# Adapting Fiction to Film: Marleen Gorris's Film Production of Virginia Woolf's Mrs Dalloway Revisited

Salah S. B. Bouregbi

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Salah S. B. Bouregbi. Adapting Fiction to Film: Marleen Gorris's Film Production of Virginia Woolf's Mrs Dalloway Revisited. In Translation / , 2022 9 (1), pp.517-542. hal-04084220

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# Adapting Fiction to Film: Marleen Gorris's Film Production of Virginia Woolf's *Mrs Dalloway* Revisited

تكيف الرواية إلى الفيلم: قراءة نقدية للمخرجة السينمائية مارلين قوريش لرواية فرجينيا وولف "السيدة دالاوي"

Salah BOUREGBI

TRADIL Laboratory/Dept of English, Badji Mokhtar University, Annaba, (Algeria),

salah.bouregbi@univ-annaba.dz

Received: 19/03/2022

Accepted: 29/05/2022

Published: 24/12/2022

**Abstract:**

Adaptation is a kind of violation of the unity of the text. Whatever the film producer is doing, his quest is no more than a deconstruction and a reconstruction of the text. This reconstruction is, almost, a new creation of a new type of artistic production. Though the author manifests himself, here and there through the screen, he is devoiced and his identity is fragmented through the making of the scenes and images of the film. Any text has a variety of interpretations. Its plurality is potential with endless possible significations: its signifier has many signifieds. Negotiations, manipulations and focalization of the camera eye decide upon the product orientation of film-construction. Reproducing literature into film is, then, very challenging. The novel fictionalizes life, whereas the film literalizes it. The case of Marleen Gorris's film of Virginia Woolf's *Mrs Dalloway* is very illustrative.

**Keywords:** Filmmaking, Fiction, Adaptation, Translation, Screenwriting

**ملخص:**

التكيف نوع من انتهاك وحدة النص. فمهما كان ما يفعله المخرج، فإن سعيه ليس سوى تفكيك وإعادة بناء للنص.
وإعادة البناء هذه، هي تقريباً إعادة إبداع لنوع جديد من الإنتاج الفني. إن أي نص له تأويل متعدد. وهذا التعدد ممكن
لمعان متناهية، أي أن دواله له مدلولات كثيرة. إن إعادة إنتاج الأدب إلى الفيلم أمر صعب للغاية. إن الرواية تتخيل
الحياة، بينما يصورها الفيلم بالمعنى الحرفي. يشكل فيلم "مارلين غريس" عن "السيدة دلواي" للروائية "فرجينيا وولف"
حالة توضيحية للغاية.

كلمات مفتاحية: إخراج، خيال، تكيف، ترجمة، كتابة السيناريو.
**1. Introduction**

A literary text is an artistic identity composed of two dialogically interrelated
elements: the intrinsic and the extrinsic. These two parameters manifest whenever a
text is about to be confronted. The intrinsic is frequently related to the internals of the
text: its prosody, figures of speech and figures of sound; the extrinsic is essentially
associated with the externals of the text: its structural composition. So, the meaning of
the text is negotiated on the basis of these two parameters. The contextual signification
is related to the intention of the reader, who looks at it and tries to conceptualize its
meaning through his own lens. On the contrary, the film product is different. It is
mostly based on the image (visual-non-verbal) and the aural (audio-non-verbal). Its
intrinsic is rather the image making and the dialogue orchestrated around it; its
extrinsic is the production and its relation with the environment, the producer and his
intentions.

**2. Adaptation: Novel Transfer to Film**

Novel transfer into film has long been an area of research in the mode of actualizing
the fictional into the visual. There are some landmark contributors in this field, who
tried to theorize the transformation of the written into the visual, i.e., from book to
screen, among them George Bluestone(1957), Brian McFarlane(1996), Deborah
Cartmell (1999, 2007), Barton Palmer (2007), Christian Metz (1975), David Bordwell
(1985),...etc.

Adapting a novel into a film is transferring a text and a context to another artistic
creation, which is rooted in the former, yet, it is not: it is autonomous and has its own
specificities and independence. The cinema critic Rick Wallach evinces that:

> It's commonplace for avid cinema goers to avoid reading the book to avoid
> cluttering their perceptions of the film, and even more commonly, lovers of
> the novel avoid seeing the film because they don't think that the cinema
> version will do justice to the book.... Nevertheless, if you've read the novel
> without having seen the film, or seen the film without having read the book,
> what additional dimensions of meaning remain unexplored in
> either one, or, to put it another way, what interpretive opportunities have we
> missed? (p. xi)

But can a specific type of art be transferred into another type without any
transformation? Does adaptation rethink the material transferred or faithfully
reproduce it? What attention and intention does the transferred material possess and
hold? Who adheres to the transfer? Is it the author of the text, or the producer, or both
of them? Does the new product hold the spirit of the author or the producer? If we
speak of fidelity, another question poses itself: fidelity to what/whom? Put otherwise:
fidelity of what? Of whom?

Adaptation is a kind of violation of the unity of the text. Whatever the film
producer/screenwriter is doing, it is no more than a deconstruction and a
reconstruction of the text enveloped within the canons and techniques of this new type
of artistic creation: it is, almost, a creation because it holds its maker. Though the author manifests himself here and there through the screen, he is devoiced and his identity is fragmented through the making of the scenes and images and the point of view of the film-maker. The latter appropriates the text through the use of his selected filmic techniques to make his production possible and imposing. In the words of Charles Bane: “Adaptations are not and cannot be filmic representations of the novelist’s intentions. Such a feat would be impossible because it implies a personal relationship with a possibly dead author” (p.48). In the same vein, Diane Lake claims that adaptation can in no way be the book itself. The adaptor is not constrained to follow the original: the text. She says:

> One might say, ‘But what if the story is all internal – a series of internal monologues if you will – how can film do that justice?’ But my response is a question: *Who said the job of film is to do justice to the book?* To even ask if the film can do justice to the book is to fail to understand that the book is its own entity and, even though the film may be based on the book, the film is its own entity as well. The book cannot be a film on its own. Even if I put someone on screen reading the book word for word, the very act of having someone read the book *to* the viewer would change the nature of the book. (p.408)

However, there is a clear difference between reading a book and watching a film. Both have different strategies and moments of being. Sophia Nikoleishvili puts it well when she compares between these two moments: “While reading a book we picture the episodes, and imagine what the characters look like. A reader's imagination is free, even within the limits set by the descriptions of an author. A film, on the other hand, ‘imposes’ the visual images on viewers” (p.24). There are, then, two standing points and positions: one is to interpret, re-imagine and conceptualize; the other is to see, hear and follow the movement of the camera and the intentions of the producer. In other words, for the book, more than the film, you have enough time to read, apprehend and reinterpret. Time duration is open to you and time of decision is more flexible all along your reading since the book is between your hands and at your disposition. That is to say, the reader can accelerate and/or decelerate his reading. On the contrary, for the film, you are guided, transported hand-fastened and trapped by the image, the sound, the visual effects, the music,...etc. No time is ever open to you to reinterpret because time of narration is short or substituted and contracted by a foreground or a background, which makes you watch and enjoy your sightseeing giving no moment for you to stop looking and start thinking about the scene(s): there is no time flexibility.

