eJournals Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik 40/1-2

Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik
0171-5410
2941-0762
Narr Verlag Tübingen
Es handelt sich um einen Open-Access-Artikel der unter den Bedingungen der Lizenz CC by 4.0 veröffentlicht wurde.http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
The works of James Joyce are commonly considered unfilmable. Countering this notion, this article argues that it is indeed possible to adapt his literature for the screen. It does so by analysing two adaptations of his novel Ulysses, namely Joseph Strick’s Ulysses (1967) and Sean Walsh’s Bloom (2003). These films are compared to the novel in terms of narrativity, which is taken as a common basis of both literary text and film. The article concentrates on three main challenges that filmmakers have to face when adapting Ulysses, namely the novel’s sheer density and complexity, its interiorization, through internal perspective and other devices, and its heavy experimentation with literary styles. Although both films are far from successful in overcoming these challenges, largely because they are unable to sufficiently exploit the narrative potential of cinema, their example serves as a starting point for a theoretical discussion of the possibilities of filmic storytelling in the context of Ulysses. While film theoretically does have the potential to adequately translate even a text as complex and dependent on the verbal medium as Ulysses to the screen. It just has to be accepted that such an intermedial transposition entails certain changes due to the different preconditions of the media novel and film.
2015
401-2 Kettemann

Bringing Bloom to the Screen

2015
Maximilian Feldner
Bringing Bloom to the Screen Challenges and Possibilities of Adapting James Joyce’s Ulysses Maximilian Feldner The works of James Joyce are commonly considered unfilmable. Countering this notion, this article argues that it is indeed possible to adapt his literature for the screen. It does so by analysing two adaptations of his novel Ulysses, namely Joseph Strick’s Ulysses (1967) and Sean Walsh’s Bloom (2003). These films are compared to the novel in terms of narrativity, which is taken as a common basis of both literary text and film. The article concentrates on three main challenges that filmmakers have to face when adapting Ulysses, namely the novel’s sheer density and complexity, its interiorization, through internal perspective and other devices, and its heavy experimentation with literary styles. Although both films are far from successful in overcoming these challenges, largely because they are unable to sufficiently exploit the narrative potential of cinema, their example serves as a starting point for a theoretical discussion of the possibilities of filmic storytelling in the context of Ulysses. While film theoretically does have the potential to adequately translate even a text as complex and dependent on the verbal medium as Ulysses to the screen. It just has to be accepted that such an intermedial transposition entails certain changes due to the different preconditions of the media novel and film. 1. Introduction James Joyce and cinema - that is probably not an association most people would make. He is one of the greatest and most innovative writers, and his texts are among the most complex, challenging, and yet rewarding experiences of English literature. But there seem to be few links to the world of film. Especially for people who see a difference in value between the ‘high’ art of literature and the ‘low’ art of film, those two realms are not compatible. In addition, in contrast to such other heavyweights of English literature as Jane Austen and John F. Fitzgerald there are no AAA - Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik Band 40 (2015) · Heft 1-2 Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen Maximilian Feldner 198 popular films based on his work. Unlike Elizabeth Bennet or Jay Gatsby, one will not encounter Bloom on the big screen of the next multiplex. Yet, even though Joyce‘s ties to cinema are apparently rather weak, in recent years it has been established among Joyce experts that he was a great friend of the cinema and regularly went to see films, even as his eyesight increasingly started to fail him. It is also a well-known fact today that in 1909 James Joyce was one of the founders of the first cinema in Dublin, the short-lived Volta. Although his main reason for embarking on this project presumably was that he saw it as a scheme to bring in quick and easy money, his commitment nevertheless shows how aware of and interested in this emerging art form he was. In addition, Joyce‘s writings are clearly informed by cinematic techniques. A collection of essays, edited by John McCourt, Roll Away the Reel World: James Joyce and Cinema (2010), takes a close look at the several ways in which early cinema influenced Joyce‘s texts, especially Ulysses. As a result, his style can be called cinematic, as ―Joyce‘s writings offer verbal demonstrations of what are currently established cinematic techniques. In his work a reader finds repeated examples of voiceover narration, jump cuts, match cuts, tracking shots, montages and even a fade to black‖ (Meyers 2010: 174). In view of these insights, it is actually rather surprising that many critics deem Ulysses unfilmable. This is because despite Joyce‘s affinities with cinema, it is a common notion that Joyce‘s texts are difficult, maybe even impossible to be made into films. Shout, for example, clearly rejects the idea of movie versions of Joyce‘s literature when he claims that ―All of Joyce's work [...] is, among much else, a rumination on the workings of vocabulary, and thus the very idea of filmic equivalents is an extension of adaptation beyond permissible bounds‖ (Shout 1989: 91). It even seems that Joyce himself did not think that an adaptation of Ulysses was feasible. When Warner Brothers wanted to film the book in 1932, Joyce told them that he was ―in principle opposed to the filming of Ulysses‖, as he took ―the literary point of view‖ and therefore thought it ―irrealizable‖ (quoted in Spiegel 1976: 75). However, he considered it possible that the Russian filmmaker and film theorist Sergej Eisenstein might have been able to create an adequate filmic version of Ulysses. In sum, it might be true that some texts are more suited to adaptation than others. But, as James Michael Welsh is convinced, finally nothing is unfilmable: ―whatever exists in one medium might be adapted or translated into another, given the right imaginative initiative‖ (Welsh 2007: xv). Accordingly, Brian McFarlane argues that ―Complex and difficult novels and plays are not unamenable to film adaptation, but require the most intelligent and resourceful talents to address the task‖ (McFarlane 2007: 17). Bringing Bloom to the Screen 199 2. Film Adaptations based on Joyce That it is actually possible to adapt James Joyce for the screen is proven by the fact that there are indeed feature films based on his work, if only a handful. In the following, I will provide a brief summary of the films based on literature by Joyce, before I will concentrate on the two main adaptations of his novel Ulysses that exist to date, Joseph Strick‘s Ulysses (1967) and Sean Walsh‘s Bloom (2003). Arguably, The Dead (1987), John Huston‘s film version of Joyce‘s short story ―The Dead‖, is the most accomplished and successful of the Joyce adaptations discussed here. John Huston proves that the great variety of tools film possesses makes it possible to adequately translate a modernist text such as this short story to the screen. Like the story, Huston‘s film at first seems to be rather superficial and banal, but a closer look reveals layers of meaning that approach a similar depth as Joyce‘s text. The film manages very well to capture the general atmosphere and mood of the story without neglecting the thematic subtext underlying the story. By contrast, Joseph Strick‘s second adaptation of a Joycean novel, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1977), is a disappointment. It does not add anything