THE CELLULOID ROSE: A STUDY OF THE TRANSITION FROM

NOVEL TO SCREEN OF UMBERTO ECO'S THE NAME OF THE ROSE

A Thesis Presented to the Graduate Faculty

of

California State university, Hayward

In Partial Fulfillment

of the Requirements for the Degree

Master of Arts in English

By

Adrienne Judith Arden

July, 1993 Copyright © 1993 by Adrienne J. Arden

11 THE CELLULOID ROSE:

A STUDY OF THE TRANSITION FROM NOVEL TO SCREEN

OF UMBERTO ECO'S THE NAME OF THE ROSE

By

Adrienne J. Arden

iii PREFACE

Some years ago, while attending Chabot College in

Hayward, California, I participated in the making of an amateur science fiction film. The project was for extra credit in a course in Science Fiction Literature which was being taught by a creative and imaginative instructor: Dr.

Robert Doerr. Though extra credit in Dr. Doerr'S class was usually earned by writing either a short story, a poem, or an "issue paper," our instructor encouraged creativity, and fully supported the film project that I and four of my classmates wanted to do.

Our short film was to be an adaptation of Larry

Niven's story "One Face": a tale of a group of space travelers questing after a binary planet to colonize. The story seemed an easy one to adapt to film, and the group decided that, for the adaptation, much of the original story would be retained, including the names of the characters all of whom possessed names which reflected their occupations, such as "Vern Spacecaptain" and "Lourdi Coursefinder."

In our small group of amateur filmakers, we discovered a wealth of talent: One member had previously

iv sold a short story to a magazine, and so was drafted into writing the screenplay; another member put her sewing skills to work as costume maker; we had one experienced actor in our ranks who had performed in several college plays; a dYnamic eighteen year-old, Charles Pickens, possessed not only the artistic vision of a young Orson Welles, but also the only hands-on knowledge of filmaking in the group--he had previously taken a course in filmaking and editing; I was to create futuristic make-up and hair. Charles selected the Niven story for adaptation, and signed-on as both director and main camera operator on the project. Given our collective talent, we thought this project would proceed without any real problems. Not so.

First, personal and career-related responsibilities prevented our writer from producing a screenplay by the established deadline. Next, our director made an heroic effort at writing the adaptation, but his script was so lengthy that, had we actually shot it, our planned short film would have been a four hour epic. Efforts to shorten it ensued, but it was obvious at the scene rehearsals that the project looked doomed. Then, in response to my off­ handed remark that, if the audience is going to laugh, let's be sure laughter was our intent, the director tossed Mr.

Niven's story at me and said, "Make a comedy out of it."

v I have never discovered whether he was joking, being sarcastic, or dead serious, he being one of those inscrutable young geniuses, but, having been visited by that elusive guest, Inspiration, I spent the next three sleepless days and nights writing the screenplay adaptation. My dabblings with writing short stories and poems, and my long­ time devotion to films gave me some of the mechanics needed, but having never acted, nor even thought about how to proceed with an adaptation made the project seem overwhelming. What to cut? What to alter? What to borrow intact? How much running time does a scene use?

I answered these questions by, first, visiting a library. There, I found several books on screenwriting which provided me with valuable information on adaptation, characterization, dialogue, etc., as well as on the physical format of a screenplay. Next, I acted through the scenes, playing all the characters while keeping an eye on my watch.

I tried to "feel" what worked and what did not, to hear which lines were funny and which lines bombed, and to recognize when what I had written was forcing a character out of character.

As the hours and days passed, my respect for screenwriters and filmakers grew monumentally. Having agonized over how much of Mr. Niven's intent must be changed

Vl in order to translate his work to the screen, I developed a special respect for those writers who create screenplay adaptations. Though I was working on a project that would result in nothing more than a twenty minute, low-budget film that only a few people would ever see, still, I felt a sense of responsibility to the original work not to degrade it.

So, as I changed Mr. Niven's "Vern Spacecaptain" into the demented Queeg Spacedcaptain, whose character, as performed by our director, evolved into Bogart in space, and "Lourdi

Coursefinder" into Birdseye Coursefinder (the character I portrayed), who always dressed in green and was "into" cryogenics, and onward through the whole cast of characters,

I hoped that when Mr. Niven received his copy of the film he would not feel compelled to promptly burn it.

Throughout that quarter as our project progressed and was finally completed, I learned much about the art of filmaking. I learned, for example, that, even on a production as small as ours, shooting a single shot can take an entire evening, and that ten hours can be wasted trying to shoot a scene that fails to work due to mechanical or prop failures. I learned that scripts for scenes which worked well in theory, do not always work in practice, and sometimes must be rewritten on the spot. I learned that making a film is a team effort, with all the inherent

Vll positives and negatives that can result from having several people work on a single piece of art. Most of all, I learned that film is art. It is an unique kind of art that can bring together all other art forms into a single project, and yet remain distinctly different from the rest.

My involvement in this class project, as well as in subsequent courses in Film Studies and Film Criticism, have prompted me to write, as my Master's thesis, the following study of the transition of a major novel to the screen. In this work, I have attempted to examine the many aspects involved in the process of creating a film that is adapted from a literary source.

I have chosen to use as the literary focus of this work Umberto Eco's novel, The Name of the Rose. 1 I have chosen this work, because it is a decidedly uncinematic novel2 that would be a challenge for any filmaker who may attempt to adapt it. Uncinematic as this novel is, filmaker

Jean-Jacques Annaud rose to the challenge bringing his film adaptation of The Name of the Rose to the screen in 1986.

Vlll For Roger

lX ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank the following people who have contributed to the completion of this work:

Roger Schulze, for his computer expertise, his help with formatting and preparation, his encouragement, suggestions and prodding, for his sunny disposition even at

2 a.m., his ready wit, and mostly, for believing in me.

Prof. Marc Ratner, for his enthusiastic approach to teaching film criticism, his willingness to work with me on this unusual project, his many insightful comments and suggestions, his interest and concern, his delightful sense of humor, and for sticking with the project even after his retirement.

