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Samples From Page to Screen: E.M. Forster's A Room with a View, Maurice and Howards End Chapter 1: A Room with a View "[A Room with a View] strips away the social veneer of the characters and reveals basic human needs and their impulses, and there is something refreshing and liberating about that" (Long 145). As Merchant Ivory's first adaptation of a work by E.M. Forster, A Room with a View represents a highly sympathetic form of social satire: the author and the filmmakers clearly identify and criticize oddities and faults, but the overall tone is one of lightheartedness and empathy for the characters. Virtually all of the players in E.M. Forster's novel are complexly developed, giving the reader and viewer excellent insight into their actions, as well as the motivations that underlie them. This approach to the writing of characters enables the audience to simultaneously develop affection for and be critical of the figures involved in the action. Various aspects of mise-en-scene (the elements, including scenery, actor movement and placement, make-up and costumes, placed in front of the camera) are utilized to make the character of George Emerson stand out distinctly from the other English characters, both in Italy and back in England. At the Pensione Bertolini, the atmosphere is very busy, loud and social: people chatting at dinner and sitting together in the drawing room, which contrasts sharply with George's near-silence and dour demeanor. The Emersons enjoy their own form of socializing and kindness: in both the novel and the film, both of the Emerson men, upon hearing that two women guests at the pensione love cornflowers, go out into a field and gather armfuls of them, and then place them around their room as a surprise. An act of kindness this spontaneous is a perfect example of something that, though completely harmless and very thoughtful, someone such as Miss Bartlett would find rather unacceptable. George's clothing also sets him apart from many of the other English characters, particularly Cecil. George's rumpled attire, often-messy hair, and disregard for clothing "conventions" (at one point, not wanting to bother with his hat, he simply gives it to his father, who places it on top of the one he is already wearing) are very different from Cecil, whose oiled hair, expensive suits, pince-nez glasses and pocket watch are unmistakable testaments to his traditionality. Additionally, George eagerly joins Freddy and Mr Beebe in a bathing session, joyously running around the water completely naked; they are soon discovered by a fully clad group consisting of Mrs. Honeychurch, Lucy and Cecil, who, the viewer is fully aware, would never dream of doing what George Emerson so eagerly agreed to. Cecil Vyse, both as a person and as Lucy's suitor, is very much a foil for George Emerson. The novel uses description and the film uses various aspects of mise-en-scene to cast Cecil as someone very unlike Lucy, and someone who threatens to be a major deterrent in the process of her self-realization. He is described, more than once, as "gothic" in manner and appearance, and is shown as such, in very proper, constricting clothes, with a sneering, superior attitude towards most of those around him. The manner in which Cecil is presented to both the reader and the viewer is meant to be at odds with the personality and set of beliefs he espouses for himself; generally speaking, Cecil says that he is in favor of unconventionality, turning traditions and social mores upside down, yet he proves to be very conventional and snobbish in his ideas on subjects such as gender roles, the arts, and the general place of various people in society. His act of bringing the Emersons to live in Lucy's village (which, ironically, ultimately excludes Cecil from Lucy's life) was meant to be a lesson to the "snobs" in the village, to "punish" them for their social ideals. Yet the very fact that he differentiated them from those who live in Summer Street belies his pronounced social liberalism: if he truly believed that the classes should be equal, then he (ideally) should not have labeled the Emersons as being from a lower class, having only met them for a few minutes in a museum. Were he truly forward thinking, he would have sensed no difference. Cecil is similarly self-delusional with regards to thoughts on relationships between men and women: "He recast the scene. . . [she] revered him ever after for his manliness. For he believed that women revere men for their manliness." The progressive ideas he espouses do not match his subconscious attitudes, which pervade his actions and speech, and are detectable by the reader. Lucy eventually realizes that she and Cecil are not compatible, and distilled one of the major flaws in his character: "A rebel she was, but not of the kind he understood--a rebel who desired, not a wider dwelling-room, but equality beside the man she loved. For Italy was offering her the most priceless of all possessions--her own soul" (130). The film must replace sentiments like