Play vs. Film: Shadowlands

[Play and 1993 screenplay by William Nicholson, 1985 television script by William Nicholson and Norman Stone]

 

     Shadowlands (1993) is one of my favorite feature films of all time (for other favorites, see my list in the left sidebar). If you're not familiar with it, you can take a look at its IMDb page. Anthony Hopkins breaks my heart with his portrayal of the learned and stiff-upper-lipped author C. S. Lewis (or "Jack," as he preferred to be called) who falls in love with the outspoken American poet Joy Gresham (née Helen Joy Davidman). She has admired him greatly from across the pond, through his books and also through their correspondence which began in 1950. In fact, she loves him even before travelling to Oxford to meet him.

     I suppose one of the reasons I love their story so much is my identification with Joy. I understand completely her feelings for him. What vaguely disappoints me about the film, however, is Debra Winger. I've only seen her in two other films (Terms of Endearment and Legal Eagles), but that's enough for me to conclude that there is something about her screen persona that just doesn't—well, endear her to me. Her portrayal of Joy is, I concede, quite moving especially in the second half of the film, but her uneven New York accent detracts a bit from her performance. I really wish she had done without it altogether.

     This film is graced by the luscious score of George Fenton, whose ability to mimic the music of any period is truly astonishing.  

     After many viewings of the film, the screenplay of which was written by William Nicholson, I decided I needed to read the stage play. But Nicholson's 1989 play of the same name was actually adapted from a multi-award-winning 1985 BBC television movie, whose screenplay was co-written by Nicholson and the movie's creator/director, Norman Stone. So I decided to watch it first. It features Joss Ackland as a Jack startlingly close to what I had imagined Jack to be like, and Claire Bloom, a wonderful Joy, less abrasive than Winger, and sans New York accent. This version is much more faithful to the real-life story than is the 1993 feature film, though it is perhaps less emotionally satisfying. There are longer philosophical conversations between Jack and Joy. I didn't bawl like a baby when I watched it, as I did (do) watching the feature film, and I sorely missed Fenton's great musical score, but Ackland's compelling performance kept my eyes glued to the screen.

     Both the feature film and the BBC TV film are available on DVD. The DVD of the latter includes both the 90-minute original British version and the 73-minute American (PBS) version. (Why on earth are American versions of BBC productions always shorter???)

     I really enjoyed reading Nicholson's lovely play (which can be purchased here, though there are cheaper copies to be had). Nigel Hawthorne was the C. S. Lewis for both the premiere run in Plymouth and on Broadway; Joy was played by Jane Lapotaire in Plymouth and by Jane Alexander in New York. My copy of the play contains photos of the New York cast. In reading the play, I grew even fonder of Joy, and all the other characters as well—even cynical Christopher Riley. The play is in two acts and the set called for is divided into two areas, one within the other. The inner area is divided from the outer by a screen which rises and falls as scenery is changed. One of the things I particularly enjoy about reading plays is reading the stage directions, which, though strictly informative and usually not at all literary, are nevertheless the equivalent of the narrative in novels and short stories. Their very nature, cursory and dry, demands that the reader engage his imagination, much more so than while reading descriptively generous narrative. Reading plays is harder work than reading novels. Most of the characters' psychology and motivation lie in the dialogue. Usually, you get only the most basic help from the stage directions, and many actors themselves dislike relying on them to aid them in delivery or in fleshing out their characters. Some even pencil them out completely when they first read the script so as not to be distracted by them.

     Anyway, I digress a bit. The play's seamless flowing in and out of the two areas of the stage, and characters entering and exiting a scene across chronological lapses, lend a certain "stream of consciousness" to the story, as if the play were unfolding in Lewis' memory, though it is not a flashback. I found this mesmerizing and supportive of the philosophical and spiritual aspects in the material. I would love to see this play in person. It isn't a strict adaptation of the TV film, though of course much of the dialogue was taken from it. The feature film is a blending of both its predecessors.

     Sorry, but it's impossible to write about the story without divulging the fact that Joy has cancer and dies. Besides, any fan of C. S. Lewis knows about that. Shadowlands is, more than anything, the story of Lewis' emotional evolvement and revelation, the opening of his heart and soul to love and the pain it sometimes brings. His writings and lectures on pain have always emphasized pain's salvific power, as Nicholson points out in the character's opening monologue, utilizing material from Lewis' writings:

God loves us, so He makes us the gift of suffering. Through suffering, we release our hold on the toys of this world, and know that our true good lies in another world. We're like blocks of stone, out of which the sculptor carves the forms of men. The blows of his chisel, which hurt us so much, are what make us perfect. The suffering in the world is not the failure of God's love for us; it is that love in action. For believe me, this world that seems to us so substantial, is no more than the shadowlands. Real life has not begun yet.