Profs. Eileen Barrett, James Murphy, and Zelda Boyd for their time and interest.

Scott Hegarty, for our many, long, philosophical, political, ethical, social, etc., discussions which have not

x yet resulted in our saving the world, so surely, some ideas

for this project must have been gleaned from them.

Charles "Little Brother" Pickens, for his long-time

friendship and encouragement, and for inspiring my interest

in film adaptation in the first place.

Kristi Grove, who has been more a sister than a

friend, for our long talks about movies and everything else.

The Student Assistants in the library's Reserve Book

Room at California State University, Hayward, for the

understanding and moral support they have given their

supervisor for the duration of this project.

Juanita and Janeen Loomis, who have been there for

me for the past thirteen years.

I am also greatful to all those who have given me

their words of encouragement and support; they meant more to

me than you can ever know.

Xl TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface . iv

Acknowledgements x

Some Background on the Relationship Between Novels and Filmaking 1

A Synopsis of Umberto Eco's Novel: The Name of the Rose 10

An Examination of Umberto Eco's Novel The Name of the Rose As a Film Source 22

"The Name of the Rose": The Film Directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud, 1986 32

An Examination of the Film "The Name of the Rose" As an Adaptation 99

Notes 110

Films Cited 112

Works Cited . 113

Xll The Celluloid Rose:

A study of the Transition from Novel to the Screen of Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose

Some Background on the Relationship

Between Novels and Filmaking

Almost since the earliest days of filmaking, novels, short stories, and even, in the case of D. W. Griffith's

"Pippa Passes" (1909), poetry,3 have been used with varying degrees of success as source material for films, with novels being adapted with the most frequency. In his book The

Novel and the Cinema (1975), Geoffrey Wagner states that recent estimates of total studio production taken from novels alone have gone over fifty percent (27). One reason that moviemakers turn so often to fiction, according to film reviewer Alvin Sanoff, is "the chance to make something out of something [rather than trying to create an original screenplay]" (Sanoff, 67). Sanoff further suggests that film projects based on novels are more attractive to financial backers, and cites Peter Biskind, managing editor of Premiere magazine: "A book is a known quantity and can

1 2 help promote a film. II Director James Ivory, has another perspective:

Most of the scripts that highly paid screenplay writers come up with from scratch are a chore to read--they're flat, there'S no character development, the scenes aren't interesting. With a good novel, your imagination immediately gets to work (Sherrid, 68).

While many brilliant original screenplays come to mind, for example, IICitizen Kane ll (1941), IISome Like it Hot ll

(1959), IIMoonstruckll (1987), and nearly all the screenplays of Woody Allen, Ingmar Bergman, and Federico Fellini, clearly, the film industry greatly benefits from the wealth of memorable, well-developed characters, rich dialogue, and believable scenes that it mines from fiction.

But does a good novel necessarily make a good film?

The answer to that question is a resounding no. There are

simply too many variables involved in the making of any film

to guarantee its success, regardless of whether the film is

based on either a good novel or a mediocre one, or, for that matter, on a well-crafted original screenplay.

Unfortunately, even if a fine screenwriter produces a fine

screenplay adaptation, a finished film, like a chain, is

only as strong as its weakest link. Films are, by necessity, group projects, or, lIart without an artist ll

(BOYUm, 13). Given the possibilities for chaos when several

artists work on a single project, it is not surprising that

so few films even accomplish what their creators hoped to do 3 at the outset, let alone achieve that elusive status

"greatness."

Yet, despite the odds, many films (for this work, only film adaptations will be addressed) have attained that

status: "Out of Africa" (1985), "Ordinary People" (1980),

"A Room with a view" (1986), and "East of Eden" (1955), are

just a few examples of what can happen when all of the

elements that go into the creation of a film, from the

writing of the script, through the directing, the casting,

the music score, the cinematography, the film editing, etc.,

are handled superbly.

But for every success, there are many more mediocre

works that missed the mark due to that single weak link, not

to mention the multitude of films that were never

intentioned by their creators to be more than "schlock." An

example of the former is a little-known film: "Ordeal by

Innocence" (1984), an adaptation of an Agatha Christie

mystery. Agatha Christie's work usually translates well to

the screen, and this version should have been no exception,

with its skilled cast, including Donald Sutherland, Faye

Dunaway, and Diana Quick, high-quality cinematography and

script. Unfortunately, the choice of a progressive jazz

music score (by renowned jazz master Dave Brubec) all but

ruins the film. The score is more appropriate for a

detective drama or teenage rebel film set in the 1950's. It 4 intrudes in scene after scene, completely out of sYnch with the mood, pacing, and English countryside setting, creating situations that are almost laughable. In his book understanding Movies, Louis Giannetti states that, in some respects, adapting a novel or play requires more skill and originality than working with an original screenplay. Furthermore, the better the literary work, the more difficult the adaptation, since there are more people who will be upset or offended due to the modifications required to make the film (Gianetti, 361-362) Yet those modifications not only must be made in order to translate print to screen, but also, according to Orson

Welles, should be made: "I believe you must say something new about a book, otherwise it is better not to touch it"

(Giannetti, 439). The adapation, then, should reflect at least as much of the adapter's, the screenwriter's, vision as that of the original author.

So, a film adaptation must first have its source come "under the knife" of a screenwriter, or team of screenwriters, whose talent and vision can make the difference between an imaginative and powerful film adaptation, such as "The French Lieutenant's Woman" (1981)4, and the disappointing "Dune" (1984).

A screenplay adapted by a novel's own author is no more likely to be successful than if it were adapted by 5 another writer. Pulitzer prize winning author William

Kennedy, who has successfully adapted his own novel Ironweed to the screen, says that you cannot translate a novel [to the screen] exactly. The internal words have to fall by the wayside. "You lose this and you lose that. What you keep is the key dramatic dialogue and the dramatic framing and coherence" (Sanoff, 66). According to Kennedy, the process works best when a writer knows the story from the inside,

[as the author would] but, even then, many novelists cannot reconcile the differing demands of film and print. "They don't know what to leave out."