So, adaptation is dialogically related to what the producer wants to actualize through the screen, and what he has understood through the text. That is to say, frequency of scenes and images are imposed by some artistic devices, as matching the verbal with the non-verbal. Frequency is restricted by the portion and proportion of time, which is tied up to the duration of the film and its sequences. In this case, if the spectator quits, he will lose the whole story, whereas in the text the reader can
continue his reading. Even if the spectator could re-watch the film, the moment becomes different from the first and, thus, breaks the unity of effect the producer wants to evoke and the intensions he wants to produce. “Although, in a silent reading, the performer and audience are necessarily the same person,” Barbara Herrnstein Smith points out, “this should not obscure the fact that the reading consists of two theoretically distinct activities, only one of which is comparable to listening to music or looking at a picture” (p.556).

Another problem is the manner the past and the present, and probably the future, is presented. In the text, we can know through flashbacks the past of a character, but in the film, the producer goes to the past through colours (black and white, or bland yellow), and the costumes of that time. This seems, somehow, artificial; besides, the reproduction of actors’ past as young is problematic. This is to say, the producer is constrained to select three or four actors to play the role of one character: as a child, a young, a mature, and an aged. The critic Hanna Mykytyn points out that :

Entre l'adhésion du lecteur et les mots du texte, il y a une forme qui manque. Dans un film, le monde se réalise au contraire selon cette absence de logique qui caractérise la vie imaginative.... En lisant un livre, un lecteur a besoin d'utiliser sa propre imagination afin de mettre les images abstraites décrites par les mots aux images 'réelles' du monde entier, les faire vivantes. (p.03)

[Between the adhesion of the reader and the words of the text, there is a form that is missing. In a film, the world is realized on the contrary according to the absence of the logic, which characterizes the imaginative life.... When reading a book, a reader needs to use his own imagination in order to bring the abstract images, described by the words, to the 'real' images of the whole world, to make them come alive.] (Trans. Mine)

So, adaptation is a translation of a novel into a film. But this translation is not within the same nature of art. Adaptation is deliberate and subject to intensions and ideological conceptualization. It can distort, willingly or unwillingly, the nature of the translated text into a film. It can say more, or less, than what the novel intends to say. The writer and screenwriter Robin Swicord claims that:

> Not everything in a film represents an interpretive artistic choice, including what ends up in the script....I interrogate the book: ‘What are the intentions of the author?’ This road map ends up being a close reading of the narrative and the thematic elements of the book. With this in hand, I can translate the novel into its dramatic elements, begin to map the film’s narrative, and see the shape of the movie. (p.12)

In the same vein Kamilla Elliott states that: “When films do try to follow books by filming them, literati turn the very rhetoric they had once used to so successfully diminish and eradicate book illustrations against these adaptations” (p.11).

Reconstructing the storyline of film after fictional deconstruction is paving a way to a new creation, where authority and paternity are of the filmmakers. The adaptation is received “as the artistic products of their film authors. This transfer of ownership,
gained by the recoding of adaptation into a productive activity, becomes a signifier of authority and originality – two signs central to the image of the auteur” (Cobb, p.108).

Film reflects more than what language of fiction represents. Everything in film is on the move, action, and activity. Film construction is made up on the basis of affection and perception. Seymour Chatman claims that: “Many filmmakers believe so, but most critics and audience members stuck on the belief that ‘the book is better’ believe not” (p.16).

Aspects of fiction/novel and aspects of cinema/film are different, and so, the matter of fidelity is put in doubt. Chatman maintains that: “The original text lays out the story-line to follow to ensure fan satisfaction. How can the screenwriters formulate characters or create scenes to recreate a feeling that readers had when reading the books? In this sense, fidelity is a good tool as a diving board to get into the creative process of fleshing out the story” (p.17).

Being different in construction, fiction and film are not supposed to be the same. Nonetheless, they can represent the same thing but through different manners. In other words, what fiction tells through words and narrative mode, film could tell through images and actions. Before becoming a film, fiction must be rewritten for the screen; subsequently, it is open to addition, omission and reshuffling. Film cannot be the book itself, but only similar to it. Lake writes:

> So it's important to understand that the most literal screen interpretation of a book that one could imagine still wouldn't be the book itself. The book tells a story, the film based on that book tells a story. Yes, it's the job of the screenwriter to bring the book to life on the screen, but the very act of telling the story of the book on film will change the book (p.409)

### 3. Novel vs. Film: Contextualizing Audiovisual Dialogue

Novels construct images with words, but these images do not come at their fullest if there is no interference of the reader: he animates characters and nature through the skill of his imagination. In films, images seem to be real because of the actors'dynamism and the camera movement. In other words, film displaces the narrator, who describes actions and movements of characters, with the use of concrete visual images, which make you watch actions, and reactions, expressions and impressions, which, more or less, reproduce the interpretation of the producer and the screenwriter. In the words of Sara I. Rauma: "What has been often overlooked in the adaptation studies is this obvious difference resulting from a concrete visual context which cannot but affect the dialogue in cinema" (p.16).

Conceptualizing dialogue in film is dialogically related to the image duration and frequency: it has not to exceed this duration. So, the screenwriter is obliged to omit, add and (re)arrange so that he responds to the necessity of the sequence construction in film. Furthermore, the original dialogue in the novel is frequently simplified and shortened through the use of image movements, actors'actions, camera movements, and musical effect. Rauma underlines that: "Film dialogue is not conversation, nor can
it be considered equivalent to literary dialogue or theatrical dialogue, as much as they have in common. It is a breed of its own, developed over the decades after the invention of sound cinema" (p.16). In the words of McKee (1997, p. 393) quoted in Rauma: "[T]he best advice for writing film dialogue is *don't*" (p. 23). But this position of '*don't*' makes the screenwriter think more visually in order to perceive expression typical to film. Subsequently, "[The] strict duplication of literary dialogue on screen simply on the basis that it *can* or *should* be done," is abandoned. (Rauma, p. 23)

Whatever is the dialogue in film, it is no more than an aid to the image and the music to form a unity, which gives effect to the sequence of the film. Thus, dialogue in film seems to be simplistic and, frequently, easy to the spectator to understand.

