Dombey and Son: “the golden water would be dancing on the wall”

1/ Dickens’s novels are always full of interesting images and unusual similes. 

“Spitfire seemed to be in the main a good-natured little body, although a disciple of that school of trainers of the young idea which holds that childhood, like money, must be shaken and rattled and jostled about a good deal to keep it bright.” (ch.3) 

I’m just poking at Dombey and Son, and pointing at random passages I like. 

“It being a part of Mrs Pipchin’s system not to encourage a child’s mind to develop and expand itself like a young flower, but to open it by force like an oyster, the moral of these lessons was usually of a violent and stunning character: the hero—a naughty boy—seldom, in the mildest catastrophe, being finished off anything less than a lion, or a bear.” (ch.8) 

2/ I don’t think Dombey and Son has expansive and elaborate motifs as we see in Bleak House or Little Dorrit—the main motif is the iciness of Mr Dombey—but sometimes Dickens does extend his metaphors.  

“… In fact, Doctor Blimber’s establishment was a great hot-house, in which there was a forcing apparatus incessantly at work. All the boys blew before their time. Mental green-peas were produced at Christmas, and intellectual asparagus all the year round. Mathematical gooseberries (very sour ones too) were common at untimely seasons, and from mere sprouts of bushes, under Doctor Blimber’s cultivation. Every description of Greek and Latin vegetable was got off the driest twigs of boys, under the frostiest circumstances. Nature was of no consequence at all. No matter what a young gentleman was intended to bear, Doctor Blimber made him bear to pattern, somehow or other.” (ch.11) 

He extends it: 

“… one young gentleman, with a swollen nose and an excessively large head (the oldest of the ten who had “gone through” everything), suddenly left off blowing one day, and remained in the establishment a mere stalk.” (ibid.) 

And: 

“In short, however high and false the temperature at which the Doctor kept his hothouse, the owners of the plants were always ready to lend a helping hand at the bellows, and to stir the fire.” (ch.12) 

3/ Some of you might complain that the rest of this blog post is full of spoilers, though I would argue that it’s quite obvious from the very beginning, when Mr Dombey talks about his hopes and anticipations, that his Dombey and Son is going to lose the Son.

When little Paul is dying, he watches the light on the wall:

“When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen, into night.” (ch.16) 

Dickens repeats the image:  

“Thus, the flush of the day, in its heat and light, would gradually decline; and again the golden water would be dancing on the wall.” (ibid.)

And repeats it: 

“How many times the golden water danced upon the wall; how many nights the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea in spite of him; Paul never counted, never sought to know. If their kindness, or his sense of it, could have increased, they were more kind, and he more grateful every day; but whether they were many days or few, appeared of little moment now, to the gentle boy.” (ibid.) 

Sadness pervades Dombey and Son. Dickens writes about the loneliness of Florence and Paul—their father doesn’t want a daughter and doesn’t see Florence, but he also doesn’t see Paul, because his vision of a son is of an adult son working in his firm in the future, not of a child—there are many moving passages in the book as the sister and brother cling to the nurse and to each other, having lost their mother and getting no affection from their father, and it’s especially moving when Florence loses the only remaining family member who loves her. 

As Mr Dombey gets shut up in his room after Paul’s death, not seeing Florence and not letting her reach him, she watches the light on the wall: 

“It was not very long before the golden water, dancing on the wall, in the old place, at the old serene time, had her calm eye fixed upon it as it ebbed away. It was not very long before that room again knew her, often; sitting there alone, as patient and as mild as when she had watched beside the little bed. When any sharp sense of its being empty smote upon her, she could kneel beside it, and pray GOD—it was the pouring out of her full heart—to let one angel love her and remember her.” (ch.18) 

That image of the light dancing is, in Florence’s mind, associated with little Paul and his last days, and it comes back later when she imagines herself dying and receiving some love for her father at last. 

“The golden water she remembered on the wall, appeared to Florence, in the light of such reflections, only as a current flowing on to rest, and to a region where the dear ones, gone before, were waiting, hand in hand; and often when she looked upon the darker river rippling at her feet, she thought with awful wonder, but not terror, of that river which her brother had so often said was bearing him away.” (ch.24) 

What makes a good screen adaptation?

I have seen 7 screen adaptations of Anna Karenina. That probably tells you I’m a bit mad. But as a lover of literature and cinema, I’m also fascinated by adaptations—what makes a good one? 

