The Transformation of a Pinter Screenplay: Freedom and Calculators in The French Lieutenant's Woman

The Transformation of a Pinter Screenplay: Freedom and Calculators in The French Lieutenant's Woman SHOSHANA KNAPP In 1980, more than ten years after John Fowles asked Karel Reisz to direct The French Lieutenant's Woman, the film was finally made, with a screenplay by Harold Pinter. The writing of the script and the shooting of the film are described, by all sources, as an era of good feelings. Reisz speaks of Fowles with affection ("John was a sort ofuncle to the project"), and ofPinter with awe ("He was an angel!"). 1 Fowles likes the film "very much," and he does so with a full awareness ofthe way his novel has been condensed: "Harold's cut the book marvelously. Masses he wrote out ofit" (Garis, p. 48). (It is rare to find a writer who tolerates, much less singles out for applause, the wayan adapter has shortened the original.) Pinter, who has always felt "substantial respect" for the novel, acknowledges "very valuable" talks with Fowles and "a very free and open working relationship" with Reisz, to whom he gives credit for the most remarked-upon aspect ofthe screenplay: the modem episodes about the making of the film within the film (Garis, pp. 52, 54). A photograph of the" 'French Lieutenant's' men" reveals three intent, friendly faces, three artists who labored, separately and together, to create a work they all admire. Yet this image does not entirely correspond to the reports ofthe participants. Reisz and Fowles stand, in the picture, with linked arms, although Fowles was not in daily contact with the writing project. (He spoke with Reisz and Pinter just once at the beginning, and not again until the first draft was complete. Even during the five weeks of filming in Lyme Regis [where Fowles lives], he dropped by only once or twice a week.) Reisz and Pinter, on the other hand, worked closely for ten months (Garis, pp. 48, 54), discussing "the essential movements of the whole state of affairs" (Pinter), "talking out every movement ofthe story" (Reisz). Yet Pinter stands, in the picture, apart from the others, preserving a distance that will be the subject of investigation here. The relationship of the angel, the uncle, and the director, although amicable, is more problematic than is indicated by their casual remarks, and the film reflects SHOSHANA KNAPP this complexity. In all three versions of The French Lieutenant's Woman - the novel, the screenplay, and the film - we detect a delicate tension between authorship and anarchy, between calculation and freedom. In Fowles's treatment of his characters, in Pinter's treatment of the novel, and in Reisz's treatment of the screenplay, the advocacy of freedom conflicts with the assertion of authorship and authority. In the interview that has been cited above, Pinter displays a fierce independence with regard to his script, notwithstanding his "free and open working relationship" with Reisz. Observe the guarded impatience of his responses: "When you were on the set, did you make line changes?" "Certainly not." "I gather the movie follows your screenplay precisely." "Yes. Well, you don't take a bloody year to write the damn thing and have the actors change your lines." There is an odd menace to his reply, but he sits quite still, in perfect composure. (Garis, p. 69) It is revealing that when he imagines someone changing his script, Pinter thinks of actors.2 Whatever creative contributions actors may make, their editing of his lines is, evidently, unwelcome and unbearable. But does the prohibition extend to the director, a position Pinterhimselfhas sometimes assumed? And to a director like Reisz, whom Pinter likes and respects? Immediately before the exchange recorded above, Pinter remarked: "Well, it's great when you're working with a man like Karel, yes. I mean, you have a fervor, it's two minds." The relationship between those minds, however, is strictly calibrated. Pinter continues: "In my contracts, I have something very explicit, precise and concrete: The screenplay is decided before we shoot. Done, that's it. I mean, certainly Karel would ring me up during shooting and say, 'Look, can we say ... l' And then it's up to me to write the new ... line...