So early in 1948, the cinema critic Alexandre Astruc introduced a cinema concept he labeled ‘Caméra-stylo’. According to him, there is a clear resemblance between writing a novel and film. Both use language that expresses ideas and abstract thoughts rather than palpable images. He states that: “By language I mean a form in which and by which an artist can express his thoughts, however abstract they may be, or translate his obsessions exactly as he does in the contemporary essay or novel. That is what I would like to call this new age of cinema, the age of *caméra-stylo*” (Astruc, as cited in Thorsten Botz-Bornstein, par. 42). Astruc seems to tell us that the camera is a pen that produces a kind of *écriture*, which is as simple and subtle as that of fiction. In the words of Thorsten Botz-Bornstein: “The language of film can be *shaped* until it becomes as subtle as the language of literature. Cinema is not a consecution of images. Instead, it adopts more abstract characteristics because it is able to integrate abstraction in itself” (par.43). But Astruc seems to exaggerate. His position undermines the importance of language in fiction. Literature is multilanguaged, multivoiced and more suggestive. In novel, we think about words and their significations, whereas in film, we follow more the sequences and adapt the dialogue with such sequences. In other words, the dialogue must not be difficult and suggestive, as in novel. In the words of Rauma:

> Mainstream cinema dialogue seeks to appear natural or unobtrusive, much in the same vein with other components of mainstream film.... Mainstream cinema, then, aims to be ‘natural’ and ‘normal’ and ‘real’ both in terms of its *entity* as such, a plausible world, and its storytelling, which aims to satisfy the seemingly inherent mythological schemata of stories within us. (p. 30)

Dialogue may contribute to the success of the film; yet, it could be unfaithful to the referent—the novel. The actor could ‘embellish’ dialogue through his movement, voice and intonation more than what the reader tries to guess through his reading and his own voice.

## 4. Novel vs. Film: Narrating Events

Undoubtedly, fiction and film are two types of art that are supposed to have two modes of narrative techniques. In fiction we encounter “the monologic narrator, in film, the narrative, the character’s appearance, the dialogues, and several other
elements appear *simultaneously* within one time frame” (Vice as cited in Botz-Bornstein, p.142). So, for film, narration is, frequently, made with images more than words: one image sequence could synthesize important event duration. In the words of Peter Verstraten:

> Film narratology cannot directly copy this idea of the literary narrator. Consequently, a narrative theory for novels has different emphases from a narrative theory for films. Transposing from one medium (or theory) to another does not produce any predictable results because of the distinct nature of each medium. (Film Narratology, p.7)

Types of narration are diversified and related to the dexterity of the novelist to make up his construction. He can use the first person, or the third person, or the omniscient/impersonal narrator, or multi-perspective narration. In addition, he makes use of interior monologue in order to enable characters speak out their insights and confess their secrets to the reader. Furthermore, he can use the free indirect interior monologue as a technical device, where narration reveals the depth of characters, through their descriptions and portraitures. In the words of Pier Paolo Pasolini, quoted by Peter Verstraten: “With free indirect discourse, the narrator’s text is crosscut with the language of the character. If he is a rude, low-class type, then some hoarse terms may slip through, which explicitly indicates that the world is interpreted from the angle of the character” (“A Cinema of Modernist Poetic Prose”, p. 122). The filmmaker does not have this possibility. He can neither codify language, nor rearrange it in the manner of fiction. He, thus, recourses to manipulation, through the point of view, to realize his intentions and ‘ideological’ perspectives. Robert Stam, et al. evince that:

> The manipulation of point-of-view allows the text to vary or deform the material of the fabula, presenting it from different points-of-view, restricting it to one incomplete point-of-view, or privileging a single point-of-view as hierarchically superior to others. It is also one of the areas of greatest difficulty and confusion in film analysis. It has been used to signify a vast range of functions, from the technical sense of the point-of-view shot, to the general sense of orienting the work through a certain character’s perspective, to the ‘attitude’ of the narrator, to the world-view of the author, to the affective response and epistemic range of the spectator. (p. 85)

The storyline of fiction and film are not similar; thus, they do not have the same telling of the story. Federica Ivaldi points out that:

> The narrative instance can vary the order and frequency of events and the speed of narration. Obviously, both the literary and the cinematic narrator can use these categories, but not in the same way. In a movie scene, narration time perfectly corresponds to story time and the transition from one scene to another—the cut—is effectively a temporal ellipsis. From a purely technical and physical point of view, a film is made of pieces of shots (isochronous and
singulative scenes) and temporal ellipses that are sometimes minimal and sometimes more extensive between one piece and another. (pp.167-168)

In other words, the narrator in the novel can guide the reader through words and linguistic variables. He can impress and hook the reader through his description and style, whereas in cinema, its techniques are based on scenes and sequences of images, which substitute linguistic connotation of fiction. In the words of Ivaldi: “The film image is always singulative but also isochronous” (p. 169).

So, in film, narration is codified through the manipulation of events and actions they comprise. The manipulator of these sequences is the screenwriter/producer, who is behind the shifting and the duration of these sequences. But the ‘NOW’, the presentness of the present, is the only time the producer uses and the spectator ‘enjoys’. In order to shift backward in time, he has to make use of colours (bland yellow, or black and white to show the past event), change in clothing and even in age (alternating the existing actors of the scenes, with others, who are younger to represent such a past). Hanna Mykytyn claims that: “Si nous parlons de la réalisation du temps en film, on peut mentionner que le film peut se développer seulement dans le présent” (p. 22) [If we talk about the realization of time in film, we can mention that the film can develop only in the present] (Trans. Mine). That is to say, in film, it is so hard to manage temporal levels as in fiction. In the same context, Kia Lindroos points out that:

> The signs of the present are presented in various ways to the perceiver, which could also be illustrated through an imaginary walk through the streets. The subject confronts the immediate present through the signs of the past in the way in which they appear in her or his present vision. (p. 183)

