On 12th January at 8:30pm I, like 8.8 million other viewers huddled round TVs and computer screens, tuned in to the last episode of Sherlock Series Three with palpable excitement. The no-nonsense detective, whose favourite drug is crime-solving (when not a seven percent solution), lit up our screens and after ninety minutes of false steps, negotiations and the grand tour of mind palaces, we said goodbye to BBC’s stunning adaptation for another few months or so (rumours go that Christmas 2014 will mark its return, but who knows with Sherl…).
Modernised retellings and adaptations have stormed every medium of entertainment. She’s the Man brings Twelfth Night hurtling into a 21st century American High School. The song Roméo kiffe Juliette by Grand Corps Malade makes religion the obstacle for the infamous star-crossed lovers. And then novels can inspire more novels, such as Gregory Maguire’s Wicked being L. Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz as told by Elphaba’s perspective, which was subsequently adapted by Stephen Schwartz and Winnie Holzman into a family-friendly musical currently residing at the Apollo Victoria Theatre in London. In fact, in 2012 you could go to the London Palladium at 2:30pm on a Wednesday or Saturday to watch the classic story of Dorothy getting whisked away to the magical land of Oz, grab a bite to eat afterwards, and then take two stops on the Victoria line to see “the untold story of the witches of Oz” at 7:30pm. An overdose of green, yes, but you couldn’t say that you were only give a whistle-stop tour of Emerald City. I also had a go at changing texts in my AS English coursework; re-casting Jane Austen’s Emma Woodhouse as a protégé of Cilla Black and having Harriet Smith take the hot seat in Blind Date. There is an endless stream of inspiration that can be gotten from words on a page, from a faithful adaptation to and “inspired by the works of…” spiel.
So what’s so appealing about them? As well as the opportunity for avid fans to feel smug as they pick up on allusions and references to the original works (It’s a “three-patch problem” nowadays, Watson…), different settings can offer an alternative or more accessible way to understanding the story. Give a child (or indeed an uninterested student/adult/self-professed Shakespeare-hater) Hamlet, and the book will probably end up as a doorstop. Watch the 89 minute African vista-ridden The Lion King with them, and they’ve pretty much got the plot sorted, as well as learning a bit of Zulu along the way (after all, “Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba” (Here comes a lion, Father) is a necessary phrase to learn). In fact, through retellings such as this, you may know more about Shakespeare’s works than you think (though probably not for English students. English students probably know how much they know about Shakespeare). At least, it breaks down the complexities of the playwright’s iambic pentameter.
Adaptations also show just how versatile the original “classics” are. Nestled under the prose, the metaphors and social/cultural/historical context of whatever setting the author has chosen is a story that can be related to by anyone. They offer plot lines that can be delved into and characters that can be explored on so many different levels. They are classics that have been stripped of what may be off-putting for some (language, social attitudes, etc.) before being embellished with contemporary equivalents, and their popularity is then determined by the effectiveness of these changes, how faithful (or unfaithful) the creators decide to be, and then what they are like as a standalone work.
With a brief as broad as this, that’s enough to get anyone’s creative juices flowing…
The Game is Afoot!
Lian Wilkinson
With a brief as broad as this, that’s enough to get anyone’s creative juices flowing…
The Game is Afoot!
Lian Wilkinson