Sunday, 11 August 2013

Silence is Golden?

Last week's #twittersilence has been labelled by some (notably the esteemed Samantha Brick and her pet ego) as a total failure. Honestly, I agree, but it might be better that way.

Its important to acknowledge the severity of online bullying, now known as Trolling. Just because Mary Beard happens to be a famous classicist who spoke out about her victimisation does not make her case unique, in fact it speaks volumes about how widespread the problem has become. If minor academic celebrities are sent death threats, what exactly goes on behind the scenes in the world of social media?

Users of the now ubiquitous technology, particularly the younger generation, have an unusual approach to manners in an online setting. That is, a lack thereof. Unlike the proverbial playground, the internet is safe from the prying eyes of teachers and parents alike. All etiquette that comes into play 'in real life' dissolves here- its a dog eat dog world wide web. The very fact that, in the aftermath of all this jazz, twitter cooperatively offered to install an 'abuse' button sheds a few rays of light on the dark underworld of social media.

And along with good manners goes responsibility, skipping off into the sunset and leaving a void behind. 'John' might not be a very nice boy, but he'd never threaten his teacher with his penknife in real life- God knows what kind of trouble that could get you in. But he might log into his pseudonymic twitter account that evening and give her 140 characters of his mind. Because nobody can get in trouble for that, right? Wrong. As Mary Beard has so consistently pointed out, a death threat is a death threat is a death threat. A criminal offence is not decriminalised behind the anonymity of an online persona. And anonymity? I know enough people with a clump of blu-tack shuttering their webcam to take Facebook's privacy settings with a pinch of salt. But I digress... Freedom of speech. Is it freedom of speech to be granted the liberty of bandying violent promises around under the guise of a clever anagram of your surname? 'You taught me language; and my profit on't / Is I know how to curse...'

The platform provided by social media and the (current) lack of censorship involved in that may be handing a gun to your pursuer, but it is also - I state the obvious - one of the most valuable and unique aspects of the internet. With the internet has come the age of whistle-blowing, of prying the hands of the corrupt away from the eyes of the people. It has made information so easily accessible, opinions so easily shared, petitions so easily signed. Of course, minimal policing means someone somewhere is going to abuse their newfound power, but we've know that was going to happen since bloody Plato told us so. What we should be focusing on is how we can use this platform for the better.

If I had been walking down my slightly shady road in south east London and a slightly shady character had thrown a slightly shady comment my way, I would have walked a bit faster. There would be scenes of muted outrage in my living room, someone might throw a swearword across a picnic table in a busy beer garden. Revolution! If the same comment had been preceded by an @the_observist and confined to the remaining 126 characters, with a lewd # thrown in for good measure, the world is my jury. The firing squad is 277,599,976 strong, the consequences are public shaming and widespread outrage, action and a global awareness of a problem that usually slips under the radar. Especially if I happen to be a demi celebrity with a famous @ to my name.

Caitlin Moran, I do love you so, but on this occasion you've missed a golden opportunity. Why use your right to remain silent? It's finally possible to make a loud enough noise to make a difference.

Friday, 9 August 2013

Reflection: Natural Selection

As an English Literature graduate it would be a wild claim if I were to deny any form of literary snobbery towards film adaptations. You'd have a certain amount of disdain too, if you'd had to sit through word-perfect, oaken performances of Emma that went on for five and a half hours. As it is, even though I'd call myself a cinephile, I'm recovering from a dark past as an adaptation fundamentalist.

In years gone by, upon the announcement of an upcoming adaptation of a treasured novel, I would become inexplicably yet unbearably excited. Unlimited card in hand, I would be waiting edgily in line for the first showing, no matter what Empire magazine had warned me was in store for me. And yet, despite my sunny optimism, I would consistently leave the cinema foaming at the mouth over character emissions, plot edits and  - God forbid - a changed ending. The quality of the film itself rarely (if ever) informed my opinion.

I will now begrudgingly admit to having a closed-minded attitude, something I so deplore in others, when it came to being so vehemently anti-adaptation. I failed to see film as an art form in its own right, at least not when it was using a literary influence as a crutch. I was convinced that, by being unfaithful to the book it was based on, a film must be inherently bad - and I'm sure I was not alone in that conviction. It's only recently that I've realised (and I am well aware that every rule is defined by its exceptions) that films that remain closest to the books they are based on are often the worst adaptations. Let's be honest, the experience of reading a novel is intrinsically different to that of watching a film. My reliance on screenwriters and directors to follow the book... well, by the book, and to be dismissive of those that did not was a misplaced categoriastion. A director who rejects infidelity will have a hard time creating anything more impressive than a 'fairly good' film.

The origin of the word 'adaptation' stems from Darwinian theory, and of course means change - change in order to survive in a new environment. Simply lifting the contents of the page and placing them on the screen guarantees extinction - a faithful adaptation is almost paradoxical. Reading a book is an imaginative act: a film adaptation is one person's reading of the book, creating from the words a multi-sensory experience of image, music and dialogue. It is impossible to represent in this all possible readings of the book. If our outrage is based on an inaccurate line, or a protagonist who is 'not how I imagined him' we have to accept that he was never going to be. If we had made the film ourselves, no doubt it would be almost entirely different, and we should accept the director's creation as a new work of their imagination rather than a mere translation of book to film. Consider how often we come across a painting inspired by a play (Ophelia springs to mind most readily), a poem inspired by a painting, a piece of music inspired by a fairy tale. Are we to dismiss these on the grounds they are not a direct replica of the original, because they are not how our own interpretation may have turned out?

Let me use a famous adaptation to illustrate my point. Of course, as a closet geek, this example will be Lord of the Rings. I cross my heart, I've read it (more than once!), and not very long ago, and I loved them. But the idea of a faithful adaptation makes my stomach churn. I've spent enough of my life on the brink of insanity, following twelve hours holed up in a student living room, stinking of smoke and Doritos and clutching a misplaced sense of pride that I finally made it to Mount Doom, thank you very much. I would not appreciate a 72 hour saga, which is no doubt what we would be left with without Peter Jackson's tactful trimmings and embellishments. Let this remind us that the success of a good adaptation does not rely on the act of simply changing things, but on allowing the right elements of the raw novel to evolve on screen.