Let’s start with Anna Karenina. Among the 7 versions I have seen, the best is without doubt the 1977 series by the BBC, with Nicola Pagett. We all know filmmakers have to make cuts, we all know filmmakers have to simplify the story, but the problem with most adaptations of Anna Karenina is that they don’t convey the complexity of the characters—Karenin in early adaptations tends to be portrayed as a monster whereas Karenin in some later adaptations is portrayed more sympathetically, with Anna and Vronsky presented as shallow and selfish—the 1977 series is the only one which depicts the complexity and self-contradictions and multiple facets of Anna, Karenin, and Vronsky; the only one which reminds me of the qualities for which I love Tolstoy’s novel. 

If we talk about War and Peace, Bondarchuk’s film series from 1966-1967 is popular, but I would argue that it only focuses on the epic-ness of the book. It is technically spectacular but shallow and hollow, stripping the story of depth and complexity, removing Tolstoy’s philosophical and religious ideas, reducing Pierre’s search for meaning, simplifying the “thinking characters” (Pierre and Andrei), paying little attention to emotional conflicts between characters, etc. The 1972 series by the BBC, though imperfect, shows a much better understanding of Tolstoy’s characters and ideas, and respect for the text. 

This doesn’t mean I think only faithful adaptations are worthwhile, doesn’t mean I think filmmakers have to be slaves to the sources. When I complain about film adaptations, people sometimes accuse me of being a purist, but I’m not. I find it fascinating when a classic story is moved to a different setting, a different culture: the story of Dangerous Liaisons for instance is moved from 18th century France to feudal Korea in Untold Scandal, and modern-day America in Cruel Intentions; Fingersmith, set in the Victorian era, is adapted into South Korean film The Handmaiden. 

Sometimes it doesn’t work quite well: Bride and Prejudice does a few clever things, moving the story of Pride and Prejudice to modern-day India and making Mr Darcy American, and it’s fun enough, but it doesn’t have the sense of urgency of Jane Austen’s novel, either in the sisters getting married or in the Wickham sub-plot; the Mrs Bennet character is therefore just vulgar and annoying; and Lalita (the equivalent of Elizabeth Bennet) comes across as nationalistic and more confrontational than witty, which gets tiresome after a while. But sometimes it works wonders: in Ran and Arashi ga oka, Kurosawa and Yoshida take King Lear and Wuthering Heights respectively as a starting point, and create something different, something very Japanese, something that stands on their own. As I wrote in a recent blog post about Wuthering Heights, Arashi ga oka is its own thing—Onimaru is not Heathcliff; Kinu is not Catherine; Hidemaru is not Hindley; Mitsuhiko is not Edgar Linton; Tae is not Isabella; Yoshimaru is not Hareton; young Kinu is not Cathy—the characters can be mapped onto Emily Bronte’s characters but they are different and their relationships are different. And yet it captures the violence, savagery, eroticism, and strangeness of Emily Bronte’s novel, which the supposedly faithful adaptations of Wuthering Heights don’t do, as most adaptations only focus on the love story, reduce the malice and brutality, and often cut the second generation.

A similar example is Clueless: loosely based on Emma and set in an American high school, it is its own thing, loved by both Jane Austen’s fans and people who have no idea it’s inspired by a 19th century novel; yet at the same time, Amy Heckerling captures the essence of Austen’s novel much better than some supposedly faithful adaptations do. What I mean is that Emma might be snobbish, she might misperceive everything, she might make a mess of people’s lives, but she means well and wants to do good and has self-reflection—we also see this in Cher in Clueless, whereas Anya Taylor-Joy and especially Gwyneth Paltrow portray Emma as bitchy, catty, even two-faced, nothing like Austen’s character. 

The trouble is that most screen adaptations are not faithful adaptations which take the text seriously and show great understanding of the source story (such as the 1995 Pride and Prejudice); but they are also not interesting adaptations which take the novel as a starting point and become their own work of art (such as Jan Švankmajer’s Alice). Most adaptations are usually somewhere in the middle. 

Take for example the 2005 Pride and Prejudice: it doesn’t transcend its source material and become its own thing; what we have instead is a film which focuses on the attraction and romance but neglects the theme of pride and prejudice, and the development of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy; Matthew Macfadyen’s Darcy doesn’t show much change throughout the story; and Keira Knightley’s Elizabeth often behaves out of character (can you imagine Jane Austen’s Elizabeth eavesdropping on her family members then bursting in on them? Or watching Georgina behind a door then running away like an intruder, with no manners? Or snatching a letter from her father’s hand?).

Or, take the 1999 Mansfield Park: it takes liberties but doesn’t become an original work of art; it’s just an awkward adaptation by someone who doesn’t accept Fanny Price as written by Jane Austen and turns her into something else, and has her accepting Henry Crawford at first, going against the text.