Vladimir Nabokov is one author to whom William

Kennedy may have been referring. The screenplay Nabokov wrote for his own novel Lolita ran 350 pages. with one page of script equalling one minute of screen time, and with the length tolerance of the average member of the viewing public at a little over two hours, knowing when to cut is important for practical as well as artistic reasons. If director

Stanley Kubrick had attempted to film Nabokov's script, then the film would have lasted for 6 hours (Sanoff, 66). When

Kubrick and his producer, James B. Harris, rewrote the script for "Lolita," (1962), they preserved about 20 percent of Nabokov's lengthy version. Nabokov (who later published his original script: Lolita: A Screenplay (1974)), 6 considered Kubrick and Harris's rewrite and their film first-rate (Giannetti, 360).

There are those who regard film adaptations as a product of lesser quality than that of their print source.

Playwright Edward Albee would go even further: liThe word is the enemy of the film" (Sanoff, 66). At times, however, the film adaptation can be superior to the original novel.

Consider D.W. Griffith's "Birth of a Nation" (1915), though too racist in its glorification of the Ku Klux Klan

(certainly by today's standards), it is far superior to the work on which it is based: Thomas Dixon's novel The

Clansman; a novel which Louis Giannetti describes as

"trashy" and more blatantly racist than the film (Giannetti,

362). The Australian film liMy Brilliant Career" (1979) is adapted from the novel of the same name by Miles Franklin.

The novel and the film tell the story of a young Australian woman in the late nineteenth century who is clearly born ahead of her time. She wishes not to marry, but rather, to have a career of her own, at a time when the only respectable status for a woman was marriage. As written by its young, inexperienced author, the novel has a somewhat whining quality that undercuts the reader's ability to identify and sYmpathize with the protagonist Sybylla

MelVYn. 5 7

The film version, however, with Judy Davis as

Sybylla, overcomes the novel's weaknesses. The script, direction, acting and cinematography are of such high quality that the audience feels the constraints of Sybylla's

life, admires her strength, and hopes she can escape in order to use her considerable intelligence in a life of her own choosing.

Perhaps of all the creative forces behind the making of a film, the director is the person whose role more

closely approximates that of the novelist, poet, or painter.

The director oversees, accepts or rejects the work of not

only the screenwriter, but also the work of all others who

are involved in the film project. It is the director, then, who, for good or for ill, is most responsible for the

quality of the final product. In the mid-1950s, the French

popularized the "auteur theory," a view that stressed the

dominance of the director in film art. According to this

view, "whoever controls the 'mise en scene'--the medium of

the story--is the true 'author' of a movie" (Giannetti,

268). Therefore, any film adaptation, whether the director

is assisting with the screenwriting, or overseeing it, will

be strongly influenced by the director's interpretation of

the original work, and by his or her vision of how best to

translate it to the screen. 8

Do some original works make better source material than others? Yes, and no. It is generally accepted that novels containing considerable introspection, surrealism, time shifting, or a story within a story, are more challenging to a filmaker than a story that is long on plot, but short on characterization, with plenty of dialogue and overt action. Prior to approximately 1960, there were few film adaptations from these types of works, but, in the last thirty years, filmakers have been experimenting more with form and structure and their innovations have produced such films as Stanley Kubrick's "A Clockwork Orange (1971)," and the previously mentioned liThe French Lieutenant's Woman."

The length of an original work can also affect the adaptation. Short works, and also lengthier works containing much internal dialogue, require interpolation to add length or to provide transition or continuity.

Conversely, works of considerable length require the omission of some material in order to keep the film to a marketable two hours. Though necessary, both interpolation and omission are frequently the cause for discontent among audiences who have read the original work.

How difficult it is to adapt a particular novel can also depend upon what type of adaptation the filmaker has in mind. A "loose adaptation" is generally only an idea, a situation, or a character that is taken from a literary 9 source, then developed independently (Giannetti, 362). This is the simplest way to adapt a novel, but it is usually the one that draws the most negative criticism. A II faithful II adaptation attempts to re-create the literary source in filmic terms, keeping as close to the spirit of the original as possible (Giannetti, 363). Here is where the filmaker must transform the word into a picture, and, depending upon how Ilcinernatic" a novel is {possessed of rapid prose, swiftly alternating scenes, with emphasis on visible detail

(Richardson, 81)), by far the more difficult adaptation to perform. Also, with regard to faithful adaptations, Joy

Gould BoYUm writes that recent adaptations reflect not only changes in film's sociology and structure, but changes in

its aesthetic as well. She states that critics of adaptations ignore the radical artistic changes in recent years: technological developments, widespread innovative use of color, emphasis on location shooting, increased pace

and tempo of editing, and, most importantly, a steering-away from the old "star system" that the former Hollywood movie moguls would inflict upon the film industry, with often disastrous or ludicrous casting results (BOYUm, 18-19).

Clearly, films and film adaptations have been evolving

toward a higher-quality product that can appeal to today's more educated and sophisticated population. A Synopsis of Umberto Eco's Novel

The Name of the Rose

The Name of the Rose is a multi-layered novel which encompasses fourteenth-century church politics, history, a murder mystery, semiotics, and nominalism. Of these, the murder mystery advances the action and plot over the seven day period that "Adso's manuscript" is divided into, while the ongoing church political debates and the monastery provide the climate and setting respectively. Throughout the novel, the monks engage in passionate debates about what is meant in the words of the scriptures, and there are many theological digressions which lend an historical dimension to the book. The monks at this abbey, with their fundamentalist view, serve as a microcosm of the Middle

Ages. They believe in a supernatural order that is being disrupted by evil forces at work at the abbey. Ubertino of

Casale speaks of the evil of lust existing within the abbey's walls (60). Alinardo of Grottaferrata believes the horrible events at the abbey are the fulfillment of an apocalyptic prophecy (255), and the Master Librarian, Jorge

10 11 of Burgos, rages against the evil of humor and speaks prophetically of the coming of the Antichrist, "He is coming! . Do not squander the last seven days" (83).

Jorge himself will fill that role seven days hence.