new to the adapted material, nor is it very watchable or interesting in terms of filmmaking. It does not manage to render in filmic terms the growing sophistication of the narrative voice that symbolizes Stephen‘s intellectual development and distinguishes Joyce‘s novel. It is also not able to sufficiently give access to Stephen‘s emotions and feelings and to emphasize key moments in his maturation process. Two filmic approaches to Joyce that are more avant-gardistic are Mary Ellen Bute‘s Passages from Finnegans Wake (1969), loosely based on Joyce‘s Finnegan‟s Wake, and German filmmaker Wener Nekes‘s Uliisses (1982), a film combining Ulysses, Homer‘s Odyssey and Neil Oram‘s 24-hour play The Warp. Roberto Rossellini‘s Journey to Italy (1954) can also be seen as an adaptation, as the inspiration for this film is clearly taken from Joyce‘s story ―The Dead‖. Although Rossellini does not credit Joyce, his modernist film can be claimed to be artistically one of the most interesting films based on a Joycean text (cf. Barry 2010: 152). Other films include the biographical movies, such as Joyce in June (1982), James Joyce's Women (1985), and Nora (2000). Although they are, strictly speaking, not literary adaptations, as they are not based on Joyce‘s works but on his life, it is not always possible to draw a clear line between the elements that are taken from his fiction and from his real life. Je rentre à la maison (2001) by Portuguese director Manoel de Oliveira offers an interesting instance of a meta-adaptation, that is, a film about adapting a literary work for the screen. In it, John Malkovich plays an American director who miscasts a French stage actor (Michel Piccoli) to play Buck Mulligan in a film version of Ulysses. Together with a few international TV productions of Joyce‘s play Exiles, such as the Croatian Izgnanici (1973), the French Les Maximilian Feldner 200 Exilés (1975), the Italian Esuli (1976), and a small number of TV productions based on his other texts, these films constitute basically all the filmic approaches to Joyce‘ literary work. 3. Adapting Ulysses for the Screen This article is an exploration of the elements that make adapting Ulysses for the screen such a challenging task. In discussing two Ulysses adaptations, Ulysses (1967) and Bloom (2003), in terms of narrative, I will concentrate on three challenges each filmmaker wanting to adapt this book will have to face, namely the book‘s sheer density and complexity, its frequent use of internal perspective, stream of consciousness, and interior monologue, and its stylistic experimentation. I will try to establish how successfully both films deal with these challenges. Also, I will examine which filmic tools exist to allow the translation of the book to the screen, and how effectively the filmmakers make use of these possibilities. In sum, I want to show that it is not at all impossible to adapt Ulysses and other Joycean texts for the screen, even though there is no definitive film version of this book yet. By looking at the difficulties and possibilities of adapting these texts, I hope to further accentuate the similarities and differences between the media of narrative literature and film, and to explore the narrative potential of cinema. Literature and film have different ways of achieving narrativity, as they use different semiotic systems. While fiction uses symbolic signs (print on page), film employs symbolic signs (language, music) but also iconic (pictures) and indexical ones (gestures, tears, etc.). As a result, an adaptation, or intermedial transposition, that is, the transfer of a narrative from one medium to another, has to take into account these differences. In order to transform a literary text into a film it is necessary to translate the verbal language of the book into filmic language. Linda Hutcheon notes for adaptations that In the move from telling to showing, a performance adaptation must dramatize: description, narration, and represented thoughts must be transcoded into speech, actions, sounds, and visual images. Conflicts and ideological differences must be made visible and audible [...]. In the process of dramatization, there is inevitably a certain amount of reaccentuation and refocusing of themes, characters, and plot. (Hutcheon 2006: 40) This means that a story is necessarily told differently in film than in fiction. Chatman (1990: 134) uses the metaphor of the ―cinematic narrator,‖ which is ―a composite of a large and complex variety of devices‖. Generally, these devices can be divided into the auditory and the visual channel. The former consists of noises, voices, and music, both onand offscreen. The latter includes elements such as the location, the actors, and Bringing Bloom to the Screen 201 the props, and is created through cinematography and editing. Cinematography includes lighting, colour, mise-en-scène, and aspects related to the camera, e.g. distance, angle, and movement, while editing concerns the rhythm and type of cuts of the film (cf. Chatman 1990: 135). Joseph Strick‘s Ulysses (1967) and Sean Walsh‘s Bloom (2003) are the only straightforward adaptations of Joyce‘s Ulysses to date. Not surprisingly, considering the way the film industry works and the nimbus of Joyce‘s novel as unfilmable, both projects had to face a variety of difficulties - Walsh worked on his project for more than ten years, for example - and both were realized on modest budgets. The names of the production companies, Ulysses Film Production Ltd. and Odyssey Pictures Production respectively, indicate the independent status of both films, as they have obviously been set up solely for these projects. Since its release, Bloom has received very little though mildly positive attention. Strick‘s Ulysses, on the other hand, has largely been considered a failure. Critics seem to agree that it is a ―very flat, pedestrian, and ‗uncinematic‘ film‖ (Spiegel 1976: 78; also cf. Barsam 1981: 300). Ulysses, shot in black and white, is set in 1960s Dublin. This was less an artistic decision than a question of limited funds (cf. Barsam 1981: 293). Moving Bloomsday to July 16, 1966 solved the problem of having to disguise modern Dublin and explains the cars that can be seen in the background. But this temporal relocation of Joyce‘s story also shows its timelessness, as the events and themes fit as well into the 1960s as into the early 1900s. It also allows the film a realistic treatment of Dublin, which includes some of the original sites mentioned in the book. In this respect the film remains faithful to Joyce‘s intention of depicting Dublin in as detailed and real a manner as possible. Bloom, in comparison, is a colourful period piece. Generally, it is a very accessible film, capitalising on the humorous aspects of Ulysses, which makes it more of a comedy. Its setting has the feel of a fantasy or studio-set version of Dublin, and it offers none of the locations that Joyce mentions or describes in his book. Thematically, however, Bloom also feels modern and testifies to the timelessness of Ulysses. It even includes a metafictional nod to Bloom‘s status as a timeless everyman: after Molly‘s final ―yes‖ and a fade to black, there is a short scene of Bloom walking through modern-day Dublin. 