The Emperor's New...Emerald City?

There are a multitude of differences between the Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Baum, 1900) and The Wizard of Oz (MGM, 1939). What is kept and what is changed is interesting because it modifies the meaning and philosophy of the story. This is most evident in the differing resolutions between the two mediums.

The three most intriguing changes from the book to the movie are the climax/denouement, Dorothy’s reason for wanting to go home and the Wizard’s speech when he gives the cast their rewards. These changes make the movie significantly different from its source text.

If you look at the structure of the book, there is a series of events loosely connected by Dorothy’s quest to get home; for the most part, the adventures are short, self-contained and never mentioned again. For example, the stork carrying the Scarecrow across the river is incidental to the main quest to get to the Wizard of Oz, as is the incident with the Kalidahs. For all intents and purposes, there is no main villain, no great evil to fight against for the vast majority of the book. There is only the quest (and sub-quests) to get home.

Not so in the The Wizard of Oz; from the very start of the film we are introduced to the green-skinned harpy of the east, a screeching, cackling maniac hell-bent of sabotaging the ensemble before they ever get close to the Wizard. Unlike The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’s short, fat and eyepatch’d witch, the witch of the movie is immediately introduced and Dorothy set opposite her.

What does this do for the movie? Perhaps most clearly it gives the audience a concrete central conflict early on. Instead of a series of meandering, adventurettes, the movie can now flow smoothly from beginning to end without being constantly distracted by its own quirkiness. The resolution is also more satisfying, for the dual reasons that the tension has been building against the witch throughout the movie and the denouement does not go on for hours as it does in the book. In the end, the more coherent and cohesive movie (in the words of Salman Rushdie) actually improves on the book from a narrative point of view.

Taking another leaf from Salman Rushdie’s book, the premise that there is “no place like home” may seem odd at first glance. Rushdie’s logic is that the conservative homily at the end of a radically enabling piece is disingenuous, a definite contradiction to earlier explorations of self-reliance and solidarity. The Dorothy of the book says something that would have fit much better in the movie: “Take me home to Aunt Em!” In light of the crystal ball scene where Professor Marvell invents a tale of Aunt Em crying and the mirror scene in the Wicked Witch’s crystal ball, Dorothy’s need to see Aunt Em again has much more credence than some vague maxim on the value of home.

The wizard’s character has a slightly different problem; in the movie they call the white-haired old man a “humbug” and leave it at that. “Humbug” means a hoax or a jest; the famous line from Ebenezer Scrooge is his opinion of the Christmas season in general.

But in the book, the wizard takes it one step farther, and explicitly states to the audience that he has no power to give the companions anything they do not already possess. The distinction between the movie and the book is the Wizard’s reflection on this strange phenomena; in the movie he is quick to point out that professors have no more brains than the scarecrow, the lion has no less courage than a soldier, and the tin man has no less heart than a philanthropist. His gift-giving seems to satisfy some deep-seated need for recognition in all of them.

The book takes this one step farther. When the wizard is about to give the gifts, he reflects on this strange bit of magic, the only kind he really possesses: the Wizard has the ability to unlock people’s true potential. It is with a strange kind of wonder that he watches himself give them what they have always had, and what he says he himself is incapable of giving.

The more explicitly stated philosophy works slightly better in the book (though your mileage may vary), especially when one considers the strange and not entirely necessary strings of sub-plots. In the movie it takes a bit of a leap for the audience to come to the same conclusion, though that in itself isn’t an entirely terrible thing; it might actually be that the movie’s reveal of the inherent qualities of the 3 companions has a much stronger resonance because it’s subtle delivery.

Adaptations seem to do better when they’re not taken word-for-word from the text. The editing decisions for the Wizard of Oz were solid, rational ones. However, it’s important to consider how they change the nature of the characters, the philosophy and the plot when the transition from text to screen is made.

If I had one wish though, I’d use the ruby slippers to vanish Toto. I still can’t stand that furry pile of yap.

Peter Pan

Is it just me, or is the whole book/movie incredibly sexist?