Author umberto Eco's prodigious scholarship in semiotics6 is evident throughout the novel, as is nominalist doctrine (including the title and the novel's last line)7, and the two add richness to its texture. Much of William of

Baskerville's evidence involves decyphering the meaning of complex secret symbols and coded manuscripts.

The setting of The Name of the Rose is an ancient

Benedictine abbey in northern Italy. The year is 1327, and there has already been one death at the abbey (Adelmo of

Otranto) when William of Baskerville, an English Franciscan monk who is a very Sherlock Holmesian character in appearance, behavior, and methods, arrives on the scene. In his essay, "The Detective Novel and the Defense of

Humanism," Pierre L. Horn says of william:

The Franciscan monk is clearly modeled on Sherlock Holmes. His Baskerville birthplace recalls the terrifying Conan Doyle tale and, like Holmes, he is tall and thin. He has sharp eyes made all the more penetrating by the use of magnifying eyeglasses . during melancholy moods he partakes of narcotic herbs, probably hashish, a practice he learned from Arab scholars (Horn, in Inge, 90). william is not the fundamentalist that the rest of the monks are. 12

Accompanying William is Adso of Melk, a young

Benedictine novice who serves as william's apprentice and scribe. The naive, innocent Adso is clearly playing the role of Watson to william's Holmes8 . In fact Adso is spelled "Adson" in Abbe Vallet's book (I), a near homophone for "Watson" (Horn, in Inge, 90). Adso is a realist who is often confounded and amazed by his semiotician mentor. Adso observes and assists, and, like Watson, later chronicles his and william's adventures at the abbey.

However, unlike Holmes and watson, william and Adso did not come to the abbey to solve a mystery; they came for a church council meeting. Dissension among rival factions threatens to tear the church apart. On one side stand the

Spiritualists and Emperor Louis IV who endorse evangelical poverty. On the other side, the corrupt Pope John XXII and the monks who believe that the vow of poverty will rob the church of earthly wealth and power. In an effort to avoid a confrontation, both sides agree to meet at the abbey which is considered neutral ground. William has been sent to the meeting as the Emperor's representative.

Due to william's reputation as a master logician, the abbot, Abo, requests William's aid in solving the crime of Adelmo's murder. Just as William deduces that Adelmo's death was a suicide resulting from guilt over a "strange" relationship with Berengar (92), another young monk, 13

Venantius of Salvemec, is found dead head-first in a vat of pig's blood (103). Following this death, William has two conversations with Alinardo of Grottaferrata in which old

Alinardo states his belief that the Antichrist is about to come, due to the arrival of signs that the Apocalypse is at hand:

Did you not hear the seven trumpets? Did you not hear how [Adelmo] died? The first angel sounded the first trumpet, and hail and fire fell mingled with blood. And the second angel sounded the second trumpet, and the third part of the sea became blood .... Did the second boy not die in the sea of blood? Watch out for the third trumpet! The third part of the creatures of the sea will die. God punishes us (159).

Later, after the disappearance of Berengar of Arundel,

Alinardo again speaks to William of the signs:

Too many dead. But it was written in the book of the apostle .... you found one body in the hail, the other in blood. The third trumpet warns that a burning star will fall in the third part of rivers and fountains of waters .... our third brother has disappeared. And fear for the fourth, because the the third part of the sun will be smitten, and of the moon and the stars (255) .

William listens seriously to Alinardo's assertions as he has great respect for the old man. Adso, our narrator, says that William asked himself whether there were not some element of truth in Alinardo's words. "But," Adso points out to him, this would mean assuming that a single diabolical mind, using the Apocalypse as guide, had arranged the three disappearances, also assuming that Berengar is 14 dead. But, on the contrary, we know Adelmo died of his own volition (255).

Though William agrees with Adso, he has his own hypothesis:

But the same diabolical or sick mind could have been inspired by Adelmo's death to arrange the other two in a symbolic way. And if this were so, Berengar should be found in a river or a fountain (255).

After some discussion of the fact that the abbey has no rivers or fountains, Adso casually observes that there are only the baths, which leads them both in a great rush to the balneary where they discover, as if in fulfillment of the prophesy, the body of Berengar who had drowned in a tub

(256). Thus, by his own passion for truth that can be found in signs and symbols, William is mistakenly led to believe that the crimes sequentially follow the seven trumpets of the Apocalypse.

During the next few days, that belief will be reinforced when Severinus the Herbalist is found with his skull crushed from a blow in which the murder weapon was an armillary sphere9 (359), and Malachi the Assistant Librarian collapses and dies during Matins (414). Before his death

Malachi says to William, "He told me ... truly ... It had the power of a thousand scorpions II The murderer had apparently sounded the fourth and fifth trumpets. 15

The "It" Malachi refers to is the "lost" second volume of Aristotle's Poetics, which extols comedy as a

force for good. This book, though William will not know it until later due to the "red herring" of the apocalyptic prophesy, is not only the reason for some of the murders,

but also the murder weapon: Jorge, the Master Librarian, has

laced the upper right edges of the pages with a deadly

poison that would be ingested when an unsuspecting reader

repeatedly moistens their fingertips in order to turn the

sticky, moisture-damaged pages. In this way, Jorge could

destroy anyone who dared to read the forbidden book.

William hears of the book from Benno of Uppsala, the

rhetoric scholar. Benno tells William of heated debates

about humor between venantius, who was a devote of

Aristotle, and Jorge, who despises laughter and humor as

works of the "Evil One." In one such debate (112), the

second book of the Poetics is mentioned, but Jorge states

that the book cannot be found, because it had never been

written: "Providence did not want futile things glorified."

This is followed, according to Benno, by some mention of the

"witty riddles" of the African poets, and this mention

sparked a strange event: Berengar broke into laughter, was

promptly reprimanded by Jorge, then Malachi became furious

with Berengar, and sent him back to work. Later, however,

Benno says that he saw both Adelmo and venantius asking 16 something of Berengar. Benno goes on to describe having seen "among the collocations that only the librarian understands, one that said 'Africa, 'and ... one that said

'finis Africae,' the end of Africa" (113). Benno reports that an inquiry about the books to Malachi resulted in his being told that those books had been lost.

