of one of the novels more notable characters, slave owner William Ford.

Portrayed onscreen by Benedict Cumberbatch, William Prince Ford was an antebellum farmer, preacher and slave owner residing in pre-Civil War Louisiana. Ford is best remembered today for his depiction in Twelve Years a Slave as Solomon Northup’s first master, having acquired him in New Orleans following his (Northup’s) kidnapping from Washington DC in 1841.

Benedict Cumberbatch as William Ford

Despite the obvious disinclination to view William Ford—or any antebellum slave owner—in a positive light through a 21^st century lens, Northup’s memoir paints Ford as an unquestionably benevolent man who is simply blinded by both his cultural circumstances and upbringing. According to Northup, “There was never a more kind, noble, candid, Christian man than William Ford.”

The resulting portrayal of Ford in McQueen’s adaptation represents one of the most notable divergences in fidelity from the original source. The aforementioned glowing, almost commendatory characterization of Ford found in Northup’s memoir is drastically altered in the film, which not only glosses over the purported benevolent and compassionate aspects of Ford’s personality, but actually depicts him as something of a hypocrite (we see Ford giving Sermon to his slaves in a raised voice over the agonizing screams of his slave Eliza).

William Ford preaches to his slaves (over screams)

Although only McQueen and screenwriter John Ridley will ever know the real reasons behind the somewhat drastic alteration of Ford’s character, critics and fans are free to speculate. From a narrative standpoint, it stands to reason that the revisions to Ford’s character were made to strike a greater contrast between Ford and Northup’s second owner, the boorish, ill-tempered Edwin Epps. This decision also casts an uncomfortable light on the institution of Christianity as a whole during this period. By placing two Christian slave-owners on opposite ends of the moral spectrum, McQueen appears to be commenting on the perceived failure of Christianity to recognize—and rectify—the inhumanity of slavery, despite the ‘nobility’ or Christian-nature of the most benevolent slave owners.

Unsurprisingly, this notable divergence in fidelity has proven to be one of the most controversial and discussed changes of McQueen’s adaptation. In fact, following the release of 12 Years a Slave, descendants of William Ford spoke out in his defense, claiming the film unfairly paints him as a tyrant. Ford’s 77-year-old great-great-grandson (also named William Ford) spoke in his favor, “By all accounts, my great-great-grandfather treated his slaves well and did his best for them. He was born at a particular time in history when slavery was accepted throughout the South. It wasn’t illegal. That doesn’t make it right or moral by today’s standards but back then it wasn’t an ethical issue. Northup saw him as a kindly person. He was a highly moral man.”

Also worth noting is Cumberbatch’s view/interpretation of Ford’s character, which he attempted to objectively appraise during promotional interviews for the film. “It’s horrendous, he knows he’s feeding the Christian to the lion, and it tortures his soul, but he still does it. That’s it, that’s the demarcation; that however good a man Ford is, he’s not truly good. He can’t be.” Cumberbatch went on to address Solomon’s sympathetic memory of Ford, but stated that despite the circumstances of the time or his upbringing, he was personally unable to objectively consider Ford a ‘good’ man.

Being aware of Cumberbatch’s interpretation and approach to Ford’s character provides an interesting alternative perspective, which raises the question of how much influence Cumberbatch had on the decision to alter Ford’s portrayal in the film. Personally, I feel this uncertainty makes the revision that much more compelling; was the decision a conscious choice by McQueen and Ridley to oppose Northup’s fond depiction of Ford found in his memoir, or is the Ford we see onscreen Cumberbatch’s honest appraisal of Ford’s character as represented in the text?

Examining Instances of Artistic License in 12 Years a Slave

By this point it has almost become trite to refer to director Steve McQueen’s Best Picture-winning 12 Years a Slave as a ‘controversial’ or ‘polarizing’ work; McQueen’s use of unflinching—at times painful—realism is one of the film’s most enduring, eye-opening qualities, while also being the film’s (arguably) greatest lightning rod of contention.

              One consequence of being a Best Picture-winning film, it almost goes without saying that 12 Years a Slave has been a massive critical success (Out of Africa or Dances With Wolves warrant those italics, among others). Its formidable aggregate score of 97% on Rotten Tomatoes would seem to support that notion. The small minority of critics who wrote against the film commonly criticized McQueen’s work as safe, while criticizing certain aspects of the film’s desired ‘aesthetic purity’ (despite its grisly subject matter).