The 2022 Persuasion also seems to be an odd thing that is neither approach: perhaps I shouldn’t comment as I haven’t seen the whole film, but from what I have seen, it is neither a faithful adaptation, depicting the Regency era, nor an independent film with the story moved to the modern era; instead, Carrie Cracknell has characters of different skin colours wearing Regency costumes but speaking modern slang, and changes the character of Anne Elliot beyond recognition (it is perhaps aimed at the audience of Bridgerton).

And this is something lots of people don’t seem to understand: whenever someone criticises a film adaptation for misrepresenting or betraying the text, some people just say fidelity is unimportant and the film is its own work of art, but most of the time it isn’t—most of the time it doesn’t have enough strengths and originality, most of the time it doesn’t transcend its source material—all we’ve got is just a poor film that doesn’t quite transfer a great work of art onto the screen. 

10 favourite adaptations of literary works (in chronological order): 

• Rebecca (1940) 
• The Innocents (1961), from The Turn of the Screw 
• Tom Jones (1963) 
• Woman in the Dunes (1964) 
• Anna Karenina (1977) 
• Ran (1985), from King Lear 
• Arashi ga oka (1988), from Wuthering Heights 
• Alice (1988), from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland 
• The Age of Innocence (1993)
• Pride and Prejudice (1995) 

2009 series and 1988 film—the most interesting Wuthering Heights adaptation is Japanese

I don’t know what possessed me, but yesterday I saw two different adaptations of Wuthering Heights: Arashi ga oka (1988) from Japan, and the 2009 TV series featuring Tom Hardy. 

There isn’t much to say about the 2009 series. There are changes. One of the main changes is that they remove the character of Lockwood and change the structure, starting with the removal of Linton Heathcliff to Wuthering Heights, and young Cathy’s first meeting with Heathcliff, which means that we see the revenge on the second generation before knowing who they are and how they relate to each other. Could that be an interesting choice? Perhaps, but I don’t think it works very well. 

Another fault is what I see as a carelessness about the ages of the characters: the introduction of Catherine to the Lintons and the incident of the bulldog should take place in their early teens, we see them differently when they are adults; we need to see time pass between Catherine’s introduction to the Lintons and the marriage proposal, to see Heathcliff find Catherine slowly drifting apart from him; the series also doesn’t mark very well the 17-year gap, as the characters barely look any older.

The worst change is the ending with Heathcliff—I shall be a good girl and not spoil it for those who want to see the series, but I’m sure you would agree. But overall, it’s quite a forgettable adaptation: the series makes more explicit the incest idea but does nothing with it; Tom Hardy and Charlotte Riley have more chemistry than Kay Adshead and Ken Hutchison (in the otherwise commendable 1978 series), but as we see in most adaptations, much brutality is removed, Catherine is defanged, and it doesn’t have the strangeness and savagery of the novel.

Arashi ga oka has a much more interesting approach. As Kurosawa creates Throne of Blood out of Macbeth and Ran out of King Lear, Yoshishige Yoshida takes Emily Bronte’s novel as a starting point and creates something different, something very Japanese. In Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff’s method of revenge hinges on 18th century English property, inheritance, and marriage laws; all this has to change when Yoshida adapts the story for feudal Japan. The characters are different—Onimaru is not Heathcliff; Kinu is not Catherine; Hidemaru is not Hindley; Mitsuhiko is not Edgar Linton; Tae is not Isabella; Yoshimaru is not Hareton; young Kinu is not Cathy—the characters can be mapped onto Emily Bronte’s characters but they are different and their relationships are different. For instance, Kinu marries Mitsuhiko not because marrying Onimaru would bring her disgrace and she wants to be rich, but because, according to custom, she would have to become a priestess and leave the mountain, and marrying him is her only way to escape that fate. The relationship between Kinu and Mitsuhiko is therefore changed, and Onimaru’s method of revenge is not the same. 

One may complain that Kinu (the equivalent of Catherine) is defanged and she doesn’t quite match the wildness and savagery of Onimaru, but as I said, Yoshida only uses Wuthering Heights as a starting point and creates a work of art of his own. Arashi ga oka is very Japanese—even the acting seems to bear the influence of Noh theatre. And yet, when I think about it, Arashi ga oka has the violence, savagery, eroticism, and strangeness of the novel; and Onimaru has the brutishness, ferocity, and viciousness of Heathcliff; he even seems demonic. 

I can see why many people think Arashi ga oka is the best adaptation of Wuthering Heights. If you want a faithful adaptation, this won’t be for you. But if you want a film that stands on its own and at the same time does capture the strangeness, brutality, and eroticism of Emily Bronte’s novel, this is the film to watch. There is something elemental about it. 

I will also add that Arashi ga oka is very visually striking and well-framed. Even if you don’t like the film as a whole, you would love the cinematography. 

Strongly recommend.