Through this and other conversations, William deduces that the second volume of Aristotle's Poetics is not only housed in the library, but is also linked to the murders. From Alinardo, he learns that the library is a great labyrinth (157), and from others that only Jorge and his assistants may enter the library, though only Jorge knows the codes to its inner sanctums. With Adso's assistance, william makes several forays into the labyrinth gaining more knowledge of its secrets and penetrating further with each attempt.

Eco's predilection for semiotics and nominalism is strongly evident in the abbey's great library. In order to gain access to the library, William must decypher a complex series of signs and symbols. The mystery to opening a vital passage-way is finally solved when William answers a riddle whose solution lies in discovering that, in this case,

"quatuor" should be interpreted as its name, or "the" four, rather than "of the four" as he and Adso had previously

interpreted it (458). In his essay comparing and 17 contrasting semiotics and the supernatural in Dickens's Hard

Times and Eco's The Name of the Rose, Robert L. Caserio says,

For Eco, names and signs are the great summa of our being, a happy infinite labyrinth from which we may seek--only at our peril--an exit to "truth" or transcendence. Eco dramatizes language allegorically in his novel as the abbey'S labyrinthine library (Caserio, 9) .

Perhaps the library'S greatest role in the novel is that it serves as a symbol for the world. Adso reports that the library is "laid out and arranged according to the image of the terraqueous orb" (320). Its various sectors are a maze of rooms each named with a letter; the letters, if the maze is followed correctly, will spell out the names of countries, but the countries are spelled in eccentric directional patterns that are difficult to follow (321).

The Earth-like layout of the library is represenative of both the maze that is history, and medieval man's need to impose order on that which cannot be ordered. The forbidden book by Aristotle is housed in the section of the library called the "finis Africae" which is in the south tower, known as "Leones" (322), though William and Adso will not find it there until near the novel's end. Throughout The Name of the Rose, the murder investigation is carried on while the monks must continue to fulfill their monastic committments: the rituals and 18 observances go on despite the rising body count. In fact, despite the intriguing murder mystery, much of the novel is devoted to church history, and to lengthy church political discussions. The latter is, at times, used to provide character development as in the meeting between William and

Bernard Gui, the Inquisitor, who arrives at the abbey to investigate lithe pestiferous stink of the Devil" (301).

This short meeting is a game of words matching William's wit and Bernard's fanatacism. At other times, such as the fourteen page heated debate on the poverty of Jesus in the chapter "Fifth Day, II the reader is reminded of the reason why William, Adso, the Minorites, Clunaics, and others, are visiting this abbey.

Bernard Gui, who arrives late in the novel (Fourth

Day), nonetheless plays a pivotal and disturbing role. He will pursue the evil at the abbey focussing on three innocent people: a nameless village girl living in poverty is accused of being a witch (Adso, unbeknownst to Gui or anyone else but william, has a brief sexual encounter with this girl in an earlier chapter; Adso says of this girl in his manuscript, lithe humblest rose becomes a gloss of our terrestrial progress (279)); Remigio the Cellarer, and

Salvatore the hunchback, are "tried" and convicted by Gui for conspiracy and murder (369-390). 19

Later, when Adso learns from William that the three prisoners will be taken away to Avignon for execution, Adso laments the horror of the church giving a man like Bernard

Gui so much power (406), and he also laments, as he does on other occasions, that he never knew the name of the girl:

"This was the only earthly love of my life, and I could not, then or ever after, call that love by name" (407). Since

Adso is the novel's narrator, it is difficult not to experience his pain over these events, and to know that this is his abrupt transition into manhood. By not giving the girl a name, Eco allows her, the only female in the novel, to be a symbol for "Woman" to Adso. Perhaps he was thinking of her in his last line when he says, "stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus" (502): "Yesterday's rose endures in its name, we hold empty names" (Haft, 175) .10

Robert L. Caserio elaborates further: "The rose exists as the name of the rose; whatever we grasp, whether in our minds or with our hands, the things we grasp are naked names" (Caserio, 9). Or, perhaps Adso, the aging realist, learned more from William than he is aware.

As to the solution of the murder mystery, William discovers by the final chapter that for all his powers of observation and deduction, he had been led astray by his desire for a universe where there is order. It had caused him to seek one criminal for the crimes; one criminal who 20 was operating according to an apocalyptic pattern, when instead: venantius died from ingesting the poison from the book; Berengar finds Venantius's body and panics, so he throws the body in the vat of blood hoping it will look like drowning--no planned apocalyptic pattern was involved;

Berengar dies from the poisoned book, and just happens to be taking a bath at the time; Malachi killed Severinus because he was jealous of a supposed (and he was mistaken) relationship between Severinus and Berengar (the armillary sphere just happened to be the closest thing at hand to use as a weapon); then Malachi succumbed to the temptation to see what was so irresistible about the book, even though

Jorge had told him lilt had the power of a thousand scorpions II (414).

After Jorge causes the fire that destroys the library that is laid out like the world, and contains much of the accumulated learning of the world, thereby, playing the Antichrist and fulfilling his own prophesy, william relates his own failure to Adso:

I have never doubted the truth of signs, Adso; they are the only things man has with which to orient himself in the world. What I did not understand was the relation among signs. I arrived at Jorge through an apocalyptic pattern that seemed to underlie all the crimes, and yet it was accidental.... each crime was committed by a different person, or by no one. .. there was no plan. Where is all my wisdom, then? ...I should have known well that there is no order in the universe (492). 21

One doubts that William has truly given up his belief in cosmic order, because in his last spoken line he says, "Non in commotione, non in commotione Dominus" (493) liThe Lord is not in confusion, not in confusion" (Haft,

172) . An Examination of Umberto Eco's Novel

The Name of the Rose

As a Film Source

As the foregoing should indicate, most filmakers would consider Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose an unlikely candidate for adaptation. Its more than five­ hundred page length makes a faithful adaptation unwieldy since, as has been previously mentioned, one page of filmscript equals one minute of screen time. The novel's content is laden with lengthy asides, some of which are in untranslated Latin, and historical commentary. These cover many topics including the suppression of supposed heresies, the political maneuvering within the Avignon papacy, the fight for the Holy Roman Empire, the science of signs and symbols, and astrology, as well as the invention of eyeglasses and gunpowder. There are, in fact, so many asides and detours that the novel's action proceeds at a snail's pace. The number of characters too is large, and they, other than the characters of William and Adso, are not the sort that would attract a large filmgoing audience.