this, which do not translate well across the two genres, with scenes such as the one in which Cecil and Lucy first kiss. This scene is meant to contrast with George and Lucy's illicit kiss in a field in Italy. George's kissing Lucy was spontaneous, passionate, somewhat dangerous (they could have been--and were--spotted at any moment) and, most importantly, effective. Standing in stark contrast to this is Cecil's: he is pragmatic (stopping at length to ask her if he may kiss her), cautious (he looks over both shoulders before he kisses her, despite the fact that they are out in the woods)--generally antiseptic, formal and ultimately ineffective. Their disastrous first kiss, ending awkwardly with Cecil's pince-nez being squashed between them, is very much an omen for the rest of their relationship. The use of the question mark in the movie proves to be more than a faithful transference of an occurrence in the novel's action; the question mark's presence is both an instance of the film making explicit what is implicit in the novel and a device to make the character of George Emerson a more wholly rounded, human-like character. In the novel, the question mark is a symbol of George's dissatisfaction and confusion towards the world around him, a role that is essentially the same, though a bit enhanced, in the film. The mark is a sharp and definitive object in the movie, becoming a form of action for George: he shapes a question mark out of his food during dinner at the pensione and raises it towards Lucy; he marches into Lucy's room to reverse the picture with the mark on its back. This activity serves two purposes: it enhances the development of the character of George Emerson (development which is also present in the novel, though it is achieved through the use of descriptive written language, a medium which is not necessarily effective within a film) as well as establishes a definite sort of interaction between him, Lucy and Charlotte. The relationship between the three is most definitely an antagonistic one, with the greatest tension arising from the conflict between George's disregard for the very traditional mores of Miss Bartlett. The comic nature of the interactions between Miss Bartlett, Lucy and George with regards to the question mark may serve to replace similarly humorous overreactions to its presence which exist in the novel: "Meaningless at first, it gradually became menacing, obnoxious, portentous with evil. [Miss Bartlett] was seized with an impulse to destroy it, but fortunately remembered that she had no right to do so, since it must be the property of the young Mr. Emerson. So she unpinned it carefully, and put it between two pieces of blotting-paper to keep it clean for him" (Forster 34). The movement from fear of something with the potential for evil to an exceeding amount of "classically English" propriety has a degree of ludicrousness which cannot be ignored by the reader or the viewer, since the film is careful to maintain the sense of ridiculousness which exists in the novel. One of the most important scenes in the novel as well as in the film occurs when Lucy, walking around Florence by herself, is confronted with some of the violence and raw emotionality which she had recently, particularly after being in the company of Eleanor Lavish (who brags of being privy to the Italians' true nature), wishes to witness for herself. Lucy seems to sense that the Italy which most of the English tourists see is not the "real" Italy. The pensione at which Lucy and Charlotte stay during their time in Florence is run by an English woman and inhabited by English tourists. They use English guidebooks to find their way around the city, and go on tours that are led by English people. The places they see during their holidays, therefore, tend to be foreign locations to which English customs and mannerisms have been brought, and often take the place of those of the native culture. Despite Lucy's having been amongst very polite, kind people all of her life, she is quite aware that there are places, such as Italy, where propriety and convention may not serve to limit emotions and expression as severely as they do in the atmosphere in which she lived. As she is walking in the Piazza Signoria, an argument between two Italian escalates from an angry verbal exchange to violence, and one ultimately stabs the other. Unfortunately for Lucy, this fatal wound is inflicted a few feet away from where she is standing, forcing her to witness the entire gruesome act. At the sight of the man's bleeding wound, Lucy faints, but is caught by George Emerson, who happened to be in the square as well. He carries her to a less crowded spot, where she recovers, but still is hesitant to be either gracious or kind to him, for she is under the strong influence of her cautious and traditional cousin Charlotte, who feels that the Emersons violate the boundaries of good taste. After a few minutes' conference with George, however, Lucy's opinion of him has changed radically, no longer believing him to be the roguish character Miss Bartlett labeled