In the same vein, Mykytyn maintains that:

> Le narrateur filmique n’est pas identique à la voix du narrateur.... Le premier inclut ‘le genre’ du son qui, à son tour, se compose du ‘bruit,’ de la ‘voix’ et ‘musique,’ et ‘le point de source’ qui peut être soit ‘de l’intérieur de l’écran’ ou ‘hors écran.’ Le second inclut ‘la nature de l’image’ qui se compose de ‘l’accessoire,’ de ‘la place’ et de ‘l’acteur’ (celui se divise en ‘aspect’ et ‘jeu’), et ‘le traité d’imagerie’ qui se divise en ‘filmage’ et ‘montage’. (p. 10)

> [The filmic narrator is not identical to the voice of the narrator.... The first includes the ‘genre’ of sound, which, in turn, consists of ‘noise,’ ‘voice’,’ and ‘music,’ and ‘the point of view,’ which can be either ‘within the screen’ or ‘off-screen.’ The second includes ‘the nature of the image,’ which consists of the ‘accessories,’ the ‘place,’ and the ‘actor’ (that is divided into ‘aspect’ and ‘role’), and ‘the imaging treatise,’ which is divided into ‘filming’ and ‘montage.’](Trans. Mine)

Furthermore, the producer uses the **voice-over** as a technique to cover any deficit in the storyline of the film. The voice-over is “a dialogue-related device that exists outside the story world that the characters inhabit, but remains naturally within the film frame. It may encompass a character-narrator or it might consist of an
unidentified narrator relating the history, the dreams, thoughts or fears of a character to the viewer” (Rauma, p.39). But this voice-over makes the film a literary book more than a cinema product. Making an anonymous voice, or other voices of actors, reveal what an actor is thinking, is somehow undermining the skill and dexterity of filmmaking, mainly its literalization. Seynour Chatman claims that: “By its nature, cinema resists traditional language-centered notions of the narrator. Clearly, most films do not ‘tell’ their stories in any usual sense of the word” (p.124). Film tells stories through images rather than words. Subsequently, its articulation is based more on semiotic system than linguistic qualification of words.

**5. Life: Between Literaturization and Literalization**

Novel is more than one story: it extends beyond what composes its script. It holds a series of stories and discourses conditioned by language suggestiveness (figures of speech, figures of sound, and the like). Deconstructing and reconstructing the novel through screenwriting, for the sake of film, is matching it with intensions and unexpected inventions of the producer. Swicord points out that:

> Novels can sometimes be structured as ‘this happens, and then this happens, and then this happens.’ In film, the scenes proceed ‘because this happens, that happens. And because that happens, then this must now happen.’ This causality pushes the plot forward, raising the stakes to bring story tension to a peak level as we enter the last part of the narrative. (p.13)

But Swicord is over exaggerating when he extends claiming that: “When adaptation goes well, usually the director and the writer have agreed on the interpretation of the novel” (p. 14). The negotiation is not exclusively between the author and producer! What about the text they are adapting or transferring? The latter is an essential part of the deal! Swicord’s claim seems to be an appreciation of the new creative work more than its objectivity: “We can, however, easily speculate on how Jhabvala’s adaptation would have fared in the hands of a director other than James Ivory, who has brought us several wonderful adaptations” (p.14).

Reproducing literature into film is, then, very challenging. The novel fictionalizes life and the film literalizes it. It reproduces what is literaturized—the literariness of life more than life literaturized by the novelist! That is, reproducing an image of an image of a reality. And here is another matter! In the words of B. H. Smith:

> It should nevertheless be noted that the conventions for the interpretation of poetic inscriptions are not the same as those for the ordinary reading of discursive texts. Not every text is a score, because not every linguistic inscription is of a literary artwork. (p. 556)

Adaptation of a novel into a film differs from one producer to another according to his understanding and interpretation of the text, and even ideology. According Geoffrey Wagner, there are three major parameters in the transfer/transition of fiction into film: ‘Transposition,’ ‘Commentary’ and ‘Analogy.’ ‘Transposition’ is the fact to transfer directly the novel on the screen with a minimum of interference.
‘Commentary’ is the deconstruction and reconstruction of the original, which is, in some respect, altered. ‘Analogy’ is recreating another work of art on the basis of the novel (As cited in Leitch, p. 93). Nonetheless, Dudley Andrew has another view. According to him, adaptation is foregrounded into three major factors: ‘Borrowing,’ ‘Intersecting’, and ‘Transforming’. Though the source text is still the novel, the possibility to be authentic to it is a shot of impossibility since fiction and cinema are two different types of art. ‘Borrowing’ is a room where the artist uses the material of the novel extensively but not in its entirety. ‘Intersecting’ points out the uniqueness of the text. So, its originality is preserved and left ‘unassimilated in adaptation’. ‘Transforming’ raises the matter of fidelity in case the novel is transformed into film (p.20). The film is a way of telling a story with its different features and techniques. What it has in common with fiction is the act of narrating and telling. Cinema is “a visual art form [that] explore(s) the way in which the written page is transcoded into images” (Gianfranca, p. 11).

Multiple readings and interpretations of a literary text 'foreignize' the film or, rather, hybridize it. The film becomes a source of pleasure based on the text reading regardless of fidelity. Pleasure disregards faithfulness, and the images of the film create the effect the producer needs for such a pleasure. Unity of effect of the film makes, to a great extent, adaptation a means of transformation of fiction into another kind of art with its own specificities. Gianfranca maintains that: “Adaptations are autonomous works that can be valued in and of themselves .... A film can depart from its literary sources for a variety of reasons; it can attempt to suggest a new interpretation of a literary text, or it can adapt it to a new historical context, across national and cultural borders” (p. 09).