     Though he wrote and lectured effectively on suffering, Lewis only learns the truth of his own words after enduring the crucible of losing Joy. Always before, he had repressed whatever pain came into his life—the death of his mother, for instance—and tucked it neatly away beneath the cozy quilt of learning, literature, and lecturing. By allowing himself to love Joy, he learns to deal with suffering as a necessary part of inner growth. Through it all, his faith in God and in the "real life" that exists beyond the shadowlands is strengthened.

     I highly recommend all three formats.

 

 

 

Film Scores I Love, Part Two

     Okay, it's not a feature film -- rather, they're not feature films -- but Hagood Hardy's scores to Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Green Gables, the Sequel (formerly titled Anne of Avonlea) are so wonderfully winsome, touching, humorous, romantic, and just downright perfect for these mini-series, I just had to include them here.

     Unfortunately, the CD is out of print and extant copies, both new and used, are outrageously expensive (at least from what I saw on Amazon). Shame. At least we still have this beautiful music on YouTube.

     One of my favorite film composers is Thomas Newman, whose most recent credits include The Help, The Iron Lady, and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. But it's his score to the 1994 Little Women that I love best. The titles theme is unabashedly American, almost Copland-esque, with its broad brass and sweeping strings, a perfect musical evocation of this quintessentially American novel and its atmospheric film adaptation.



     Another of my favorites is Patrick Doyle. Who doesn't love the music in the final scene of Sense and Sensibility ? All the music in this film is wonderful, particularly the songs sung by Kate Winslet and, over the end credits, the platinum-voiced Jane Eaglen.



     Speaking of Jane Austen films, I particularly love the songs Jeremy Sams wrote for the 1995 Persuasion, both of them in Italian and both so lovely (though the second one is incomplete), I wish they were available on sheet music. Those of you who have seen the film undoubtedly know the scene where Anne and her family attend a salon concert (" ... to be given in Italian," said Mr Elliott contemptuously ). The first song is repeated over the final credits.

     I couldn't write a post about favorite film scores without including this scene from The Holiday, in which Jack Black, playing a film composer, tells Kate Winslet's character -- in a most descriptive way -- what his favorite film scores are. (Fastforward to about 4:00 for the scene I'm talking about.)





Music Monday: Film Scores I Love, Part One

     First of all, let me admit to having a rather limited taste in films. I don't do thrillers, science fiction, quirky indies (sounds vaguely vulgar, somehow), anything with a lot of nudity, violence, and/or foul language, films about war, third world countries, politics ... well, maybe it would be simpler to say what kinds of films I do like. Then again, if you read this blog on anything like a regular basis, you can probably form a pretty good idea on your own. Plus which, I have listed some of my favorite films of all time in the left sidebar of this page, a list clearly indicative of the kinds of films I'm repeatedly drawn to.

     Given this limited taste, one may come to the logical and correct conclusion that my knowledge of film scores is consequently limited as well. I'm sure there are many musical scores of films I would never choose to see that I would actually love were I to hear them. But since so much of the success of a film score depends on how well it enhances the visual, I'll most likely never come to know them. When I listen to a score without the film, there are inevitably pieces of incidental or underscoring music that sound forlornly unfulfilled on their own, as if they lack the framework of bones to hold up their skin. Of course, there are fabulous themes and theme songs that stand on their own, such as "Goldfinger," "Alfie," "Moon River" from Breakfast at Tiffany's, "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, "Let the River Run" from Working Girl, to name just a few (am I dating myself?); and the John Williams themes, all of which tend to sound alike. (Have you ever noticed, music wonks, that the themes from Superman, ET,  and Star Wars all begin with the interval of a fifth?)

     One main theme I love is the end credits of Shadowlands (1993, Anthony Hopkins and Debra Winger), music by George Fenton and performed by the London Symphony Orchestra:

     The opening of the film is also very beautiful, Fenton's own setting of "Veni, Sancte Spiritus" sung by the Choir of Magdalen College, Oxford:



     In fact, if I had to choose just one film composer as my favorite, I would probably choose George Fenton. He's not only capable of writing stunningly beautiful and evocative music, he can write music in the style of any period and make it sound absolutely authentic. A very good example of this can be heard in the trailer for 84, Charing Cross Road, a film that covers a period of twenty years from the late '40s to the late '60s:



      Fenton also wrote the scores to films such as Gandhi, Dangerous Liasons, Dangerous Beauty, and You've Got Mail, as well television series such as Planet Earth, Blue Planet, and Life. I love the music he wrote for You've Got Mail -- relatively sparse as it is among all the borrowed pop standards -- it's fittingly cute and quirky, but then there's also the brief nostalgic waltz that swells up under the scene where Meg Ryan's character reminisces about "twirling" with her mother.

     Another Fenton favorite of mine is his score to Ever After: A Cinderella Story.



     Though the recipient of many awards, including multiple Emmys, Ivor Novellos, and BAFTAs, and nominated for countless others, including five nominations for the Academy Award, Oscar has so far eluded him -- unjustly, I think. His versatility and gift for musical idiom is certainly on a level with the greatest and most honored film composers, past and present.

     Many of Fenton's scores are available through Amazon.