4. Reading and Interpreting: The Problem of Selection It seems clear that attempting to fit the whole of Ulysses into two hours of filmic runtime is impossible. If any adaptation of a novel means a process of selection, of reduction and of summarizing the source material, this is especially the case here. In a way, every adaptation of a literary text can be seen as a reading or an interpretation of this text, something Keith Williams confirms: ―Both Walsh and Strick threaded narrative paths Maximilian Feldner 202 through Joyce‘s labyrinthine text, inevitably selecting particular routes and following particular thematic and stylistic features at the expense of others‖ (Williams 2010: 171). The relevant question for this section, therefore, concerns the path Strick and Walsh choose. How do they read/ interpret Ulysses? The first question when interpreting a narrative work concerns the plot. What happens in the story, what are the main events, and who are the characters? In the case of Ulysses it is rather clear who the characters are. The novel opens with Stephen Dedalus, whom Joyce already extensively introduced in his novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Three chapters into the book suddenly a new character appears, Leopold Bloom, who soon emerges as the true protagonist of the novel. That the third central character is Molly Bloom is obvious from the fact that Bloom‘s thoughts revolve around her and that the last episode presents her own perspective. It is more difficult to determine what the events of Ulysses are. Considering that the novel depicts an ordinary day in the life of these characters in all its detail, one might justifiably have the feeling that nothing much happens. Instead, the novel seems to focus on the trivial, on the commonplace and on the everyday details of life. What makes this text interesting and important is the fact that the banal story elements are filtered through the perspective of the characters, which results in a collection of impressions, thoughts and memories. Nevertheless, it would be a misconception to say that there are no important outer events in Ulysses. On the contrary, on Bloomsday more things happen than on most other days. Just to give a few examples, this day sees a funeral, an extramarital affair, a horse race, and a vice-regal parade. The reason why there seems to be an absence of events in the book is that they are drowned in a wealth of information, as the character‘s thoughts and perceptions are recorded in great detail (cf. Füger 1994: 214). It is this wealth of information that to some extent drowns out the narrative of Ulysses. The ―rendering of the complete ‗details‘ of life almost obscure the sense of the story‖, even more so as ―no one particular incident in a life is considered to be of supreme importance‖ (Lawrence 1981: 39). What makes the matter of events in Ulysses even more complicated is the fact that the plot is informed by events readers are not explicitly told about. As Kenner shows in his illuminating study Ulysses (1987), there are events that take place on the story level but not on the discourse level and thus can only be inferred by the readers. Perhaps the most important of these events is the conversation where Molly tells Bloom that Boylan is coming at four o‘clock in the afternoon. She is never depicted uttering these words, and yet Bloom knows that Boylan is supposed to come at four, as his thoughts reveal - ―At four, she said.‖ (Joyce 2000: 335). The fact that such a scene is left out despite its importance for the narrative development and its considerable dramatic potential, contributes Bringing Bloom to the Screen 203 to the notion that Ulysses is an anti-climactic book. There are other instances as well where Joyce denies the readers an expected climax, such as the reunion of Bloom and Stephen. The theme of the father-son relationship between them is set up throughout the book, only for the readers‘ expectations and hopes for a positive reunion to be finally deflated. Clearly, this goes against the nature of narrative film, whose structure usually depends on a steady preparation and build-up that culminates in a climax. Related to this is the problem that the characters in Ulysses have no clear motivation. Bloom is generally a rather untypical hero (cf. Schwarz, 1987: 38), and as he and Stephen drift rather aimlessly through Dublin they lack the sense of purpose that provides ―narrative urgency‖ (Kenner 1987: 22). This lack of motivation makes transferring the story to film difficult, as the protagonist of a typical film has to reach a goal. Since this teleological movement is largely missing in Ulysses one problem an adaptation has to deal with is the fact that Bloom has no clear motive for the things he does, except perhaps the attempt to avoid or postpone his return home. Structurally, Strick‘s Ulysses opens with a shot of the Martello Tower and the title: ―Ulysses by James Joyce‖. It then cuts to the top of the tower where Buck Mulligan and Stephen begin their day. It concludes with Molly‘s final ―yes‖, voiced over an image of her and Bloom kissing on Howth Head. It thus stays true to the book, while Walsh in Bloom chooses a slightly different way, starting with Molly‘s monologue which introduces Bloom. The next four minutes consist of her monologue, where we are introduced to Bloom. As a result, the first impression we get of Bloom is through the eyes of his wife. As Molly also thinks about Boylan, we learn about her affair before Bloom‘s day even begins. Also, while in Ulysses the event still lies in the future, here it has already happened, and is therefore even more unavoidable than in the source text. After Molly utters the words ―I can‘t wait till Monday‖, revealing that she is looking forward to Boylan‘s next visit and indicating that she feels little guilt or remorse about her affair, the film‘s title sequence starts. Interestingly, there Bloom, Molly and Stephen appear with captions linking the characters to the actors portraying them (e.g. ―Stephen Rea is Leopold Bloom‖). Thus treated like characters of a popular TV show, this indicates that by now the protagonists of Joyce‘s book have become household names. It also shows that this is not supposed to be an art film but, focusing on the entertainment aspect, an invitation to an audience that might be intimidated by the reputation of Ulysses. But at the same time this introduction contributes to the notion that this film feels more televisual than cinematic. The film proper finally starts with the insert ―16 th June 1904, Dublin‖ and a view of the Martello Tower. In terms of chronology both films follow the sequence of the book. Especially Ulysses keeps the episodic structure, following Bloom and Stephen through their long day chapter by chapter. Apart from ―Eumaeus‖, Maximilian Feldner 204 elements from all episodes of the novel can be identified in the films, even though the films‘ versions of ―Lotus Eaters‖, ―Scylla and Charybdis‖, ―Wandering Rocks‖ and ―Sirens‖ are kept rather short. While Bloom spends more time on the book‘s early chapters, Strick‘s Ulysses depicts the latter parts in more detail, especially ―Circe‖, ―Ithaca‖ and ―Penelope‖. The two films‘ only obvious change of chronology compared to the novel is the order of the first six episodes, which are so arranged that Stephen‘s and Bloom‘s beginnings of the day unfold in parallel fashion. Other than in the book, the fourth episode (―Calypso‖) follows the first (―Telemachus‖), the fifth (―Lotus Eaters‖) the second (Nestor‖), and the sixth (―Hades‖) the third (―Proteus‖). While in the book Bloom‘s and Stephen‘s days start simultaneously in terms of story but not of discourse, here story and discourse concur. This rearrangement perhaps has the function of stressing the importance of Bloom, by introducing him earlier than in the novel. Although keeping with the book‘s chronology, Bloom discards the episodes and follows the events of the book more loosely. As in Strick‘s Ulysses the last image 1 of the film shows the couple lying on Howth Head kissing, as Molly sighs her final ―yes‖. While both films retain the book‘s final word, Bloom especially emphasizes the novel‘s circular structure having the first and the last ―yes‖ of Molly‘s monologue serve as parentheses for the film. Another area where an adaptation of Ulysses needs to be selective is the great variety of themes Joyce explores in this novel. One dimension that is completely missing from the films is the mythological underpinnings of Ulysses. Other than that, both films touch upon an impressive amount of its thematic concerns. Often it is necessary to be familiar with the book to recognize them, as they are just touched upon in passing, but in some cases the films emphasize them sufficiently to be understood without prior knowledge of the novel. In Strick‘s Ulysses, for example, Stephen‘s Catholic fear comes to the foreground when, encouraged by Buck Mulligan, he sings a blasphemous song, but is shocked that a loud thunder immediately