Mary H. Snyder, a novelist who has experimented screenwriting, explains further how the screenwriter designs his construction of a source text, but not fully faithful to it. She says:

> The screenplay is the step taken between reading and interpreting the novel to designing, planning, and making the film. The film itself, regardless of whether or not it is an adaptation, can be put together in a myriad of ways, using a plethora of various methods, the creative process being different from how a novel is made but a creative process nonetheless. A film has a narrative structure comprised of many scenes, arranged in a purposeful way, from a particular point of view. (p. 08)

What Snyder doubts more about is the reproduction with fidelity of what the novel wants to say. This is what scars her more. The reproduction is another production from the 'raw' material of the novel. She acknowledges that for novelists, the process of interpreting a text and making it into a film "will be carried out in a way that is beyond their control and, at times, beyond the control of the director as well.... Authors aren't always satisfied with the results" (pp. 138-139). She ends up her position claiming that:
I would rather no film be made out of my novel than an irresponsible one that distorts what I've tried to accomplish with my novel. I feel the weight of too many women's actual lived stories upon me, represented by my own diligent work, to allow those stories to be misrepresented and grossly distorted in a film adaptation of my work. (p. 140)

Camera is never neutral; its focalization is biased and based on intension, pretension and conceptualization of the manner in which the film is perceived. There is always a point of view behind the direction of the camera in reproducing the space needed. François Jost points out that: "What is called 'point of view' thus covers two very different phenomena: on the one hand, perceiving, and on the other, thinking and knowing" (p. 72). But there is a fair difference between the eye as a camera and the camera as an eye. The former is restricted to the watcher, who looks at things going on, whether consciously or unconsciously; the latter makes you look at things and how they are made to move on by the producer, through typical angles of 'prise d'image' and focalization. Jost maintains that: the author of the novel does not become the owner of the new creation. He is somewhere within the construction of the image, yet absent, or made absent, or silenced, because of skipping, omissions, additions, construction, acceleration and deceleration of time, narrative mode, ...etc. In films, frequently enough, what is seen by the actor is also what is shown by the camera. The idea of the camera's neutrality is also surprising since both filmmakers and theorists often speak of the subjective camera. Indeed, what is most bizarre is that literary theorists, who need the cinema model in order to think through novelistic procedures, do not bother to study either the functions of the camera or the ways in which the look is constructed in film (p.72).

Images in film sum up what the reader is supposed to read and appreciate. They make him 'enjoy' sight, setting, actors, clothing, and the like. The image, in a way, deprives us (as readers) of words we utter, which are, nonetheless, different from those uttered by actors. Furthermore, these words are, frequently, different from the original (the novel), due to time frequency of the dialogue. Frequency makes the actors speak what the characters do not. This "endless permutation of textuality" (Gianfranca, p. 07) is a kind of prejudice caused to the original text. We are made to believe that this copy is the original, especially for those who have no critical spirit and those who have watched the film but not read the novel. Gianfranca maintains that:

> Novels create more complex characters than movies because they offer more immediate and complete access to characters' psychological states. The ability to enter the minds of fictional characters directly is of course one of the glories, as it is one of the constitutive distinctions, of prose fiction—the only medium whose conventions allow third-person sentences beginning 'she thought'—and it is indeed hard for movies to compete with novels in this regard. (p. 08)
## 6. Image-Making: Novel vs. Film

The transfer of fictional image into film has, all along, been an obstacle for producers and filmmakers. The problem is in the nature of the fictional image, which is constructed with words, thus, opens the way to many interpretations. Ella Shohat points out that:

> Given that the status of words and images varies widely within and across cultures, how can we speak of adaptation without addressing the veristic substratum haunting both novel and film? What happens, for example, in the movement from word to image within aesthetic traditions where verism has *not* occupied center stage, and where the very act of visual representation has been enmeshed in taboos and prohibitions? (p. 23)

Image is the core of film construction. Unlike the novelist, the producer does not need to describe or portray characters in order to produce effect through words and expressions. The image is incessantly rich with suggestive details to do that. Chatman maintains that:

> Every screen 'noun' is already, by virtue of the medium, totally saturated with visual 'adjectives'.... The *effet de réel* is intrinsic to the medium: film cannot avoid a cornucopia of visual details, some of which are inevitably 'irrelevant' from the strict plot point of view. (p.40)

## 7. Virginia Woolf's *Mrs Dalloway* into Film

Virginia Woolf's novel *Mrs Dalloway* seems to be very illustrative for fiction adaptation into film. Its difficulty, due to its technical innovations, has made the producer Marleen Gorris rearrange, omit and add to restructure it into filmic realization. For the spectator, who has not read the novel, the film seems to be the reflection of *Mrs Dalloway* and the producer excelled in its adaptation. But reading the novel then after, he will, undoubtedly, be shocked by the disparity existing between the source and the adaptation. Its 'unfilmability' is due to the fragmentation of thoughts and interiority, besides its plotlessness and flat incidentals, which do not happen in actions. That is to say, actions and events happen within the minds of characters rather than in reality. Is it, then, fair and possible to transform the verbal into the visual without affecting the construction of the source?

The first problem we encounter in the film is the way the screenwriter, Eileen Atkins, has reconstructed it: the film seems to be not really fully based on the novel, but on some critical insights of Virginia Woolf and Lee Hermoine's book on Woolf' biography (Virginia Woolf, 1996). Gorris and Atkins have used other elements to construct their film. According to Kirsten Ginesi, the film has interwoven three elements: first, a dramatic mode, features adaptations of scenes from the text, in this case the *Mrs Dalloway* novel; the second features the actress Atkins playing Woolf in a segment that dramatises a day in Woolf's life, specifically during the period she wrote *Mrs Dalloway*, and as such, it is a different dramatic mode to the first; and, finally, the third employs leading Woolf academic, Hermione Lee, who in
conventional documentary mode outlines the biographical, socio-political and critical contexts of Woolf and the novel (p. 44). Furthermore, the novel itself is the sum of two stories fused together to form *Mrs Dalloway* (1925): the short story “The Prime Minister,” (1922) and “Kew Gardens” (1919), which is inspired by Katherine Mansfield’s short story “The Garden Party”(1922). This is what we actually feel when we closely watch the film.

According to Ginesi, Hermione Lee's commentary on Woolf's art and autobiographical criticism to Virginia Woolf are integrated within the novel in many instances as the one when characters within the home of Mrs. Dalloway were discussing about the Bloomsbury Group and Leslie Stephen, the father of Virginia. He points out:

> Hermione Lee's role as an 'anchoring figure' generates an air of authenticity as her 'knowing voice' provides an authority that both anchors the documentary's meaning and 'eliminates whatever ambiguity might be inherent.' Lee's credentials as a literary academic, and thus a 'knowing voice,' are noted by an intertitle which is transposed over her first appearance on screen. (p. 49)

The storyline of the film seems to be different from that of the novel due to the nature of both arts. “The adapted scenes, both from *Mrs Dalloway* and the adaptations of Woolf's non-fictional writings, and the critical commentary are edited together in a manner which both presents the literary criticism and illustrates the argument being made” (Ginesi, p. 49).

