The Sound and the Fury- Blog 5

Because my screenplay is an adaptation of a novel and not an original concept for a television episode, there is considerable overlap between my screenwriting and the actual plot of the novel. This did not necessarily make it an easier task, as it was imperative to capture the tone of Faulkner's work. A great deal of suffering is internalized, especially in Quentin's case, so there is minimal dialogue in certain segments to amplify the subtleties of his actions.

I was profoundly moved by "The Sound and the Fury," and nearly a year after reading it for the first time, its impact has been lasting. Faulkner evokes a strong emotional response with his careful structure, use of stream of consciousness, and memorable characters. From the outset of "June Second, 1910," Quentin Compson is tragic. From his inability to deal with the passing of time to the pride he longs to recover, Quentin's demise is heartbreaking.

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In Quentin's section- "June Second, 1910" - several events take place, and there were difficult decisions involving what to include and what to omit. Quentin reflects on many encounters, but only a few are instrumental in shaping his life. He is a southern gentleman, and his sense of right and wrong is especially advanced. Classmates tend to label him and his less-than-supportive father claims that virginity is overrated and unimportant. His concern for time is something difficult to carry over to screenplay format. A ticking watch is initially captivating, but the point comes across shortly after. With limited space, there are two major areas of focus.

The first is obviously, his obsession with Caddy. Quentin feels required to save her from misery, but his compassion leads him to suicide. Two encounters- one with Dalton Ames and one with Caddy alone- will emphasize her importance and provide tension within the screenplay. As previously mentioned, the misguided attempts of Jason III to send Quentin in the right direction backfire. He will not appear in the screenplay, but his voice-overs will be interspersed to include his importance in dictating the path of Quentin's life.

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"The Sound and the Fury" is the finest example of stream of consciousness, and Faulkner takes the concept of transforming thought into speech to new levels. The novel is difficult to comprehend at points, mainly because characters' minds often shift from past to present- sometimes in between sentences. Quentin is established as authentic through this literary technique. Readers are able to feel his sorrow and quickly realize how significant a role the loss of Caddy's purity plays in his daily life.

The influence of stream of consciousness dictates that my original piece must be deeply personal. It must follow Quentin's every reaction, and voice-overs will be used liberally to indicate his thoughts. Flashbacks are important for the screenplay to achieve maximum effect. Even as the lonely Quentin wanders around Harvard and the Massachusetts area, the presence of Caddy should be felt throughout.

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Although the screenplay is based on the experience of Quentin, I consulted the entirety of the novel to inform my writing decisions. One constant is the importance of Caddy, who is the clearest manifestation of the Compsons' decline. Of the four children, she is the only female, and the males worship her. She is the only individual in the family who respects the mentally disabled Benjy. Quentin is destroyed by her loss of pride, and tells his father he committed incest in attempt to salvage her reputation. The reprehensible Jason IV steals payments intended for her daughter, an example of his selfish behaviour and distaste for his family. Caddy's life is a struggle: she gives birth to the child of Dalton Ames, and her husband Herbert Head shuns her after making this discovery. This personal tragedy creates a domino effect and results in the unraveling of several characters- especially Quentin.

The structure of the novel is comprised of four parts, each of which details a different point of view. First, there is Benjy, whose interpretation of the world around him is often indecipherable. Faulkner succeeds with the ambitious task of writing as a mentally disabled man, and the dysfunctional nature of the Compsons is immediately clear. Secondly, there is Quentin, who commits suicide, unable to cope with his lingering anxieties. Next, the brutal Jason is used as a vehicle to communicate the family decline. Finally, the insightful servant Dilsey witnesses the troubles the Compsons face, and the novel ends on a disturbing note.

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When presented with the opportunity to write a screenplay based on a novel I admire, my mind was drawn to William Faulkner's "The Sound and the Fury," unquestionably one of the best novels I have ever read. While the novel is unique in style and manages to include several idiosyncratic perspectives, its themes broadly relate to human nature. Morality, failure, and self-discovery are all on display, and Faulkner effortlessly conveys the problems he witnessed in the South. The Compsons, once a proud family, have descended into oblivion. Ruined by finances, alcohol, and excessive pride, their dynamic sets the stage for a brilliant work of fiction.

"The Sound and the Fury" lends itself quite well to a screenplay format. There are memorable characters, most notably the distraught Quentin, whose story I centred my original piece on. His inner struggle is the basis for one of the best sections of literature I have ever read. Quentin begins at the pinnacle of the academic community, waking up at Harvard University. He evidently struggles with the concept of time, and constantly listens to the ticking of his watch. His recollection of past events contextualizes his sorrow: Caddy, his beloved sister, has been impregnated and marries another man hastily in order to maintain a normal lifestyle. Jason III, his father, a grossly cynical man, bothers him immensely. His mother wallowed in self-pity throughout his childhood, and family tears him apart. On "June Second 1910" Quentin faces many encounters before ending his life by jumping in the Charles River. He is an exceptionally nuanced character- one who is not easily forgotten.