              The majority of critics writing for the film have praised such aspects as the performances of the principle cast, the visceral and unrelenting sense of realism, lush cinematography, and purported fidelity to Solomon Northup’s story. While I may not agree with the premise that fidelity should be utilized as an evaluative criterion, examining the fidelity of 12 Years a Slave—in relation to its source novel—is a telling way to identify where artistic license has been taken by McQueen and company, while allowing audiences and critics to speculate as to the rationale behind such changes.

Lupita Nyong'o won universal acclaim--and numerous accolades--for her debut film role.

            Familiarity with Solomon Northup’s memoir is certainly not a prerequisite for viewing (or appreciating) 12 Years a Slave, and yet, knowledge of the original story provides a great deal of historical and narrative context. This understanding also succeeds in highlighting instances of dramatic license taken by McQueen and screenwriter John Ridley, which often stand in stark contrast to what is suggested or portrayed in Northup’s memoir.

            One of these moments occurs early in the film as we witness a recently enslaved Solomon pleasuring a slave woman he discovers in bed with him. This occurrence is never mentioned or alluded to in Northup’s memoir, and is an entirely fictitious creation of McQueen and Ridley. “I just wanted a bit of tenderness—the idea of this woman reaching out for sexual healing in a way, to quote Marvin Gaye. She takes control of her own body. Then after she’s climaxed, she’s back where she was. She’s back in hell, and that’s when she turns and cries,” said McQueen. The inclusion of this scene caught the attention of many, particularly those familiar with Northup’s memoir. I personally found this addition somewhat counterintuitive to the portrayal of Solomon, as it raises potential questions about his character (this is not Solomon resigning to his fate as a slave, that comes later when he reluctantly joins the slave song) and seemingly undermines his unrelenting, singular desire to return home to his wife and children.

The dramatized Northup family.

              Another instance of narrative license transpires shortly after Solomon is kidnapped and placed on a Louisiana-bound steamer, when a sailor threatens to rape a slave woman and a male slave intervenes. The sailor immediately kills him without hesitation; a decision questioned by many, as slaves were obviously considered valuable pieces of property, and the sailor is not the owner. This dubious addition—in the novel, Solomon’s co-conspirator on the boat dies of tuberculosis—raised numerous questions regarding the scene’s fidelity, even amongst those critics unfamiliar with the novel, simply due to its improbability.

Solomon Northup and his co-conspirators en route to New Orleans.

               One final example of notable artistic license was observed through McQueen and Ridley’s portrayal of Solomon’s first owner, William Ford (played by Benedict Cumberbatch). In his memoir, Northup paints Ford as benevolent man who is simply blinded by both his circumstances and upbringing, saying, “There was never a more kind, noble, candid, Christian man than William Ford.” This glowing characterization found in Northup’s memoir is drastically altered in the film adaptation, which portrays Ford as something of a hypocrite (Ford gives sermon to his slaves over the agonizing screams of Eliza). This decision was arguably made to strike a greater contrast between Ford and Northup’s second owner, the iniquitous Edwin Epps (played by Michael Fassbender), as well as to provide a more glaring indictment upon the institution of Christianity as a whole, by portraying two Christian slave-owners on opposite ends of the moral spectrum (who are both wrong nonetheless). This portrayal certainly seems to contradict Northup’s memory of Ford, of whom Northup wrote: “Were all men such as he, slavery would be deprived of more than half its bitterness.”

Hollywood Hitchcock's

The last decade (give or take) has seen a veritable explosion of questionable reboots and remakes of celebrated cult films, which often have the effect of leaving filmgoers scratching their heads, begging the question: “Did (insert film here) really need to be remade?” Films such as the recently released Robocop reboot, as well as the upcoming remake of Point Break come to mind.

"Yawwwwwwn" (Photo courtesy IMDB)

Given this increasingly apparent trend, it is often easy to neglect the fact that the commercial revitalization of dormant films/franchises is not limited solely to cult or niche films. Arguably one of the most notable ‘classic’ film remakes of the past two decades (if not ever), Gus Van Sant’s 1998 remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) was an unmitigated disaster in every sense.