Marleen Gorris's film “Mrs. Dalloway” is organized in linear format narrative of one day event of party organization; nonetheless, it switches to and fro through time to show the past events of most of the characters of the film, namely, Clarissa and Peter Walsh, and Septimus Warren Smith and Rezia. Flashback scenes focalizing on a dialogic relationship between Clarissa and Septimus create a kind of analogy between both actors and make this relationship more phenomenological than factitious: Clarissa knows more about Septimus from his doctors and other people than from Septimus himself, or Rezia, his wife. Strangely, both look through windows, and both see their counterparts on the opposite building, through the appearance of a man smiling at Septimus and a women looking at Clarissa and smiling, too. This gaze through the window at the opposite neighbour makes them connect with what they look at: their others, the only ones that know. But Septimus did end himself and Clarissa did not. Nonetheless, she failed in her party: she gathered people, who ate and talked and left her when they heard of the death of Septimus. They quitted the party when she was in need of them.

But what is different from the novel is the fact that these scenes are made to complete and explain one another. In the novel, what Septimus and Clarissa think about do happen in their minds and revealed to the reader through interior monologue and a special narrative mode built, essentially, on free interior monologue, which the camera, as a focalizer, fails to grasp.
## 7.1 Narrative Mode: Novel vs. Film

Gorris's film is organized on jumps and flashbacks going to and fro through time. In the words Bernard F. Dick, “[Gorris] turns the past into a world parallel to the present” (p. 236). This movement of the camera, between past and present, tries to catch what is going on in the minds of characters through the use of images and parallel scenes alternate with past/present actions. But whatever is done, it is only an interpretation of Gorris/Atkins of what they think Virginia Woolf is expecting to reveal, or what the text confesses to them.

The emanation of consciousness through images seems to be contestable since these images are made up through the words of the novel and the understanding/interpretation of the producer/screenwriter. Though the scenes are means of motion and movement of narration—its narrative line—it can in no way respect the narrative organization of the novel. In the words of Ginesi: “The temporal disruptions do not create confusion as Woolf has created a carefully structured rejection of narrative linearity” (p. 140). He further maintains that: “The film employs aural and visual signifiers to convey the impressions of the characters, thus using its wholly filmic devices to imitate the impressionistic writing of the novel and privilege the *experience* over the event itself” (p. 177).

Gorris's reshuffling of the novel's construction has made her omit and add scenes that are not supposed to exists; probably, her interpretation has made her *mise-en-scène* different from the novel. In other words, the novel speaks more about the war than its horror. Ginesi states that: “The opening scene is not representing the normative images of war; rather it presents the experience of the horrors of war — the very thing Woolf's novel is celebrated for” (p. 178).

Though Gorris uses linearity in the film narrative, this linearity is intermittently cut by jumps in order to recreate the past and present of the actors. In other words, time of the film goes ahead, but within this linearity, there are some incidentals that go to and fro to explain the present through the past, and vice versa. But this technique creates action, whereas in the novel the action is frequently absent due to reminiscences and recreation of souvenirs. This is to say, Gorris makes words speak and act, whereas Woolf makes her words reveal and evoke. The film opens with names of actors accompanied by soft, quiet nostalgic music. Then after, the music quietness is abruptly broken by noise of bullets and shooting. Afterwards, the first scene of the film is shown: Septimus trenched at war in Italy, 1918, with non-stop bombing. We hear the voice of Septimus shouting: “Don't shot!!” (Appendix 10.5: i). Shortly after the shouting of Septimus, we are driven to the second scene to Clarissa looking at the mirror near a window. The novel, contrariwise, begins with Clarissa's indirect interior monologue fusing together her present, intensions and past when she was a young lover of Peter: “Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer's men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning—fresh as if issued to children on a beach” (p. 137). In the film, it is after the scene of Septimus
and the horror of war that Gorris shifts to Clarissa looking through the window uttering words about life through voice-over (Appendix 10.5: ii).

This technical aspect used by Gorris enables the film to move between past and present in order to construct a full picture of the identity of the characters. Lisa Van Schadewijk states that: “These examples show that the technique which Woolf uses to jump between characters’ minds by connecting them with a shared experience or object they both see happens in the film too, but to jump between present and past instead” (p.31). In the same context, Dick points out that: “Significantly, Clarissa sees her mirror image reflected in a window and then in a mirror. She understands him [Septimus], even though she knows nothing about him, but clearly feels they are kindred spirits. This is cinema, not literature; the visual image, not the written word” (p.237).

But these scenes’jumps are reproduced with different actors: Peter through Michael Kitchen ‘Aged’ and Alan Cox ‘Young,’ Clarissa through Vanessa Redgrave ‘Aged’ and Natascha McElhone ‘Young,’ Lady Rosseter /Sally through Sarah Badel ‘Aged’ and Lena Headey ‘Young,’ Richard Dalloway through John Standing ‘Aged’ and Robert Portal ‘Young,’ Hugh Whitbread through Oliver Ford Davies ‘Aged’ and Hal Cruttenden ‘Young’. Remarkably, more than forty two (42) actors perform the role of no more than twenty five (25) characters. That is to say, to join the present with the past at least two actors should represent one character. In the novel, this is different. The past events and scenes do happen within the minds of Clarissa and Peter. The same thing happens with Septimus Warren Smith. These jumps, which serve as a technical means of circumscribing the identity of Clarissa, are well pointed out by Schadewijk, who maintains that:

> Clarissa Dalloway feels that her self is scattered because parts of her live in other people. This is further developed in the way the narration gives voice to many minor characters in *Mrs Dalloway*. This fragmentation is not noticeable in the films, because...it is difficult to show characters’ inner lives and it would be hard to adapt the way the narration in *Mrs Dalloway* jumps between characters, because in the short time of two hours or less that most films stick to it would be too confusing for the viewer to keep switching between minor characters. (p. 35)

In the same vein Poliana Rybina points out that:

> Gorris uses double exposure and blurred focus to represent the transition from the present to the past, thus introducing a flashback. In doing so, she uses a common formal cliché to emphasise the importance of the frames and embedded structures in her film. (p. 9)