follows his recitation. Likewise, the guilt he feels about his mother is referred to twice in both films; first in the morning with Buck Mulligan when he remembers her on the deathbed, and the second time when her ghost appears to him in the ―Circe‖ episode. An important theme of Joyce‘s novel which the films explore in greater detail is the symbolic father-son relationship between Bloom and Stephen. Both films stress the gap Bloom‘s son Rudy, who died only a few days after his birth, has left and which informs Bloom‘s ideas of adopting Stephen as a surrogate son. In Ulysses thoughts about Rudy are triggered when Bloom sees a picture of him, in Bloom by the letter from his daugh- 1 This does not include the two metafictional comments that come after the fade to black: Bloom walking through present-day Dublin and a last image of Molly in front of her mirror before the camera zooms out and reveals the film set. Bringing Bloom to the Screen 205 ter Milly. Later, his sighting of Stephen on the beach prompts his imagining how it would have been had Rudy lived. In Strick‘s Ulysses, in a scene adopted from episode 14 (―Oxen of the Sun‖), which otherwise is left out in both films, Bloom is visibly concerned about Stephen, as he first inquires after his condition and then follows him into Nighttown. When Bloom helps the drunken and beaten-up Stephen outside the brothel, he has a vision of Rudy. Similarly, in Bloom, Bloom follows a vision of Rudy into Nighttown, where he finds the unconscious Stephen. In the end, in the book and the films, Stephen rejects Bloom‘s offer of a place for the night, and thus any expectations the audience might have for a successful father-son reunion are deflated. Another theme that both films use is Joyce‘s criticism of the anti- Semitism that seems to have been latent in the Dublin of his time and that surfaces in several instances throughout the novel. All who know Bloom seem to be keenly aware of his Jewish heritage. In both films Buck Mulligan, for example, mockingly warns Stephen of ―the wandering Jew‖. In Strick‘s Ulysses the first two transitions from a scene with Stephen to a scene with Bloom are announced by an anti-Semitic comment. As Haines mentions the Jews to Stephen there is a dissolve to Bloom preparing breakfast in his kitchen (U, 00: 08: 00). Mr Deasy‘s anti-Semitic joke is immediately followed by a shot of Bloom leaving a store which displays a prominent David‘s star in the window (U, 00: 15: 57-16: 06). Both films additionally make use of Bloom‘s confrontation with the Citizen. Not only being an event in the most traditional sense and thus easily applicable for film, it is also a display of the anti-Semitism that the more nationalistic Dubliners seem to harbour. Generally, the ways both films select from the novel are in many cases very similar. One exception is that Bloom is more open and explicit about the more naturalistic aspects of Joyce‘s book than Strick‘s Ulysses. Because Joyce tried to be as realistic and exact in his portrayal of an ordinary day in the life of his characters as possible, he famously wrote about several aspects that are hardly ever written about in literature. These include bodily functions such as menstruation, defecation, urination, and masturbation. Unlike Strick, Walsh includes some of them in his film. In Bloom, for instance, Bloom, not only goes to the outhouse, but his facial expression, his verbalized thoughts, and the additional sounds he makes, leave no doubt of what he is doing there (B, 00: 21: 00-22: 50). Also, it is quite clear what Bloom‘s hand is doing in his pocket as he watches Gerty when she presents her legs to him (B, 00: 59: 00-01: 01: 21). In Strick‘s film, by comparison, Bloom stands behind a wall, so the audience cannot see below his chest (U, 00: 45: 55-47: 18). Additionally, the sex scenes in Bloom are more explicit and expressive, Stephen can be seen urinating on the beach (B, 00: 35: 44-36: 00), and Molly is depicted sitting on the chamber pot (B, 01: 37: 35-38: 25). Considering how meek Strick‘s Ulysses actually is, it is surprising that it was banned in Ireland until the year 2000. Maximilian Feldner 206 Despite these differences, in many instances the similarities of both films are conspicuous. Both films selected many of the same scenes, such as Stephen helping his pupil Sargent, Stephen‘s conversation with Mr Deasy, and Molly‘s memory of Boylan slapping her behind. Some scenes, most notably Bloom‘s and Molly‘s kiss in Howth, even have the same visual expression. This shows that both filmmakers had a similar idea of which elements of Ulysses are not only relevant and important but also presentable on film, while also indicating a certain influence the older film had on the newer. Because it should not be forgotten that whenever a work is adapted more than once, every subsequent adaptation is also a remake of earlier versions. 5. Visualizing Consciousness: The Problem of Interiorization A second major obstacle to any adaptation is the fact that Ulysses constitutes one of the prime examples of stream of consciousness fiction (cf. Steinberg 1973). More than most books it is concerned with the movements of the characters‘ minds, with their thoughts and feelings. Because Ulysses is the representation of one day through the eyes of three characters, anyone wanting to render it recognizable on screen necessarily needs to include a depiction of the mind‘s movements in some way. This is complicated, as the options of representing consciousness in film are limited. Over-framing is always necessary and the means to effectively capture thoughts on screen are more or less limited to voice-over, although inventive and creative filmmakers can always find visual ways to represent the inner lives of characters. The narrative style of the early chapters of Ulysses is a combination of figural narration and interior monologue. Grammatically, this unusual style is characterized by changes of person and tense, as the third person and past tense of the figural narration alternate with the first person and present tense of the interior monologue. ―The result is two-fold: a purely subjective expression of internal happenings, and a blending of objective and subjective viewpoints on external happenings‖ (Cohn 1978: 72; original emphasis). While figural narration can be translated into film without much loss, as what is described can usually also be shown, it is more challenging to use interior monologue. According to Chatman, ―Achieving interior monologue in films is easy enough technically. All that is required is that the voice-over be identifiable as the character‘s whose lips do not move‖ (Chatman 1990: 194-5), but it needs to be added that voice-over is generally regarded as an unfilmic and clumsy solution which is probably why Strick largely resists to use interior monologue in Bloom‘s scenes. However, the film grants Stephen Dedalus several instances of interior monologue, which is necessary, as he lives in his own Bringing Bloom to the Screen 207 mind even more than Bloom, and some of his episodes in the novel, such as the third (―Proteus‖), almost exclusively consist of interior monologue. Walsh‘s Bloom, on the other hand, to a great degree lives from the voice-over of its eponymous protagonist. This already starts with Bloom leaving the house to buy breakfast. As we see him closing the door and feeling his pockets, we hear his voice wondering about his key. The words are directly adopted from the pages of the book: ―Not there. In the trousers when I left off. No use disturbing her. Be a warm day, I fancy. Specially in these black clothes. Feel it more. Black conducts. Reflects. Refracts, is it, the heat.