              Despite the remake updating the story to contemporary times and being filmed in color, it bears a startling resemblance to Hitchcock’s original film that pushes the boundary between homage and sheer exploitation. Van Sant’s reverence to Hitchcock is almost palpable, as he often replicates Hitchcock’s original camera movements and editing techniques, while utilizing Joseph Stefano’s original script nearly verbatim. The film even makes use of Bernard Herrmann’s iconic musical score (albeit re-arranged, with some additions by Danny Elfman). These factors led critics to universally pan/disregard the Psycho remake as nothing more than a big-budget film school project—a shot-for-shot remake that failed to add anything compelling to the original film (and arguably tarnished its legend in the mind of viewers).

You are not my Norman Bates. (Photo courtesy vvaughn.com)

 Even with the disastrous outcome of Hollywood’s last attempt to cash in on the modernization of a Hitchcock film, it doesn’t appear that they have learned their lesson. It was reported in 2007 that Universal Studios had given the green light to begin production on a remake of another Hitchcock classic, The Birds (1963).

                The original report attached Naomi Watts to the role of Melanie, with rumors that Martin Campbell—hot off the success of Casino Royale—would be helming the project. As one might expect, this announcement was not only met with a distinct lack of excitement/interest, but vehement criticism. Tippi Hedren—who played Melanie in Hitchcock’s original—voiced her displeasure at the announcement, saying: “Why would you do that? Why? I mean, can’t we find new stories, new things to do?” That sentiment seems to be echoed by a large portion of today’s audiences, but as long as these questionable remakes/reboots remain commercially viable, we can continue to expect uninspired remakes of both classic and cult films alike.

               Whether or not this remake of The Birds ever reaches fruition, I cannot help but wonder what steps might be taken by the production team to insure a superior end result than the calamitous Psycho remake. It is safe to assume that Universal would distance itself from the idea of a shot-for-shot remake that Van Sant utilized, which raises the challenge of presenting a potential remake in a new and compelling way that makes it a worthy companion piece to the original.

               Personally, I see one of the biggest challenges in remaking The Birds is recreating Hitchcock’s evocative, macabre cinematography in a unique fashion, without simply recreating the shots (as Psycho did in 1998). Certain shots from original are still clearly etched into my mind—Lydia standing up into a fixed frame, while the camera slowly tracks backward to reveal four characters standing in perfect composition, or a close-up of a hand addressing a letter, before slowly tracking backward to reveal Melanie in a medium shot—and a successful remake would require an auteur with the ability to create memorable, evocative shot compositions without lifting shots directly from the original film. It is certainly possible, but to me, the few directors with the acumen to pull of such a feat, are also the directors smart enough steer clear of remaking a Hitchcock film in the first place.

Who are the 'Freaks'?

Following our requisite viewing of Tod Browning’s 1932 film Freaks—adapted from the short story Spurs, written by Tod Robbins in 1923—astute viewers will notice the variations in character portrayals between the film and the original story, in ways both subtle and apparent. I was immediately aware of the film's expansion of the idea/theme present in the short story questioning who the 'freaks' truly are.

Even more so than the original story, the film portrays the circus freaks as intrinsically honorable and trusting individuals, contrasted against the two "normal" members of the troupe who conspire together to murder Hans and obtain his fortune for themselves. It begs the question of who are the real freaks in this situation? That was a dynamic I enjoyed, despite the removal of several instances of dialogue that aimed to further depict the ‘normal’ humans as reprehensible, and the ‘freaks’ as sympathetic individuals.

Although the screen romance between Frieda and Hans reflects the subdued/chilly nature of the original story, this could easily have been a product of necessity, as the roles were played by real life brother and sister Harry and Daisy Earles.

The conclusion of the film--or rather, the entire film in general--is clearly a product of pre-Hays Code Hollywood, with the brutal climax that sees the freaks attacking the two 'normal' conspirators armed with knives, guns, and other weapons. It is interesting to note that the final reunion of Hans and Frieda—seen in most versions of the film—was not part of Tod Browning’s original cut. It was only added after negative response from test audiences prompted studio executives to re-edit the film with a happier ending.