Also, due to the high cost of the necessary historical research, set building, costumes, and difficulty finding

22 23 workable locations, the medieval setting of The Name of the

RQae would be a deterrent to filmakers who are looking for a likely source. Finally, there is the matter of the novel's ending. While a novel can get away with a realistic ending where the evil-doers escape justice or even win the day, and the innocents are sacrificed or are hauled off to an unknown fate, and chaos ultimately prevails, the modern film audience is, by and large, still in need of a more positive outcome than The Name of the Rose provides.

The Name of the Rose is, then, rather forbidding as a film source. Yet, as unlikely as it is as a film source,

The Name of the Rose is an even more unlikely worldwide bestseller with nine million copies sold in thirty-six countries. Even Urnberto Eco himself did not expect his novel that is "long on philosophy and short on sex" to be blockbuster material, especially in Italy where the market for books is small (Gale Research Inc.). Given the widespread popularity of The Name of the Rose, it would seem likely, then, that the potential risks involved with creating a film version would be lessened since there would be a large audience for the novel's film adaptation.

However, as with any film adaptation of a widely read novel, the filmaker must inevitably face criticism for the omissions and interpolations that have to be done to a work in order to translate it to the screen. Readers have 24

already created their own mental movie of the written work,

and this often conflicts with the filmaker's vision.

Assuming, hypothetically, that the decision has just been made to create a film based on The Name of the Rose, how best to proceed with the adaptation?

Before beginning an adaptation, the adapter needs to

know what obligations she owes to the original work. In his

book The Elements of Screenwriting, Irwin R. Blacker says

that the adapter (or her employer, producer, or studio) must

have paid for the rights to the original property before one

word of the adaptation is written. The adapter owes nothing

to the original but the spirit, the theme, and the premise

(Blacker 89). Given this degree of freedom, the adapter is

then faced with three possible ways to proceed:

1. The adapter can follow the book. This is the

"faithful adaptation," which was discussed in an

earlier section. It is the most difficult and often

disastrous method. This method may work for some

novels, but for long, dense novels, slavishness to

the original can be done at the expense of the film

(Blacker 89 - 90).

2. The adapter can work from key scenes. This is

accomplished by searching the book for colorful,

dramatic scenes that are indicative of the author's

concept and story line. These can then be arranged 25

in some climactic order (not necessarily that

followed in the book), and then tied together via

bridging passages using either materials which the

book provides or which the adapter develops (Swain

188) .

3. The adapter can develop an original screenplay that

is based on the original work; this is the II loose

adaptation. II The adapter begins with what he

perceives as the story's point and premise. This is

followed by establishing the point of view,

determining the starting lineup (a checklist

designed to focus story elements into a pattern

which allows appraisal of their dramatic potential),

starting point (for example, John Osborne's

adaptation of Steinbeck's East of Eden began on page

460 of the novel), the middle, the end, writing a

story treatment, breaking the treatment down into a

step outline, and building up a first draft master

scene script (Swain 86, 189).

Actually, no one approach to the project is exclusive; all are, to some degree, employed in an adaptation. An adapter will jump from tight adherence to the original here, to working from key scenes there, to drawing out a premise and starting lineup from his or her own material elsewhere in order to draw disparate elements 26 together. In order to do all of this while attaining unity and flow of the film's story, at times, the adapter will need to cut, even ruthlessly, whole incidents, facts, and characters out of the original. The objective should be to get at the heart of the work, to get down to how the novel makes the reader feel, because "The heart of a film is feeling" (Swain 190) .

The Name of the Rose is not a novel that is going to make this task easy. It is a novel which, once you have peeled away its many layers, been enriched by its wealth of world and papal history, been intrigued by the mystery of its labyrinthine library, and been, at times, delighted as well as dismayed by the actions of its characters, has a rather esoteric point that is not accessible by a large portion of viewing audiences. Even the narrator, Adso of

Melk, says in the last paragraph: "I leave this manuscript,

I do not know for whom; I no longer know what it is about."

Since the premise of The Name of the Rose is that Adso, now elderly and nearing the end of his life, is recounting in a manuscript the terrible events that he witnessed long ago at a mysterious monastery while in the company of his mentor

William of Baskerville, and he hopes that someone else, after reading the manuscript, will be able to make more sense out of the events than he has been able to, then the 27 adapter will get little help there with creating a storyline. The Name of the Rose reads as though Eco the professor has prepared a fascinating lesson in history, semiotics, and human nature dressed up as a murder mystery in order to provide some action. Since, fascinating though they may be, lectures and lessons are not the stuff that films are made of, then the adapter is left with the murder mystery for the story on which to base a screenplay. Unfortunately, the murder mystery itself is lacking in action, and the victims are not characters for whom one can develop any identification with nor sYmpathy for, nor does one even get to know them very well. But, if the two protagonists, William and Adso, were strong, developed characters, played by talented actors with great public appeal, then an audience could be drawn into both their developing mentor/novice relationship, and their intellectual Holmes/watson style investigation into the murders at the abbey. Add to this an oppressive climate of church dogma and political infighting, a fanatical old monk and an evil self-serving Inquisitor to serve as antagonists, and the basic murder mystery becomes more complex and interesting. Still, William and Adso cannot generate the kind of sYmpathy necessary to create emotional involvement in an 28 audience. william is so brilliant, so self-contained; one knows that, catlike, he will land on his feet. Adso may be innocent, but he is an astute observer in his own right, and we know he survives because he lives to tell the tale. So, another character is needed, a person or thing about whom or which an audience can feel something for. This is getting back to Dwight Swain's "heart" of the work: finding that which will create feeling.