‖ (Joyce 2000: 67; B, 00: 04: 00-14). Thus, the film approximates the book‘s narrative voice very closely: we get both perspectives, the objective external perspective capturing the characters and their surroundings as well as the character‘s own thoughts. In both films, whenever voice-over is used it is very close to or identical with the corresponding text in the book. In other words, in these instances Joyce‘s words are adopted directly. In terms of focalization medium-specific changes necessarily take place. In the novel, Bloom and Stephen are the main focalizers making readers see the world through their eyes, so to speak. Unless in film a literal point-of-view perspective is taken - that is, the camera is placed where the eyes of the protagonist would be - focalization takes place under different auspices. Focalization has to be established through camera position, sequence of shots and other filmic devices. Instead of seeing through their eyes, viewers watch the protagonists. They identify with the point of view of the camera, which does not hinder them from also identifying with the characters directly. Thus, focalization in film is also a question of identification. Both films largely maintain the focalization of the book, which means a focus on Stephen‘s perspective in his first three episodes and on Bloom‘s in the rest of the film with the exception of Molly‘s monologue. One of the few moments where one of the films successfully uses a visual trick to translate the narrative style of the early episodes to the screen, occurs in Strick‘s Ulysses. When Stephen wanders along the beach and reflects upon the ―ineluctable modality of the visible‖ (Joyce 2000: 45) he experimentally simulates blindness. As he shuts his eyes, in the film the screen becomes dark for a moment. Then there is a cut where we see him stumbling blindly along the beach. When he reopens his eyes, the camera again adopts his perspective for a few moments (U, 00: 17: 40- 18: 18). Here the novel‘s switching between external and internal perspective, is imitated. Otherwise, both Ulysses and Bloom rely to a large degree on the expressive skills of the actors playing Bloom (Milo O‘Shea and Stephen Rea respectively) to convey his inner life. Especially Bloom‟s Stephen Rea very effectively uses his facial expressions to communicate with the audience. A good example is the scene where he picks up a letter at the post office under his false name, Henry Flowers, and throws an Maximilian Feldner 208 apologetic glance at the camera and thus at the audience (B, 00: 25: 30- 45). Such a metalepsis would seem disruptive if it was overused, breaking the aesthetic illusion, but in small doses like here they encourage the audience to identify with the protagonist. Film as a medium is actually very well suited to convey psychological states. Consider German Expressionism and its American successor Film Noir, with its skewed and distorted aesthetics to mirror the state of mind of their often eccentric characters. Another example is the horror film, which is known for its capability to visualize fear. Concerning the psychological adequacy of film, Hutcheon remarks that [e]xternal appearances are made to mirror internal truths. In other words, visual and aural correlatives for interior events can be created, and in fact film has in its command many techniques that verbal texts do not. (Hutcheon 2006: 58) As examples of these techniques she mentions close-ups that create psychological intimacy, and a separation of the sound and image tracks. Unlike the novel, film therefore has the necessary means to create a thorough exploration of a character‘s consciousness. Despite Steinberg‘s assertion that the combination of literary devices Joyce uses ―simulate the psychological stream of consciousness,‖ (Steinberg 1973: 60) the restrictions of the novelistic medium actually do not allow a truly accurate depiction of consciousness. Our thought processes do not rely on the verbal only, but also on images, sounds and other perceptions. More than literature, film thus allows a mimetic recreation of consciousness, because it consists of a visual and aural level in addition to the verbal and is able to approximate the multidimensionality of our mental processes. But Joyce was not interested in perfectly imitating mental processes but to achieve a verbal representation of them (cf. Füger 1994: 227-9). Dorrit Cohn stresses the same notion when she states that ―the thought streams [Joyce] creates are plausible imitations of mental language‖ (Cohn 1978: 87). This changes the situation for an adaptation, because film is not that adapted to the verbal. As a result, an adaptation of Ulysses accordingly would have to retranslate Joyce‘s verbal imitations of consciousness into visual and aural impulses. This is what both films largely fail to do and what contributes to them being unsatisfying as intermedial transpositions. Both filmmakers ultimately lack the imagination to find interesting ways of depicting Bloom‘s thoughts. Usually, the films simply combine the aural and visual levels to create insights into the mind of a character, for example in the form of hypodiegetic elements such as visual flashbacks to make visible a character‘s memory. The moments are rare when an outside event in either film actually renders visible a character‘s interior state of mind in an engaging way. One notable instance in Bloom gives a glimpse of what would have been possible. As Bloom goes out to buy breakfast he embarks on a flight of imagination. Via his voice-over Bringing Bloom to the Screen 209 we learn that he fantasizes about adventures in the East. Accordingly, his surroundings suddenly change from a street in Dublin to an oriental bazaar (B, 00: 08: 20-40). This example shows that one option to visualize consciousness would have been to manipulate the film‘s reality to fit the character‘s perception. But unfortunately, the films hardly ever use these possibilities. The main exception is the ―Circe‖ episode, where several different methods of visualizing consciousness are used. Bloom‘s changing outfits, for example, can be seen as an expression of his state of mind, and due to the theatrical form of the scene he is able to voice his thoughts in the form of monologues. Many things are on Bloom‘s mind as he wanders around in Dublin on Bloomsday. Due to the consistency of their appearance during the day, his thoughts serve to make him coherent as a character in the novel. One of the most central sets of thoughts are those revolving around the event that arguably lies at the heart of the novel and defines Bloom‘s day: Molly‘s affair with Boylan. Plausibly it is this event that makes him not want to return home and thus is the trigger for his rather aimless odyssey. In the book, thoughts about the affair keep resurfacing, although he struggles to suppress them. Early in the day, for example, he thinks of Molly‘s date in an unspecific way, such as ―He‘s coming in the afternoon‖ (Joyce 2000: 114) and ―Today. Today. Not think.‖ (ibid: 230). As the time of their meeting approaches his thoughts concentrate more on that fact, such as ―Not yet. At four, she said.‖ (ibid: 335), ―At four. Near now.‖ (ibid: 339) and ―Car near there now [...] Keep my mind off.‖ (ibid: 362). Finally, he imagines them to be done and just thinks ―O, he did. Into her. She did. Done‖ (ibid: 482). Similarly, in Strick‘s Ulysses and Walsh‘s Bloom, Bloom keeps being reminded of Boylan and the affair. The films make use of the fact that Bloom repeatedly encounters Boylan during the day. Both films depict Bloom‘s seeing Boylan from the funeral carriage, which not only triggers a conversation about Boylan among Bloom‘s companions but also releases images of Boylan and Molly in his head. Later, Bloom avoids Boylan outside the museum, only to see him again when he eats his dinner. Other than in the book, where Molly never is depicted telling Bloom that Boylan is coming at four o‘clock - that she told him so can only be inferred from his thoughts -, in Strick‘s Ulysses she does tell him, although the film does not make use of the dramatic potential that Hugh Kenner sees in a scene like this (cf. Kenner 1987: 45). The audience only gets a brief insight into his mind, as he imagines Molly and Boylan intimately together, an image that will repeatedly resurface during the day. This short hypodiegetic element is also important, because it makes clear that Bloom knows about the real meaning of Boylan‘s visit. The seed of the motif of the affair is already planted a few minutes earlier. When Bloom picks up his