Some of the imagery in this film was no less than shocking (to me, at least), and while I won't go as far as to say I had nightmares, the images of Cleopatra as a disgusting human duck, and basically every shot of Prince Randian as the living torso were enough to haunt my dreams for the duration of the weekend. I also enjoyed the fact that, unlike the original short story that portrayed each ancillary freak as something of a caricature, the film avoids this by the inclusion of several 'slice of life' scenes that expand upon the lives of the performers (birth of the bearded woman's child, conjoined twin engangement, etc). These inclusions were important to humanize the 'freaks' and it seems to shy away from the winking, almost tongue-in-cheek fashion they are portrayed in Spurs.

Photo courtesy of monkeyinthecage.com

 I would truly love to see the original, uncut version of this film, and I'm disappointed that the segments removed are lost to the universal ether. I can’t help but wonder how the film’s original ending—one that allegedly showed Hercules singing soprano in Madame Tetralini’s new sideshow after being castrated by the vengeful freaks—would have affected the tone and dynamic of the film, had it not been cut after receiving vehemently negative reactions from preview reactions. Even with the aforementioned cuts, the film was banned in the United Kingdom for more than 30 years, finally being released with an X rating in 1963.

 Although I was aware of Tod Browning through he and Bela Lugosi's collaboration on Dracula in 1931, it was especially interesting (and disheartening) to read that the extreme level of controversy—and misunderstanding—surrounding Freaks effectively ended Browning's once-promising Hollywood career, especially given the social critique of intolerance he was attempting to construct.

Cape Fear (1991)

     Upon finishing John D. MacDonald's 1957 novel The Executioners, it became exceedingly clear to me why Martin Scorsese--my very favorite director; the man is a living deity--chose to remake Cape Fear from the stellar 1962 adaptation starring Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum (who both make cameo appearances in Scorsese's update). With the novel not even clocking in at 200 pages, why did Martin Scorsese feel the need to revisit this meager, fairly by-the-numbers thriller? The answer lies in the character of Samuel Bowden.

     Both the novel and the original film portray Bowden as a good, all-American man simply stuck trying to defend his family, and himself from the hulking, deranged rapist known as Max Cady. Scorsese wisely strips away Bowden's veneer of moral infallibility and self-righteousness by portraying him as a flawed and guilty individual himself. The perfect, Leave it to Beaver-esque family dynamic of the novel and original film are nowhere to be found, instead we find a family re-imagined with only one child--a teenage daughter, this time named Danny as opposed to Nancy--and a much less healthy marital dynamic than the one portrayed in the original film/novel. It is implied they have been through a great deal (counseling) as a couple to overcome Sam's past infidelities, and he even appears to be on the verge of initiating another in the early parts of the film.

     Unlike the picturesque, wholesome portrayal of Nancy found in the original film, Scorsese's Danny is a shy, reclusive teenager who retreats to her room and the comfort of MTV whenever her parents initiate another grueling shouting match. As Roger Ebert put it in his original review of Cape Fear; "Everyone in this film is weak in one way or another, and there are no heroes. That's the Scorsese touch." This is a family saddled with a great deal of turmoil before Max Cady even enters their lives, and his appearance only exacerbates the already tumultuous relationship between members of the family.
  
     (The few) Detractors of Scorsese's work point out that he considers plot insignificant, but this isn't true, he simply adores his characters and their interactions and development as they progress through the narrative. It's not that plot isn't important, it's just that characters take precedent. Scorsese's recognition of the potential for a much more difficult and antagonistic family dynamic between the Bowden's added a great deal of thematic depth to what could be considered a relatively straightforward thriller.

     The decision to add the strange sexual dynamic between Cady and Danny was also an unexpected--and I thought, fairly inspired--addition to the original story; it not only further involves Danny in the narrative (for the nature of Cady's original crime, Nancy was not fully utilized as a character in the original story), but adds another timber to the aforementioned fiery family situation, especially when Sam is horrified at Danny's apparent curiosity/interest in Cady.

     I would be remiss to not mention Robert De Niro in any discussion of Cape Fear, and his startling portrayal of Cady as the sadistic, iron-pumping mountain-man is truly a feast for the senses. The consummate method actor--until recent years, some might argue--De Niro paid a brave dentist $5,000 to file down and mangle his teeth for Cady's grimy oral appearance, paying him $25,000 to repair them once filming was complete. Cady's evocative tattoos were achieved through the use of vegetable dyes, which eventually faded after several months. De Niro also reportedly trimmed down to less than 5% body fat for the role, one which earned him his last Academy Award nomination until 2012's Silver Linings Playbook.