Different Perspectives

Dexter Filkins, perhaps the most knowledgeable American journalist when it comes to the war in Afghanistan, wisely establishes the subject of “Lost Soldiers” in two words at the beginning of the piece: “Just kids.” These kids, he notes, are just like the everyday teenager: Megan Fox lovers, M&M gobblers, with bodies “hard and soft at once, like youth.” The soldiers are on the brink of true adulthood, boldly fighting for their country. Nothing, however, can prepare them for when “death rides along,” and Filkins tries to rationalize the moment in the mind of a soldier. It is difficult not to admire the concise article, and though we tend to concentrate on the political side of war, it would be egregious to look past the day-to-day lives of these young men. Filkins’ use of sentence fragments to open “Lost Soldiers” adds a sense of immediacy, and the personification of death is especially powerful. He provokes emotional response through his intimate description of what the soldiers lose: childhood and innocence.

“The Shrine Down the Hall,” a suitable accompaniment, gives life to the cliché “a picture is worth a thousand words.” In a photo essay that speaks for itself, Ashley Gilbertson captures the desolation of rooms left behind, which are surprisingly painful to look at. No matter how many trophies litter the shelves or how many stuffed animals lay on duvets, these men and women could not escape roadside bombs, grenade attacks, or other catastrophes leading to the same fate. One’s room provides the greatest reflection of individuality be it unique interests or sexy posters. It also reflects general values, including emblems as ubiquitous as the American flag. The striking element of the rooms is how young its inhabitants were. Most likely never had the chance to establish a family and live life to the fullest, instead sacrificing everything for their country.

When offered the chance to direct a film that followed the lives of three National Guard soldiers, Deborah Scranton understood that it was an opportunity too incredible to resist. A surprising element of this talk is how affected Scranton has been from this experience. The “mutual journey” she undertook gave Scranton a unique perspective on the war, one that involved a deep personal connection with her subjects. A clip from the documentary revealed some of the brutality on the streets, and the powerful comment, “You walk and you hear the pieces of skin and that’s it, all that’s left” is haunting. Steve Pink, in his journal, also describes the strange relationship between the army and the media, as he “feels both exploited and proud at the same time.” Scranton strives to tell the story “from the inside out” and to “share an experience.” The personal stories she provides are heartbreaking and illuminate the hardships that soldiers face upon returning home.

No End in Sight is a nauseating film. This is far from an insult; it was likely Charles Ferguson’s intention. Leadership cannot be looked past in times of crisis, and he uses gripping interviews to link the disaster in Iraq to decisions made by influential men in the Bush administration. Few of the men signing important documents had considerable military experience. Most were deluded megalomaniacs. What is there to say about the incapable L. Paul Bremer? He boldly sought to disband the Iraqi army without any sense of what implications this might have. What about Donald Rumsfeld? As Secretary of Defense, he grew detached from the events taking place in Iraq, resorting to ludicrous statements. “The sky is falling!” he commented when the sky actually was falling. The Iraqi occupation may represent the nadir of American history, and No End in Sight rightfully chalks this up to a series of disastrous choices made by politicians.

Landscape Blog- Monkey Beach

Monkey Beach begins with Lisa looking out an open window at her surroundings as she copes with the disappearance of her brother Jimmy. Eden Robinson slowly unveils the details of the incident, but not before the reader learns a great deal about the protagonist through her reaction to the Kitamaat landscape. While Lisa gazes off into the distance, where "morning light slants over the mountains" (1) she is unable to escape the news from the Coast Guard. The landscape temporarily relieves her, providing a brief sense of optimism, as she innocently describes "the pretty, fluffy clouds" (2), which assure her that Jimmy will survive. Early on, the ocean is treated as something both loved and feared. The seiner is missing, but she cannot stop "dreaming about the ocean" (2). Lisa gives a vague account of the events that transpired the night before, but once she steps back from the view into the kitchen, the news is realized to be more grim than expected.

A description of the complex geography of Haisla territory helps readers understand Kitamaat, which has the aura of a town steeped in tradition despite its relative obscurity. It also leaves us with an unsettling realization- the far-reaching seas indicate that the prospects of Jimmy's survival are slim to none. Lisa's uncertainty, however, carries over to her subconscious: "The fog and clouds smeared the lines between land and sea and sky. He faded in and out of view..." (7) Rather than providing a simple description of emotions, Robinson deftly incorporates the beauty of the landscape. It serves as a gateway to the mind of her protagonist, captures the devastating circumstances of the event, and leaves us with the idea that nature is both loved and feared.

Naomi Wolf on Assange Victims

When I conjure up writing ideas, they often seem clever in theory but quickly dissolve into an illogical set of fragmented rants and mass generalizations. My response: immediate deletion. Controversial issues and driven opinions typically bring out the best in journalists. This, unfortunately, was not the case in Naomi Wolf's suggestion to name the women who filed sex-crime allegations against WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. The idea was interesting in principle, but lacked substance when applied to paper. The article drew from Oscar Wilde to Virginia Woolf without drawing connections necessary to form a compelling argument. Baldanza's assessment in class was spot on: Wolf focuses on how the custom of shielding accuser's identity is outdated, but never mentions the traumatizing affect a change may have on these women. However, given that Wolf is an avid feminist, the article is passionate and moving. Regardless of whether the reader agrees with the central premise or not, the seamless organization and the survey of "profound moral issues" evokes a strong response. Opinion-based columns are not designed to please the masses, but instead to solicit reaction- whether that involves approval or criticism. As a sucker for profound writing, I consider a particular section especially effective: "Can judicial decision-making be impartial when the accused is exposed to the glare of media scrutiny and attack by the US government, while his accusers remain hidden?" This is strong rhetorical question, but the reader is still left wishing Wolf supplemented it with a better answer.