newspaper Boylan‘s letter is also there, and, for a moment, can be seen in close-up, which stresses its thematic importance Maximilian Feldner 210 (U, 00: 08: 40). In Bloom the time of Boylan's arrival remains unspecified and four o‘clock never acquires the same significance as it does in Ulysses, book and film. Although Boylan is set up as Bloom's antagonist, the films, as the novel, deny the audience the confrontational climax it has come to expect from traditional Hollywood style movies, which might in fact have contributed to the limited success of both productions. The films also attempt to show Bloom's preoccupation with the upcoming affair in other ways. In Bloom, for example, his oriental reverie mentioned above is interrupted when he sees Molly and Boylan, both dressed in oriental clothes, kissing behind one of the bazaar stands. It is also the first time the audience learns that Bloom is aware of the affair, which would indicate that possibly this is not the first time that Molly is unfaithful to Bloom. In Strick‘s Ulysses Bloom is reminded of Boylan when his conversation with Bantam Lyons turns to Boylan who is organizing Molly‘s tour. Lyons suggestively says, ―Oh, Boylan is getting it up‖, which, in turn, annoys Bloom, who tells Lyons to throw away the newspaper, which then causes the misunderstanding concerning the racehorse Throwaway. Moreover, Bloom notices a shop which bears Boylan‘s name, and an advertisement poster with Boylan‘s face on it. There is a second poster next to it that announces a fireworks display in the evening, thus providing a foreshadowing of the events Joyce describes in ―Nausicaa‖. Finally, both films also use the moment in ―Circe‖ where Bloom‘s humiliation causes him to imagine himself an eager servant to Boylan, who is allowed to watch the two through the keyhole (U, 01: 18: 28-33; B, 01: 26: 50-27: 04). In Strick‘s film, to leave no doubt about his role, he even wears horns in this scene. 6. Joyce’s Stylistic Experimentation: The Problem of Transposing Style After the book‘s volume and complexity, and its interiorization, a third problem an adaptation of Ulysses has to deal with is its ―odyssey of style‖ (Lawrence 1981; also cf. Schwarz 1987). Joyce effectively used a great variety of different styles that justify the book‘s reputation as a literary masterpiece. Especially after the first third of the book each of the episodes comes in new clothing. The styles used include the use of newspaper headlines and a play with rhetorical figures (―Eolus‖), the verbal imitation of musical forms (―Sirens‖), low Dublin vernacular and satirical comments of different styles (―Cyclops‖), the sentimental style of 19 th century romance novels (―Nausicaa‖), a chronological series of imitations of historical English prose style (―Oxen of the Sun‖), drama (―Circe‖), highly clichéd and tired language (―Eumaeus‖), and a question-answer style which imitates scholastic and scientific language (―Ithaca‖). A Bringing Bloom to the Screen 211 filmmaker has to consider how and to which extent they can incorporate these styles in their adaptation. It appears that the story as it is told in the first third of the book can largely be reproduced in film, as it is firmly grounded in the realistic tradition, at least for a text by Joyce. Reading its first episode (―Telemachus‖) makes it very much possible to imagine Ulysses as a film. Almost like a camera the figural narration follows the characters around and provides enough information to create a picture of the novel‘s external world (cf. Steinberg 1973: 60). Joyce‘s realism additionally helps, as he describes real places that are easy to imagine for everybody familiar with them, such as the top of the Martello tower, the room where they have breakfast, and their walk to the Forty Foot swimming place. As this first episode seems to be rather easily translatable into film, it is not surprising that both films depict its events almost identically to the book. As far as the story is concerned in the following few episodes, both films remain relatively faithful to Joyce‘s novel. But after the sixth episode (―Hades‖) the films only use brief vignettes from other episodes, if at all. Both directors probably regarded the hectic activity of the ―Aeolus‖ episode or the highly theoretical discussions of ―Scylla and Charybdis‖ to be inept to be used as scenes in a film. The concentration on the early episodes is also necessary for the introduction and development of the film‘s characters as well as for narrative and thematic concerns. In terms of events, little happens in the later episodes, and so the films use the few incidents that stand out, such as Bloom‘s confrontation with the citizen in ―Cyclops‖ and Bloom‘s and Gerty MacDowell‘s wordless encounter in ―Nausicaa‖. Concerning stylistic inventiveness, Bloom‘s oriental reverie is one of the very few occasions of creative usage of cinematic possibilities in Bloom. Strick‘s Ulysses, on the other hand, shows some attempts at recreating Joyce‘s stylistic creativity on the screen, despite the differences between the media. The thematic importance that four o‘clock in the afternoon assumes in Joyce‘s book and Strick‘s film, for example, is further emphasized by a cuckoo‘s clock shouting ―Cuckold! Cuckold! Cuckold! ‖ (U, 00: 38: 18-20) that interrupts Bloom‘s dinner in the film and that is Boylan‘s cue to leave the restaurant and head towards Eccles Street 7. In episode seven (―Aeolus‖) Strick finds an interesting solution to incorporate the headlines that interrupt the narrative flow of this episode. As Bloom and Stephen come to the newspaper office to run their errands, phrases can be seen on posters behind the characters that almost magically change after cuts. These phrases, including ―The House of Keyes‖, ―Exit Bloom‖, and ―Spot the Winner‖, are taken directly from the headlines Joyce invented for this episode, and they relate to what is happening at the moment of their appearances. As the editor, annoyed with Bloom utters the words, ―Kiss my arse‖, a boy with a billboard with the letters ―K.M.A.‖ written on it walks by (U, 00: 29: 50). Thus, Joyce‘s little joke here is also incorporated in the film. In what constitutes episode eight Maximilian Feldner 212 (―Lestrygonians‖) in the book, Bloom is looking for a place to eat his lunch and enters a restaurant, but quickly leaves again, disgusted by the people he sees there. In the film version, Bloom‘s disgust is realized with a simple but effective trick. Images of the men eating are accompanied by pig sounds on the soundtrack (U, 00: 31: 16-21). But the most daring attempt to adapt one of Joyce stylistic ‗masks‘ (cf. Lawrence 1981), comes towards the end of the film and consists of an approximation of the catechistic or scientific question and answer style that characterizes episode 17 (―Ithaca‖). Lawrence states that ―The narrative of the chapter dons the antiliterary mask of science‖ (Lawrence 1981: 180), and that ―instead of the human voice of a narrative persona, it offers a catalogue of cold, hard facts‖ (Lawrence 1981: 181). It is clear that this style can hardly be realized effectively in filmic form, but Strick manages to find a way that is successful in conveying Joyce‘s style, if somewhat clumsy in the filmic format. While we see images of Bloom and Stephen walking to Bloom‘s house in Eccles Street 7, Bloom inviting Stephen in for a cup of coffee, their conversation, Stephen leaving, and Bloom preparing for bed, a narrating voice relates some of the facts that can be found in the book. Joyce‘s language is adopted almost verbatim, if abbreviated. In fact there are two voices, those of Milo O‘Shea and Maurice Roëves, the actors who play Bloom and Stephen respectively, who take turns asking and answering the questions posed. But the two voices also abandon the strict question/ answer template of the book and engage in a somewhat freer conversation. As a result, two conversations occur simultaneously. One that exists only on the visual level - we see Bloom and Stephen talking and also get a certain idea what they are talking about, especially if we are familiar with the book - and