him. This sequence marks the beginning of George and Lucy's inevitable movement towards each other. This scene in the square is a carefully choreographed "filmic" one, as production values are evident in the number of extras, costumes and camera work (a crane shot of George carrying Lucy away). The visual richness of this sequence is meant to impress the viewer aesthetically, thereby reinforcing the importance of the occurrences here with regards to what occurs in the rest of the film. Some of the visual elements that are important include the clothing worn by those involved in the action and the shots of various statues that stand in the square. The clothing used in the sequence in the square is very important: the black clothing worn by the Italians emphasizes their emotional rawness and inclination towards violence (when compared to the English) and stands in stark contrast to the delicate, light-colored clothing of the English tourists. In the novel, the description of the square, the Piazza Signoria, is vivid, but the physical ability to see it on screen (especially for those viewers who have never seen it in person) gives a different perspective on the scene: "Neptune. . . The Loggia showed as the triple entrance of a cave, wherein dwelt many a deity, shadowy but immortal. . ." The shots of the male mythological statues, many in some sort of a violent posture, with their close juxtaposition to the images of the altercation, serve to foreshadow Lucy's collision with a male (i.e., George), violent world in Italy. Gods, both Christian and non-, are very important in the novel and the film. The distinction between the two is largely correlated to the separation between Italy and England, as well as the Emersons and the rest of the English tourists. The God of Reverend Eager (a Christian God) is one that is limiting, harsh and condemning of non-traditional people such as the Emersons. The Greek (non-Christian) gods, on the other hand, are non-judgemental, spontaneous, much like the Italians depicted in the book. The naming of the driver of the carriage (Phaethon) and his "date" (Persephone) using characters from Greek mythology serves to highlight the differences between the English tourists (who are primarily concerned with food, seating arrangements and propriety) and the Italians, to whom simple pleasure and happiness are most important. A line in the novel serves to sum up the difference between the English and the Italians: "A Gothic statue implies celibacy, just as a Greek statue implies friction. . ." In the film, this contrast is enhanced by having the woman who is the "Persephone" character look as much like a goddess as possible: long blonde hair, beautiful, ethereal qualities. England is very much associated with the "medieval" or "Gothic", symbolizing caution, and lack of spontaneity, whereas Italy is represented by art from the Renaissance, the meaning of which ("rebirth") speaks for its lively, light atmosphere. Cecil Vyse, a simultaneously comic and threatening character (on both counts because of delusions he has of his free-thinking progressiveness) is introduced in this manner: "Cecil's first movement was one of irritation. . . He was medieval. Like a Gothic statue." In the film, both diegetic (originating in the action of the film) and non-diegetic (added in post-production) music play a significant role in the defining of the two different cultures. While in Italy, the music consists of Italian opera by composers such as Puccini and Lucy playing Beethoven (a symbol, both in the film and the novel, of rebelliousness). In England, it is largely Mozart and Schumann, both of which (largely because of the styles in which they are composed and performed) symbolize reservedness and the repression of the heroine's true personality. As the filmmakers stated: "It didn't seem to [Richard Robbins, composer] that the film could have [Italian] arias throughout, since a different, more restrained kind of music would be necessary in the second, or English, half. . . (Long 141). The perceived "threat" (in the eyes of some of the more traditional and/or conservative characters) of the effect of Beethoven's music is voiced by Mr. Beebe: "She oughtn't to go [walking about Florence by herself] at all. . . and she knows it. I put it down to too much Beethoven. . . If Miss Honeychurch ever takes to live as she plays, it will be very exciting--both for us and for her." The thickness of a book's description of people, actions and thoughts is difficult to achieve in film. A representative instance of this scenario in A Room with a View is evident in the description of Lucy's feelings towards George. Complex and complicated in the novel, they often express near-simultaneous combinations of love and hate, adoration and repulsion. Without the benefit of actual word descriptions, the film must rely on the reaction shot, usually of Lucy's face. This reliance is extremely limiting, for it creates only a single-layered emotional response--the viewer cannot benefit from her thoughts contrasted with what she says or does, as occurs