In The Name of the Rose, Eco has provided the adapter with two such characters: First, there is the nameless girl with whom Adso has a brief sexual encounter, and who is later tried and convicted as a witch, then taken off with the Inquisition to be executed elsewhere. She is unceremoniously removed three quarters of the way through the novel, and the reader is not apprised of what actually happens to her. This girl is a pawn in the game of church politics, and a pitiable victim of her poverty and ignorance. In the novel, her role is quite small, though she creates much suffering and confusion for Adso. The adapter would be wise to enlarge her role slightly to allow her to provide some needed sensitivity and poignancy to the film, and her fate should be less vague.

The other and even more powerful "character" in the novel in terms of possessing the ability to create feeling and caring in an audience, is the magnificent library whose 29 hidden wealth of knowledge is both protected and sought after by nearly everyone in the film. This library, rather than a person, is the heart of The Name of the Rose. It is, however, personified, because it is greater than the sum of those who protect it, or seek its secrets, or intrigue within its corridors. More than any of the living characters, the library has the capacity to make an audience care what happens to it because it contains the scientic and medical discoveries, the philosophy, and the literature of the ages that have gone before; in short, the library possesses more of life than anyone person can possess. An audience as well as a reader can develop a yearning for so much stored knowledge hidden away from a world that could sorely use it, knowledge hidden because it not only had no place in the scriptures, but also because possession of that knowledge by the outside world would threaten the church's position of power. A good adapter can help create this yearning in his audience by doing what Eco did: reveal some of the color, the humor, and the wonder contained in the precious manuscripts, and contrast these elements with the austere oppressiveness of the monastery and the wretchedness and filth of the village. By doing so, the adapter can emotionally involve the viewer in the conflict between scientific rationalism and religious fanatacism, so that, in that great, climactic conflagration, when the knowledge of 30 the ages is lost, the audience will be more moved than they could have been by the deaths of any of the monks with whom they cannot identify. As Eco knew what to place at the heart of his novel, so should the wise adapter keep at the heart of his film.

As to which method of adaptation would best translate The Name of the Rose to the screen, the second method mentioned above, working from key scenes, seems the best choice. Since the events in the novel occur chronologically, and each event compounds the previous events, arranging the screenplay to move from event to event makes sense. Umberto Eco has already drawn interesting characters speaking equally interesting dialogue, and there is plenty of intrigue and church politics all from which to extract material for writing bridging passages.

The ending is, however, another matter. While the days of needing to provide the viewing audience with the requisite happy ending are passing, still, even a sophisticated audience needs more of an ending than this:

The girl, Salvatore, and Remigio are taken away by Bernard

Gui and the Inquisition; the abbey burns for three days; william and Adso ride away on horses. Somehow, this ending works for the novel. After a period of days or weeks spent reading The Name of the Rose, one gets familiar with its pacing, its representation of reality, and its conflict 31 being more of thought and belief than of action, so it is not surprising that there is no resolution. Adso himself says in the Prologue,

I prepare to leave on this parchment my testimony as to the wondrous and terrible events that I happened to observe in my youth, now repeating verbatim all I saw and heard, without venturing to seek a design (11).

without the reader's leisurely aquaintance with the tale (even those who have read the novel are, by the time of viewing, distanced from it), the film audience has been thrust into the dark, alien world of the abbey, assaulted by a series of murders, become fascinated by william, charmed by Adso, felt pity for the girl, felt revulsion as well as pity for Salvatore, despised Gui, experienced outrage over

injustice, and suffered the loss of the wisdom of the ages--

all in the space of less than two hours. The experience of reading a novel and seeing its adaptation can be compared to

taking a country walk and riding a roller-coaster; the

emotional response is bound to be different. The filmgoer

is going to need, if not a happy ending, which, in any case, would be ludicrous with this adaptation, at least some

justice served, or some resolution. The adapter will need

to write some original material that is based on the novel

in order to provide a suitable place to end the roller-

coaster ride. "The Name of the Rose"

The Film

Directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud11 1986

liThe Name of the Rose" provides a fascinating and disturbing look at life in a medieval monastery, while following the investigation of several mysterious deaths that occur there. Filmaker Jean-Jacques Annaud has depicted the medieval period sans the glamour, pagentry, and pristine cleanliness of "costume dramas" of earlier decades.

Instead, this production shows Annaud's committment to making the viewer experience the darkness and coldness of the abbey, the rigid, controlled lives led by the monks in the monastery, as well as the hunger, poverty, and desperation of the inhabitants of the local village.

Annaud's efforts have been strongly assisted by the production design of Dante Ferretti, art direction by

Giorgio Giovannini and Rainer Schaper, set direction by

Francesca Lo Schiavo, cinematography by Tonino Delli Colli, music score by James Horner, sound by Frank Jahn, and the performances of Sean Connery, Christian Slater and Ron

Perlman, all of whose contributions to the film are first rate. unfortunately, as strong as these links are in the

32 33 chain of parts that go into the making of a film, there are other important links that are weak enough to undermine its overall quality, such as the screenplay by Andrew Birkin,

Gerard Brach, Howard Franklin and Alain Godard, the editing by Jane seitz and Annaud himself, and some of the casting choices and performances. However, despite the affects of its weaker parts, liThe Name of the Rose" remains an entertaining visual and aural experience.

The following is a detailed description of the action of the 1986 film adaptation of Umberto Eco's novel.

Some exposition on important technical aspects of the film, as well as critical commentary will accompany the description.

The film opens with a black screen accompanied by repeated sonorous chords of string music and ominous­ sounding bells. with the screen still black, the voice of the narrator, whom we will later discover is Adso of Melk, informs the viewer that the narrator is now old and is remembering the terrible events in his youth at an abbey whose name he cannot remember. The year these events took place was 1327.

The screen fades to gray, and, before any action or even color is seen, we are informed via words on the screen: first, who the filmakers are, second, that the film is "A

Palimpsest of Umberto Eco's novel, II and then the title, liThe 34

Name of the Rose. 1I The manner and order of appearance of these elements is significant in that they clearly establish

Jean-Jacques Annaud as the person most responsible for what we are about to see. Readers of Eco's novel who came to the film with questions about how so complex a work could be transformed to a screenplay, are immediately informed that only a few chambers of what Sheila Benson of the New York

Times describes as a IIchambered nautilus of a novel ll (Benson

1), have survived the adaptation.