one on the aural level. The voices we hear are not necessarily Stephen‘s and Bloom‘s but, like a narrator, rather exist on an extra-diegetic level. At the same time, the impression of an actual conversation between Bloom and Stephen remains intact because the audience is familiar with their voices by now. Aside from these occasional touches of creative usage of the audiovisual possibilities that the medium film offers, both films far from exhaust the potential of cinematic forms to adequately adapt Joyce‘s stylistic experimentation for the screen. This certainly has to do with the fact that those episodes that most depend on the effect of language, such as ―Oxen of the Sun‖, ―Eumaeus‖, and ―Ithaca‖, are especially difficult to film. However, even more cinematic episodes such as ―Wandering Rocks‖ are largely left out. Mark W. Osteen‘s criticism that ―Strick fails even to exploit the novel‘s more cinematic scenes‖ (Osteen 2005: 475) is true also for Bloom. The ―Wandering Rocks‖ episode, which ―is full of montage-like connections and camera-ready narrative movements‖ (Osteen 2005: 475), would have lent itself perfectly to a cinematic treatment offering a synoptic perspective of Dublin that could have been on a par with Joyce‘s verbal treatment of the city. However, both films, probably striving for a Bringing Bloom to the Screen 213 more personal perspective, limit themselves to showing only short vignettes from this episode. Another episode that almost finds no usage in the films is episode 11 (―Sirens‖). This is largely understandable because little happens in this episode and the literary style Joyce uses can hardly be appropriated for a filmic adaptation. But the lack of engagement with this episode points to a crucial omission in both adaptations. ―Sirens‖ is first and foremost about music, which is certainly an important element in the audio-visual medium of film. Film can fully exploit the possibilities the combination of sight and sound offers. On the level of sound, music can and does contribute to conveying a certain mood and atmosphere. However, using music effectively is something that Strick‘s Ulysses and Walsh‘s Bloom mostly fail to do. While in Bloom there is a lot of nondescript background music that is partly responsible for creating the positive mood and atmosphere of the film if little more, there is hardly any music in Ulysses. This foregrounds the few moments where music is used, such as Bloom‘s first appearance, Bloom‘s wistful looking at the picture of his son, and his orgasm when watching Gerty McDowell. But even then the potential of music is not exploited to its fullest extent. Simon Dedalus‘s song in the restaurant where Bloom eats his dinner, which accompanies his journey into his memory of the early days with Molly, is also done rather unremarkably and hardly leaves a lasting impression. Eschewing to capitalize on the musical element, an element which is such a constitutive feature in Joyce‘s literature, robs both films of considerable expressive potential. ―Circe‖, the longest episode of Ulysses, is also the episode that seems most appropriate for filmic realization. As it is written in the form of drama, a style very closely related to the screenplay, this episode can be adapted rather straightforwardly. Given the close relationship of film and drama it is understandable that both films spend so much time on this episode. In Strick‘s Ulysses the ―Circe‖ sequence lasts over 30 minutes, which is more than a quarter of the film. It follows the events that are described in the book closely and is thus a kind of abridged version of Joyce‘s play. Generally, critics seem to judge the transposition of this episode as successful (cf. Williams 2010: 170). The interesting aspect of the ―Circe‖ episode is that Joyce uses the dramatic style to dive into the depths of Bloom‘s unconscious. It is during his hilariously surreal time in Dublin‘s red-light district that the thoughts, wishes, and memories Bloom successfully suppressed during the day and that were accordingly missing from the narrative before come to the foreground. This might seem paradoxical at first, as drama seems not to be a very opportune way of rendering consciousness. Lacking fiction‘s mediating instance of a narrative voice that is able to describe a character‘s state of mind, drama seems hardly able to depict the unconscious. However, there is a long tradition in theatre where the events depicted are manifestations of the mind. Similarly, cinema has repeatedly shown - from Luis Buñuel to Alfred Hitch- Maximilian Feldner 214 cock to David Lynch - that it is well-suited for surreal subject matter. Hutcheon argues that [a]lthough it is a naturalistic medium in most of its uses, film can also create visual, externalized analogues to subjective elements - fantasy or magic realism - by such techniques as slow motion, rapid cutting, distortional lenses (fish-eye, telephoto), lightning or the various kinds of film stock. (Hutcheon 2006: 59) Unfortunately, the two Ulysses adaptations make little use of the possibilities of cinema to depict the surreal. Both stage the events rather statically and conventionally, as if filming the events on a theatre stage, without resorting to too many visual tricks. As a result, the surrealism of this episode exists merely on the story level and not on the visual level. The only thing the films do contribute are the abrupt and unlikely changes of scenery, setting and clothes, although such manipulations are also predetermined by the book and do not constitute an inventive concept of the films. Here, perhaps the most absurd aspect in Bloom is that he walks around without pants in most of the sequence - he has literally let his trousers down. Although the sequence starts promising in Strick‘s Ulysses - it is immediately possible to tell a change of mood, due to the cheerful and yet ominous music, the slightly sped-up and comical-looking movements of Buck and Haines, and the strange angles and shadows (U, 00: 53: 00) - both films ultimately make too little of the possibilities cinema would afford them. Because ―Circe‖ is the longest episode of Ulysses and because it is rather simple to transfer to film, its comparatively long treatment in both films is warranted. The same cannot be said about the book‘s final episode (―Penelope‖). In Strick‘s Ulysses it gets over 25 minutes and thus is almost as long as ―Circe‖. In Bloom with altogether 14 minutes it is not as long, but there the fact that it bookends the film makes it also rather dominating. Its disproportional length in both films is even more surprising considering that this episode consists almost exclusively of Molly‘s interior monologue while she is lying in bed in a dark room, a situation that could not be less cinematic. The reason why both films grant Molly‘s monologue such ample space is probably that the filmmakers wanted to give Molly more space of her own. Also, being the ―locus classicus, the most famous and the most perfectly executed specimen of its species‖ (Cohn 1978: 217), Molly‘s interior monologue is one of the most famous elements of Joyce‘s novel and therefore needed to be featured prominently. In Strick‘s Ulysses, we see Molly lying in her bed while her voice-over presents a condensed version of the books monologue. The shots of her lying in bed are intercut with images that visualize her thoughts and memories. But the scene is too static and too long to be cinematically appealing. Barsam‘s rather harsh opinion testifies to this notion: ―the richest interior monologue in English literature becomes an almost inter- Bringing Bloom to the Screen 215 minable bore, a long scene of exterior action, photographed by an omniscient camera‖ (Barsam 1981: 299). By dividing Molly‘s monologue into two parts, one at the very beginning and one at the end of the film, Walsh in Bloom manages to make it somewhat more engaging. Also, his Molly, who appears more playful and less serious than the Molly in Strick‘s film, is not exclusively shown lying in bed with her thoughts presented as voice-over. The bed scenes alternate with scenes of her sitting in front of her dressing