in the novel: "Old Mr. Emerson claimed her with much warmth, and said how glad he was that she was going to be married. She said yes, she was glad too; and then. . . she turned the conversation to a less disturbing topic, and asked him how he liked his new house." Film's inability to use the same methods the written word does sometimes leads limitations in depiction, and, therefore, depiction of what is occurring in Lucy's mind is not always wholly indicative of what is actually written in the book. It is in a scene or sequence such as this one that the realities of the medium of film become very apparent: in a film, artwork can be shown, music can be heard, character behavior is played out unmistakably in front of the viewers' eyes. This appeal to the senses, however, does not render the medium of film superior to literature or infallible with regards to depiction, for the placement of these entities (art, music, action) on the screen must be made significant. Simply placing an image of the statues which stand in the Piazza Signoria on film does not automatically impart the book's meaning to the viewer, largely because of the absence of the text of the book. A film, therefore, must find ways to approximate the power of the missing text, with one example being this film's juxtaposition of the shots of the statues with the fight between the two Italian men, thereby making the significance of these entities more apparent. In filmic adaptations of literature, there are often objects or actions that exist in both text and film, but are present in the film minus the significance ascribed to it by the author. In A Room with a View, this occurs, more as a result of logistics (i.e., if everything from the novel were put into the film, it would be a very long, probably overly-intricate work--not everything in a novel is translatable into film) than sloppy or incompetent film making. An example of an object being present, minus its original significance, occurs when a group of the English tourists go out into the countryside, driven in carriages by Italian men. In the novel, Mr. Emerson, George's father, gives one of the drivers a cigar. This action is significant because it shows the friendliness and lack of regard for "social barriers" which separates Mr. Emerson from the rest of the English tourists. No scene of Mr. Emerson giving the driver a cigar is present in the film, yet he is seen smoking one as he lounges in the carriage, waiting for the tourists to come back. The importance of Mr. Emerson treating an Italian as an equal is approximated in another, less time-consuming (in terms of the narrative) manner: as the English are disembarking from the carriages, making their way to their picnic site, the driver is seen lugging two large picnic baskets. As the rest of the tourists walk, oblivious, Mr. Emerson insists on taking one of the baskets, thereby making the drivers' load a little lighter. The depiction of the human body comes in three general forms in this film; naked, contained and bodiless. Each of these represents a level of independence from social mores; Freddie and George feel no restrictions, as they run naked around the bathing hole without any qualms. Lucy and Miss Bartlett are contained, as they are fully clothed throughout the movie, until the end when they are both liberated from some of the restrictions under which they had been existing. Cecil is bodiless, as he shows little or none of the vulnerability which would come with being naked or partially clothed. Exhibiting little or no human emotion through most of the film and novel, he does seem to transcend the "limitations" (and, simultaneously, the benefits) of being human. When he is dealt the severe blow of Lucy breaking off their engagement, Cecil does become human for a bit, with sadness being apparent in his demeanor. It is at this point that viewers catch their only glimpse of a body, as Cecil sits down on the steps dejectedly and takes off his shoes before proceeding to bed. This uncharacteristic display of his body demonstrates how, as Freddie puts it, "hard-hit" Cecil is by the end of his relationship with Lucy. The film's emphasis on the body in various forms is, once again, a means of replacing meaning lost when the written text is taken away. An example of this may be cited in a scene just after the fight in the square. In the novel, George and Lucy are walking back to the pensione: "She stopped and leant her elbows against the parapet of the embankment. He did likewise. There is at times a magic in identity of position; it is one of the things that have suggested to us eternal comradeship. . ." To approximate this in the film, there is a low-angle, head-on shot of George and Lucy in the same position, resting their elbows on the parapet, looking at the Arno. As the would-be lovers assume this identical position, the buildings of Florence rise up in the background, all the time reminding the viewer of the importance of the setting, and the effect it has and will have on the characters we see on the screen.

"Well, shave my poodle!" --Ed