Women can only be mothers (or wives), Tinkerbell is insanely jealous and only capable of one emotion at a time, and Wendy, who could so easily be the heroine in the film, has take orders from Peter and be a "mother" far before her time.

If this isn't an ironic take on the whole Victorian tradition of the subjugation of women, then the theme of subjugation is played straight, and J. M. Barrie endorses the enslavement of the female half of the population.

/endrant

The Case of the 3 Alices

Where do you start when comparing adaptations of Alice in Wonderland? It’s difficult to jump right in by pointing out the differences in interpretation, because even the source material has an often conflicting vision of the world Alice travels through. Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland and the sequel Through the Looking Glass have distinctly different tones, and yet they are blended in the Disney version(s). Svankmajer’s Alice, in which Alice’s dream world takes on the tone of a nightmare is still more faithful to the first book; yet Disney’s joyful, manic romp through a brightly colored acid trip manages to retain much more of Carroll’s exuberance while disregarding the original sequence of events.

Svankmajer’s implicit criticism of the source material and Disney’s plot restructuring are just two out of many examples of how the films are different. There are some similarities between the films (with the same source material, one can only hope there would be) but the differences in approach are much more fascinating. The physical structure of the dream world, the tone of the respective films, and their position on authority are all points of dispute between adaptations and even the original texts.

Why is a Raven like a Writing Desk?

Before diving into that particular cup of tea, it’s important to look at the common factor between all stories concerning Alice and her journeys. In the beginning, there is an allusion to some sort of reverie, Alice finds herself in an alternate world, and has many adventures before waking up. All stories have at least one reference to a blurring of the lines between reality and unreality, especially at the beginning. The ending is always a chaotic affair, where the carefully constructed dream world begins to fall apart, either by chance or revelation.

Save the Environment

The dream world itself is where the text and its adaptations differ, and is the most obvious starting point for comparison. Carroll’s physical environment and the characters he populates it with are often parodies of Victorian England. Alice in Wonderland has many poems that are adapted from common nursery rhymes and didactic tales that Carroll, being a tutor, would have been familiar with. Through the Looking Glass has many similar subversions, but has a much more definite structure, with recurring themes that expand upon simple principles. The chess board nation, constant references to the reverse logic of the mirror-world, and the swift and often bizarre transitions that take place within the dream world are all examples of the recurrence of simple themes.

Svankmajer’s environment, both thematically and physically, is drastically different. He presents a wonderland populated by objects, skulls and dolls from the real world, fantastically combined to represent the characters and environment of the book. Instead of relying on ambiguity (as Carroll does in Alice in Wonderland), Svankmajer nails down the look and shape of things, rarely changing them once they’ve been introduced. The notable exception to this is Alice herself, who transforms from a human into a doll in an imaginative take on the shrinking potion from the original text.

Disney takes far more liberties with the source material, perhaps in an attempt to keep 1950s America in the loop as far as the plot goes. Jokes about a school teaching “washing” or a mock-turtle weeping would no doubt have produced a whooshing sound as it flew over the heads of the American audience it was intended for. Wonderland is instead populated by joyously dancing teapots, cute and fuzzy (and perhaps stoned? Look at those bloodshot eyes) white rabbits and a Tom and Jerry resilience where physical violence is concerned.

Each film translates the source material with a different emphasis; Svankmajer translates the book nearly scene by scene, changing the details to suit his artistic vision of a Wonderland made up of physical objects. His vision takes Alice’s room and recombines elements to fit the story. Disney, on the other hand, takes the original text and animates many of the scenes from scratch, not bothering to tie the images to possible events or objects in Alice’s memory. Carroll has an explanation or a basis for nearly every event and character in Wonderland; Disney rarely makes mention of the source of the surreal by means other than visual, and Svankmajer uses a literal, physical approach when translating the “real” to the “dream.”

I'm not sure I like your Tone

The visual and physical environment is one aspect of the tone the respective authors take towards the subject matter. Carroll has a sarcastic, subversive take on the Victorian age, and tries repeatedly to expose the fallacy of authority and morality (or at least explore it).