table and telling her thoughts directly into the camera. Her interior monologue thus becomes a soliloquy, which, like Bloom‘s occasional metalepses, helps to create a connection with the audience. As a result, in Walsh‘s film Molly‘s monologue can be argued to work better than in Strick‘s film. 7. Conclusion Many people will consider film adaptations to be inferior to the source material. This has several reasons. First, often people are disappointed by an adaptation of a book they liked because they had too high expectations, or because they could not reconcile the story as seen on the screen with the story they saw in their minds when reading it. Secondly, film is still usually seen as a more popular medium than literature and is thus taken less seriously. Thirdly, it is difficult to adequately translate a literary text into the language of film, especially when highly literary texts are concerned. Sometimes filmic adaptations are really not able to tell the story as successfully as a purely verbal medium, which makes changes necessary. As I have shown, this applies partially to Strick‘s Ulysses and Walsh‘s Bloom. The problem with these films is not that they represent a failure to turn the novel Ulysses into a film, but a failure to adapt it in a cinematic and enjoyable way. In terms of narrative, both films are successful. They prove that the stories told in Ulysses can be told in the medium of film. The book is certainly narrative enough to work in both media. The films also hint at the ways to cinematically represent a character‘s consciousness, even though the options to do so could have been exploited to a much greater extent. What both Ulysses adaptations struggle with the most is the amount of stylistic experimentation in Joyce‘s book. This is why the films work well in the first third, as the style of the early episodes is the most traditional and expository. But in the latter part, as Joyce‘s stylistic experimentations grow more and more diverse and complex, the films start to falter. But this is due not to an ‗unfilmability‘ of these episodes but to a lack of vision and daring of the filmmakers, which is evident in the fact that they miss the opportunity to translate those episodes that lend themselves most to a filmic realization, such as ―Wandering Rocks‖ and ―Circe‖. McCourt argues that ―If anything, these two Maximilian Feldner 216 films suffer from being too loyal to Joyce and to his storyline and in so doing fail to take advantage of the cinematic potential latent in Joyce‘s original text‖ (McCourt 2010: 11). As a result, although both adaptations are generally considered unsuccessful, they still testify to the feasibility of adapting Ulysses. But the possibility of really adequately turning Ulysses into a film remains theoretical because a definitive screen version of it has yet to be created. Perhaps, the only way to do the complexity and stylistic variety of Ulysses justice would be a TV series with 18 episodes, each in a distinct style and ideally directed by different filmmakers. A project bringing Ulysses to screen episode by episode might be too ambitious for budgetary and organisational reasons, but this does not change the fact that film possesses the means to adequately visualize this book. One of the advantages of filmic adaptations is that they can clarify and comprehensively restructure complex narratives. In fact, French film critic André Bazin once claimed, ―The very principle of cinematic adaptation [...] is to simplify and condense a work from which it basically wishes to retain only the main characters and situations‖ (Bazin 2000: 25). It is therefore a pity that there are no successful and popular film versions of Joyce's novel although the adaptations Ulysses and Bloom suggest that such a film version could be a good introduction to the towering and daunting Ulysses. In the case of Ulysses this might have the added benefit of aiding the general understanding of this challenging text, as Harry Blamires attempted to do with his New Bloomsday Book. A film version that relieves the plot of the wealth of detail and the variety of stylistic changes, would make the novel more accessible. Audiences engaged by an interesting and enjoyable filmic version of Ulysses might be encouraged to read the actual novel. Especially if the adaptation is able to convey the humour of the book it might win new readers, formerly too intimidated by its reputation. With the film in mind, it might also be easier to navigate the many gaps and breaks in the novel, because readers would possess the appropriate images that allow orientation. As a result, adaptations of Joyce‘s texts are not only possible but also desirable. Because adapting such a literary masterpiece does not mean the devaluation of this work, as some cultural pessimists might suspect, but it implies the possibility of opening up the universe contained in Ulysses to a greater audience and readership. References Barry, Kevin (2010). "Tracing Joyce. The 'Dead' in Huston and Rossellini". In: John McCourt (ed.). Roll Away the Reel World: James Joyce and Cinema. Cork: Cork University. 149-175. Barsam, Richard (1981). "When in Doubt Persecute Bloom". In: Michael Klein & Gillian Parker (eds.). The English Novel and the Movies. New York : Ungar. 291- 300. Bringing Bloom to the Screen 217 Bazin, André (2000). "Adaptation, or the Cinema as Digest". In: James Naremore (ed.). Film Adaptation. London: Athlone Press. 19-27. Blamires, Harry (2000). The New Bloomsday Book: A Guide Through James Joyce's Ulysses. London/ New York: Routledge. Chatman, Seymour (1990). Coming to Terms. The Rhetoric of Narrative in Fiction and Film. Ithaca, N.Y: Cornell University Press. Cohn, Dorrit (1978). Transparent Minds. Narrative Modes for Presenting Consciousness in Fiction. Priceton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Füger, Wilhelm (1994). James Joyce. Epoche, Werk, Wirkung. München: Verlag C.H. Beck. Hutcheon, Linda (2006). A Theory of Adaptation. New York, NY: Routledge. Joyce, James (1922/ 2000). Ulysses. London: Penguin Books. Kenner, Hugh (1987). Ulysses. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Lawrence, Karen (1981). The Odyssey of Style in Ulysses. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. McCourt, John (ed.) (2010). Roll Away the Reel World: James Joyce and Cinema. Cork: Cork University Press. McCourt, John (2010). "Introduction: From the real to the Reel and Back: Explorations into Joyce and Cinema". In: John McCourt. Roll Away the Reel World: James Joyce and Cinema. Cork: Cork University Press. 1-14. McFarlane, Brian (2007). "Reading Film and Literature". In: Debora Cartmell & Imelda Whelehan (eds.). The Cambridge Companion to Literature On Screen. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 15-28. Meyers, Jesse (2010). "James Joyce, Subliminial Screenwriter? ". In: John McCourt (ed.). Roll Away the Reel World: James Joyce and Cinema. Cork: Cork University Press. 174-186. Osteen, Mark W. (2005). "Ulysses (1922)". In: John Tibbets & James Welsh (eds.). The Encyclopedia of Novels into Film. New York, NY: Facts of File. 475-476. Schwarz, Daniel R. (1987). Reading Joyce‟s Ulysses. London: The Macmillan Press Ltd. Shout, John (1989). "Joyce at Twenty-Five, Huston at Eighty-One: The Dead". Literature/ Film Quarterly 17/ 2. 91-94. Spiegel, Alan (1976). Fiction and the Camera Eye. Visual Consciousness in Film and the Modern Novel. Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia. Steinberg, Erwin (1973). The Stream of Consciousness and Beyond in Ulysses. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Strick, Joseph (dir.). (1967). Ulysses [Motion Picture]. Walsh, Sean (dir.). (2003). Bloom [Motion Picture]. Welsh, James Michael (2007). "Introduction". In: Michael James Welsh & Peter Lev (eds.). The Literature/ Film Reader. Issues of Adaptation. Lanham, Md: Scarecrow Press. xiii-xxviii. Williams, Keith (2010). "Odysseys of Sound and Image: 'Cinematicity' and the Ulysses Adaptations". In: John McCourt. Roll Away the Reel World: James Joyce and Cinema. Cork: Cork University Press. 158-173. Maximilian Feldner University of Graz