Framing Ambiguity and Desire through Musical Means in Sally Potter's Film 'Orlando'

Sally Potter's film Orlando (based on Virginia Woolf's 1928 book of the same name) is a rather curious tale based on a mixture of biography and fiction about sexual ambiguity and identity. The film has been the subject of much feminist criticism for the manner in which it departs from the main theme of the original story. Woolf's final message in her book is that the status quo in regards to the treatment of women continues ever onwards, while Potter's message in her film – that we have reached a stage where we can transcend constructions of gender – seems, at first glance, superficial. Potter not only directed the film but also wrote the music for it, and an analysis of this music (that runs throughout much of the film) demonstrates that the case against Potter, and the grounds for such criticism, may not be clear-cut at all. This article shows how the music reveals a deeper, more profound message at the heart of the film that is as ambiguous as Orlando him- (or is it her-?) self.

Orlando had become a woman—there is no denying it. But in every other respect, Orlando remained precisely as he had been.

(Woolf 1990: 87)

[A] phantasmatical mingling of men, of males, messieurs, of monarchs, princes, orphans, flowers, mothers, breasts, gravitates around a marvelous 'sun of energy' love, which bombards and disintegrates these ephemeral amorous singularities so that they may recompose themselves in other bodies for new passions […]

(Cixous 1980a: 98)

Written by Virginia Woolf in 1928, Orlando is a rather curious tale based on a mixture of biography and fiction about sexual ambiguity and identity. It does not seem at first glance ideally suited as the raw material for a film. For one thing, the narrative wanders and weaves through a vast historical backdrop that spans four centuries with very little dialogue to support it; for another, much of the book consists of an inner stream of consciousness. However, this inner stream of consciousness is often accompanied by an exquisite imagery that combines with a wide range of historical and geographic settings, providing a rich and opulent backdrop around which the quirky story unfolds. Director Sally Potter has grasped the cinematography inherent in Woolf's book and made this a real feature and strength of her film, released in 1992. Potter has also grasped Woolf's underlying sense of humour. While the issues with which the book and film grapple are profound, a rueful sense of fun and mockery underpins both, making the penetrating observations on society and the role of women less didactic, and, because the defences are seduced in this way, the effect is more powerful.

Orlando is one of the few feature-length films to be both written and directed by a woman, and the theme, as might be expected from something based on Virginia Woolf's writing, questions our identities – particularly our sexual and gendered identities: both book and film play on the deliberate blurring of boundaries through ambiguity. However, Potter has attracted criticism for her adaptation, which stems from her insistence on remaining, in her own eyes at least, 'true' to the book's single central core; of being at one with the book's narrative voice. Yet this in itself is highly problematic as Woolf's book warns many times against the seduction of succumbing to the idea of a single 'shimmering' essence (Hollinger & Winterhalter 2001: 3). Potter's stance is particularly evident in the film's ending. Where Woolf's final message is that the status quo with regard to the treatment of women continues ever onwards, Potter's message is that we have reached a stage where we can transcend constructions of gender, and our own biology, by peeling back imposed layers to find an 'essential genderless self'. We are one; and thus we are, as the last song of the film proclaims so passionately, 'free at last'. Or are we?

Karen Hollinger and Teresa Winterhalter, in their article 'Orlando's Sister, or Sally Potter Does Virginia Woolf in a...