This technical device is used in cinema to unite between the past and the present: jumping through scenes is making the actors move back to their past souvenirs, as the case of Clarissa and Peter. Furthermore, the dancing of Clarissa with Richard, her husband, that she does not love, and with Peter, she loves but she does not marry, makes her past live within her present.
In the film, we are shown the horror of war through the character Septimus Warren Smith, who is trenched and waiting for attacks. His complex is very abnormal because of the remembrance of his friend Evans, who died at war by a bomb explosion. The novel starts with Clarissa in London at Bourton Street to buy flowers: "Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself" (p. 137); then describes the terror of war: "The war was over, except for someone like Mrs. Foxcroft at the Embassy last night eating her heart out because that nice boy was killed and now the old Manor House must go to a cousin; or Lady Bexborough who opened a bazaar, they said with the telegram in her hand, John, her favorite killed; but it was over; thank Heaven—over" ("Mrs Dalloway", p. 138) As it is noticeable, there is no clear action in the novel. In the words of Schadewijk:

> The film begins with the event that was most traumatic to Septimus, namely the death of his friend Evans during the war. This event is never fully described in the novel, although it is mentioned, but in the film we see Septimus's facial expressions as he watches Evans come towards him and die in an explosion. (p. 26)

## 7.2 Interior Monologue / Free Indirect Interior Monologue

In the film, interior monologue and free indirect interior monologue are reproduced through two major techniques: either through voice-over or through dialogue via discussions of characters about other characters trying to tell to one another what a character is thinking or intending to do. Woolf's *Mrs Dalloway* is almost done via flashbacks and interior/free indirect interior monologue. Such fictional technique makes action more abstract, internal and mental, i.e., the plot is deemphasized. That is why, it seems that the producer Gorris has engaged an armada of actors to reconstruct the novel into a film. B. F. Dick states that: "Much of the monologue is rendered as voiceover in the film, but what is masterful about the novel, and less so in the film, is that it is only at the end that we know that Septimus and Clarissa are doubles, and that... only the mirror image dies, returning the other to a state of wholeness until death becomes her double" (p. 238). But there are some cases where the voice-over, or dialogue technique, seems to be ineffective, and, thus, it is omitted from the film, as the illustration of Septimus's trauma: it is expressed more in free indirect dialogue, which is so complicated to be reshuffled and produced in dialogue, or voice-over:

> They went on living (she would have to go back; the rooms were still crowded; people kept on coming). They (all day she had been thinking of Bourton, of Peter, of Sally), they would grow old. A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. ("Mrs Dalloway", p. 258)

Woolf's free indirect interior monologue is frequently dominated by the impersonal third person narrator with multiperspectives and multivoicedness: the narrator is omniscient, yet ever absent; as impersonal, yet slides into the first person 'I'. Such
fusion of the interindividual and intradividual makes the problem of reproducing the
scene very difficult. Ginesi comments on such mode of narration as follows:

In the novel Woolf frequently employed a subjective third person narration in which free indirect discourse represented the multiple impressions and conveyed character—Woolf's stylistic rejection of the Materialist literary conventions meant that rather than instructing the reader as to who the characters are and what the social status may be, she lets their voices colour the narration, using their impressions to represent the world and portray character. (p. 163)

Such difficulty in representing what is interior makes the producer use the voice-
over reinforcing it with the non-verbal: focalizing on Septimus’s complexion. In other
words, Gorris makes the spectator read the face of Septimus and expects through such
reading what he is intending to do: facial expression anticipates the logical suicide of
Septimus.

Ginesi acknowledges Gorris' use of voice-over in solving the matter of interior monologue. He points out that though the voice-over can undermine the film when it is over used, Gorris has managed to deal with it without affecting the unity of scenes and images of the film. He says: “Bad film-makers too often resort to voiceovers where they are unable to convey a story in images and dialogue. Here, the voiceovers are used in a fluid, impressionistic way which complements the elaborately structured narrative” (p. 177).

The complements of Ginesi to Gorris’s production seem to be acceptable; the spectator is hooked through such change of words and dialogues from mouth to mouth and from scene to scene without feeling boredom. Nonetheless, her technical device is felt for the curious spectator, who expects and, even, predicts what comes later. However, in the novel, such expectations, or image shifts, drive you to see more and read the imaginations and thoughts of characters. Reading the novel gives way(s) to more interpretations than the film (p.48). J. Gregory Brister maintains that: “The use of free indirect discourse to move swiftly in and out of the minds of her different characters shows the discrepancies that exist between two or more points of view, especially the gap between outer appearance and inner perspective”, p. 48).

According to Schadewijk, though Gorris manages in reproducing the interior monologue through doubleness, flashbacks, dialogues and voice-over, she, nonetheless, affects the film. The latter becomes more artificial and the spectator can imagine what comes after without any suspense, i.e., when the technique used is already known by the spectator, the film becomes no longer attractive. On the other hand, this technique cannot fully reproduce the thoughts of Septimus, for example, which are described in the novel by the stream of consciousness: thoughts move in streams, not in actions. Schadewijk writes:

> The descriptions of Septimus’s thoughts, for which Woolf mostly uses the modernist stream of consciousness technique, are how the reader gets insight into his madness. It is always difficult to adapt a character’s thoughts to film,
but many of Septimus's thoughts and hallucinations are very visual, which
might make it easier" (p. 27).

The same thing happens with Clarissa.Gorris tries to make the spectator read her
mind through her eyes because actions can in no way fully reflect what is inside
Clarissa. Roger Ebert comments on such matter saying that:

Stream-of-consciousness stays entirely within the mind. Movies photograph
only the outsides of things. The narration is a useful device, but so are
Redgrave's eyes, as she looks at the guests at her party. Once we have the clue,
she doesn't really look at all like a safe, respectable, middle-aged hostess".
(par. 8)

In the same vein, Schadewijk points out the difficulty to reproduce the extensive description of Clarissa in the novel. He thinks the only way to solve the problem is through voice-over. He writes:

> Clarissa's thoughts are described extensively in the novel and a character's interior life is always difficult to adapt to film, so it is this use of voiceover that lets viewers of the film experience Clarissa's thoughts... This is not a new technique, but especially the monologue that Clarissa gives as she is looking out the window is an effective way to let the viewer have a look inside her mind. (p. 29)

For the reader, Clarissa Dalloway is a woman full of wonder and expectation, whereas for the spectator, she is a woman of a cabinet official of sixty years old. No real wonder is noticed since everything happens in her mind. In the words of Roger Ebert: "The novel stays mostly within the mind of Clarissa, with darts into other minds. Film cannot do that, but 'Mrs. Dalloway' uses a voice-over narration to let us hear Clarissa's thoughts, which she never, ever shares with anybody else" (par.3). The film ends by Clarissa getting downstairs to see her guests after having left them for a moment to look through the window. Such a look is associated with the suicide of Septimus: "Why did he do it?" (Voice-over).