Svankmajer raises the question of whether Alice in Wonderland is now, or has ever really been, a story for children. His use of everyday objects to inspire horror on the scale of an Eraserhead marathon seems to be an accusation that maybe Carroll did not create a wonderful tale for children after all. Everyday objects turned strange, dolls and other inanimate objects taking on human characteristics; Toy Story managed to make a children’s story out of this. Svankmajer and the creative team behind Child’s Play took it in the opposite direction.

Of course, the same might be said of Disney’s interpretation. As a child, the scene where Alice’s path is swept away by some hideous amalgam of dog and broom made me wail in terror. Giving Disney the benefit of the doubt, though, the tone of Alice in Wonderland attempts to be joyous; the energy of the rabbit, his comically large pocket watch, the tea party and the ridiculous joy with which the cards paint the roses all point to a somewhat more benevolent vision of Wonderland.

Disney’s manic infusion of energy in any scene with action directly contrasts with Svankmajer’s mechanical, often laborious vision of Wonderland. The two filmmakers seem to have gone in opposite directions, thematically speaking, one going for a comforting, cartoony vision of a habitually surreal landscape, and the other exploring the full spectrum of horrifying sights and sounds. Both films seem to have lost the essential purpose of Lewis Carroll’s romp through the unconscious world, though to be generous you could say that they were adapting it by adding their own emphasis, their own thematic focus to the piece instead of merely transcribing scene for scene, word for word.

To what Pond and Porpoise?

What was the purpose of Alice in Wonderland, then? I would argue that Carroll was writing a book on critical thinking, a dialogue exploring the faulty logic and tautological premises of the adult world. Alice’s adventures, a seemingly meaningless string of events and unrelated plot points, actually illuminated the silliness of the Victorian world in much the same way that Hunter S. Thompson constantly exposed the idiocy of popular culture: by parody. Carroll exposed the fallacy of excessive moralizing, tyrannical beheaders, and used irony to collapse the house of cards (literally and figuratively) that so many adults rest their authority on. If you examine the end of Alice in Wonderland, you’ll find that Alice escapes when she rejects the imposed order of the cards; by exposing the truth, she collapses the dream world. Animals in waistcoats become just animals, the queen and her court are reduced to mere cards, and she awakes.

Svankmajer takes a psychological approach to this concept of exposing the truth. Alice must reject authority to awake from the dream; in this case, however, the authority figure is Alice’s subconscious itself, instead of the abstract morality imposed by adults. The world is populated with perversions of the "real" world that are at best indifferent and at worst hostile to Alice; her own psyche pursues her through the corridors of a claustrophobic and uncomfortable warren of horror. Alice only awakes when the horror becomes too much, and the dream world collapses when she accepts that everything is in her own mind (the scene where her head morphs between the many faces of characters she has met through her travels is the visual representation of her realization).

Disney has a similar revelation, though in this case the rejection of the authority of the queen backfires; her imagination chases her all the way back to the door, who reveals she’s already outside (asleep). Alice finds the truth, but the truth doesn’t set her free without a fight. The “comforting” caricatures suddenly turn hostile, and in a last ditch effort to save herself, she wakes up.

Rebel with a Cause

On a personal note, I still find the book to be better. Not just because of its execution, which I find to be brilliant, but because of Carroll’s attitude towards his female hero. Alice goes through Wonderland, beset on all sides by contentious and pretentious authority figures and excessive moralizers, and in some cases straight up crazy folk, and yet she perseveres. Alice even fights back, subtly sarcastic at times but always willing to throw down. Carroll, as a narrator, takes on a didactic tone, challenging Alice at every turn, prompting her ire at times but always providing her with a new perspective on those things she accepts as “normal.”

Disney and Svankmajer, on the other hand, have no faith in Alice, making her the victim too often and constantly unable to affect any positive change. My favorite image of Alice is still the small girl in a blue dress and a pinafore, calling bullshit on the Queen of Hearts.

Now that’s a heroine.

English 312, Film and Literature

I'm going to use this as a jumping off point for a bunch of ideas I come across during class. Of course, this will be updated "whenever i have time" (this phrase is Trademarked by All College Students, Everywhere)

...so don't expect much.