Clarissa looked at Peter dancing with a partner. Peter looked at her. She smiled. Peter smiled, too. Clarissa exclaimed: "Here, I am at last!" (Appendix 10.5: vi). They danced together, and through a flash back the camera jumps to a past event, where we find Peter, Clarissa and Sally setting together in the garden. The novel, on the contrary, ends with Peter's interior monologue: " 'I will come', said Peter, but he sat on for a moment. What is this terror? what is this ecstasy? he thought to himself. What is that fills me with extraordinary excitement? Is it Clarissa, he said. For there she was" ("Mrs Dalloway", p. 265).

8. Conclusion

In conclusion, it could be said that any transfer from one type of art to another is
not easy and does in no way represent the original; yet, it completes it. Adapting a
novel into a film is very controversial since it poses the problem of fidelity. To
understand better this matter, one is supposed to know the manner the film is related to
the source/novel and tries to know deeper what is missing in the film production. If the spectator of the film is also the reader of the novel, he could know better the disparity between the two arts. He will certainly know that the book and the film are different; yet, they treat cases that are similar—no more.

Whatever is the skill of the screenwriter / producer (Eileen Atkins/Marleen Gorris), there is no possibility to reproduce the original (Mrs Dalloway) in the film: a reproduction is a production of something different that does not and cannot be the original. Though Gorris has captured some innovative modernist element in Woolf's Mrs Dalloway, the film holds its own originality but not Woolf's original novel. Gorris along with her screenwriter Atkins have omitted some elements of the novel, readapted its dialogues for the sake of scene duration and synchronization, and added some autobiographical and critical evidences in the film. Furthermore, the spectator is driven and hooked by film's style, sensibility, and visual poetics more than the fidelity of the film to the novel, mainly for those who have not read it.

I end my paper by quoting Alice Walker. When she was asked over and over again about the making of her novel, *The Color Purple* into a film, and whether Director Steven Spielberg has succeeded to stick to the original without any transgression of its content or not, she replied: “Remember, the movie is not the book” (As cited in Boutan, p. 02)
9. References

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# 10. Appendices

## 10.1 Appendix

<figure><img src="image_3.png" /></figure>

Poster for the 1997 film "Mrs Dalloway"

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0119723/mediaviewer/rm1630599680

## 10.2 Appendix

https://www2.bfi.org.uk/films-tv-people/4ce2b7f863eca

### Cast :

* Mrs Clarissa Dalloway : Vanessa Redgrave

* Peter Walsh : Michael Kitchen

* Lady Sally Rossey : Sarah Badel

* Richard Dalloway : John Standing

* Hugh Whitbread : Oliver Ford Davies

* Septimus Warren Smith : Rupert Graves

* Lady Bruton : Margaret Tyzack

* Lady Bradshaw : Richenda Carey

* Miss Kilman : Selina Cadell

* Aunt Helena : Phyllis Calvert

* Herbert : Alistair Petrie

* Miss Pym : Janet Henfrey

* Evans : Richard Bradshaw

* Mr Wilkins : Neville Phillips

* Ellie Henderson : Kate Binchy

* Sir Harry Audley : Jack Galloway

* Lady Bexborough : Faith Brook

* Willie : Christopher Staines

* Young Clarissa Dalloway : Natascha McElhone

* Young Peter Walsh : Alan Cox

* Young Sally Seton : Lena Headey

* Young Richard Dalloway : Robert Portal

* Young Hugh Whitbread : Hal Cruttenden

* Rezia Warren Smith : Amelia Bullmore

* Sir William Bradshaw : Robert Hardy

* Elizabeth Dalloway : Katie Carr

* Lucy : Amanda Drew

* Lionel, Clarissa's father : John Franklyn-Robbins

* Joseph Breitkopf : Rupert Baker

* Nursemaid : Polly Pritchett

* Doctor Holmes : Denis Lill

* Lord Lexham : Peter Cellier

* Professor Brierly : Edward Jewesbury

* Prime Minister : Tony Steedman

* Mrs Hilberry : Nancy Nevinson
## 10.3 Appendix

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mrs_Dalloway_(film)

### Mrs Dalloway : Movie

**Directed by** Marleen Gorris

**Screenplay by** Eileen Atkins

**Based on** *Mrs Dalloway* by Virginia Woolf

**Produced by** Stephen Bayly

**Cinematography** Sue Gibson

**Edited by** Michiel Reichwein

**Music by** Ilona Sekacz

**Production companies**
First Look Pictures
New Market Capital Group BBC Films

**Distributed by** Artificial Eye First Look International

**Release dates**
4 September 1997 (San Sebastián Film Festival)
3 June 1998 (United Kingdom)

**Running time** 97 mins

**Countries**
United Kingdom
United States
Netherlands

**Language** English

**Box office** $4 million
## 10.4 Appendix

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mrs_Dalloway

<figure><img src="image_4.png" /><figcaption>Jacket Design by Vanessa Bell (Sister of Virginia Woolf)</figcaption></figure>

<table><tr><td>Author</td><td>Virginia Woolf</td></tr><tr><td>Country</td><td>United Kingdom</td></tr><tr><td>Language</td><td>English</td></tr><tr><td>Publisher</td><td>Hogarth Press</td></tr><tr><td>Publication date</td><td>14 May 1925</td></tr><tr><td>Media type</td><td>Print (hardback & paperback)</td></tr><tr><td>ISBN</td><td>0-15-662870-8</td></tr><tr><td>OCLC</td><td>20932825</td></tr><tr><td>Dewey Decimal</td><td>823/.912 20</td></tr><tr><td>LC Class</td><td>PR6045.O72 M7 1990b</td></tr></table>
10.5 Appendix

<figure><img src="image_5.png" /><figcaption>ii.Clarissa, the window and the mirror (2^nd^ scene)</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_6.png" /><figcaption>iii.Clarissa, Bourton Street, Buying Flowers (Voice-over)</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_7.png" /><figcaption>iv.Clarissa gazing through the window after the suicide of Septimus (Voice-over)</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_8.png" /><figcaption>v. Peter Walsh with Sally speaking about Clarissa</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_9.png" /><figcaption>vi.Peter with Clarissa....dancing (last scene fused with reminiscences)</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_10.png" /><figcaption>vi. Flashback (jumps to the past: Peter, Clarissa and Sally) vii.</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_11.png" /></figure>