While the credits appear, there is a fade from plain gray background to a long backward tracking shot of beautiful steep hills cut through by valleys. There is some light snow on the ground. A monk wearing a medieval habit is shown standing on a hillside, but he quickly fades into insignificance as the camera pulls back dwarfing him by the magnitude of the vast landscape. There is a cut to a high overhead shot of two monks riding mules; they too appear

small, insignificant. In succeeding shots, the camera draws in closer to the monks until we see that they are both handsome and healthy-looking. One is around fifty years­ old; this is William of Baskerville (Sean Connery). The other, Adso of Melk (Christian Slater), is approximately

eighteen. Both wear the gray sackcloth robes of the

Franciscan order. We are made aware of their importance in 35 the story that will follow by a circling shot that ends with the camera below them looking upward.

William and Adso are approaching a monastery which sits on a high peak in the distance. As they approach the monastery, the towers of the massive stone edifice are shown looming high above them. A traveling shot, from the point of view of the two monks, establishes the dominant position of the church. Following, is an overhead shot from the point of view of a tower looking judgementally downward on

William and Adso.

Adso wears an expression of apprehension that intensifies the closer they come to the monastery. William, on the other hand, appears mildly inquisitive, much like a sightseer. The excellent background music which includes bells and resonant tone vocals without lyrics, adds to both the mood of apprehension, foreboding, mystery, and the imagery, the presence and power of the church. The viewer is made to identify with the feelings of Adso. The sound too is excellent here, as it is throughout the film, as it makes the viewer almost feel the dampness as the mules and men walk over the wet, muddy, cobbles.

A large wood and iron door grinds open to admit the visitors who have dismounted from their mules. Benedictine monks in black robes meet the visiting Franciscans and pour water on their hands as they enter. All of the Benedictine 36 monks have somewhat bizarre faces in sharp contrast to the visitors' beauty. The camera focusses on Adso first in a medium shot, then in close-up as the narrator speaks of his uneasiness at being in the abbey. This is followed by a shot of a huge barricade being thrown noisily into place to lock the door from inside. The sound of the lock is very loud, as if to emphasize Adso's feeling of entrapment. Lock imagery will appear many times throughout the film representing the hiding of secrets and the locking out of progress.

This opening sequence establishes that we will witness a depiction of the narrator's, Adso's, recalled memories of his harrowing experiences in 1327.

The Franciscans are led through a courtyard where

Benedictine monks are about their work: at an herb garden, an anvil, sweeping stairs. The Franciscans' passage is observed from a tower by the Abbot, whose name is Abo

(Michael Lonsdale), and the Librarian, Brother Malachia

[spelled "Malachi" in the novel] (Volker Prechtel). Brother

Malachia is yet another bizarre-looking monk. His hair is a spiky horseshoe that circles the sides and back of his head.

His long, bony face, huge nose, and jutting jaw make him look more like a caricature of a medieval monk than a representative of one.

Abo asks Malachia, "Should we tell him?" 37

"No," Malachia replies, "he will look in the wrong places."

"But, what if he should learn it of his own accord?"

Abo asks nervously.

"You overestimate his talents, my Lord Abbot,"

Malachia states, with a stern, confident look. "There is only one authority in such matters--the Holy Inquisition."

This short conversation establishes that there is a secret at the abbey, and that one of the newly arrived monks

(we assume it is William) has a reputation for investigative prowess. That the mystery is somehow related to the supernatural is made obvious by Malachia's mention of "such matters" and the Holy Inquisition.

Also in the room with Malachia and Abo is Jorge de

Burgos12 (Feodor Chaliapin Jr.), the elderly, blind Master

Librarian. The Abbot asks Jorge for his opinion [of whether or not to involve the arriving monk], and Jorge replies that he would "leave such worldly matters to younger men." Jorge and Malachia are established as persons of importance in the abbey since Abo would consult with them.

The film cuts to William and Adso in their quarters.

William is pouring water into a basin. There is a close-up of the pouring water accompanied by unnaturally loud, sYnchronous sound of pouring water. A medium shot of Adso, shows him looking very uncomfortable leaning against a wall. 38

"In order to cormnand nature, we must first learn to obey it," william says, matter-of-factly. William then proceeds to tell Adso the precise location of the place he is in need of (Adso needs to relieve himself). Adso is amazed since William had told him that he had never been to the abbey before. William explains pragmatically, without excessive pride, how he had deduced where the spot was by observing a monk's behavior on their way in. The scene is designed to show that William's power of observation is deserving of the reputation that has preceded him to this abbey. The scene also shows the mentor/novice relationship between William and Adso who addresses William as "Master."

Throughout the above scene, crows can be heard cawing in the background. William now looks out a window and notices a crow, a symbolic sign of death, sitting atop a fresh grave. He then turns to his pallet, and begins to unpack instruments such as a sextant and an hourglass from his bag. Becoming aware of someone approaching in the hall, he quickly covers the instruments. This shot shows that these items are not normally those carried about by a monk, and there is need of hiding them.

Abo's entrance into the room begins a lengthy scene.

He welcomes all of the Franciscan monks on behalf of the

Benedictine Order (there are other Franciscans visiting the abbey that have not yet appeared on screen). Abo then 39 kisses william on the lips--a solemn, ritualistic kiss. The viewer is made strongly aware of the cultural differences at work here.

Abo expresses concern for William's exhaustion after so long a journey, but william demonstrates his unusualness again by commenting that he is not particularly tired nor in need of anything. Abo seems preoccupied, nervous. He is concealing something that he seems to want to discuss. william, by contrast, is completely at ease (and in control). Abo prepares to leave, when William casually states that he is sorry to see that one of the Brothers has recently been "gathered unto God." Abo, stunned, turns back to face William. The sound of a low gong is heard which accentuates Abo's response. Abo tries to gather his composure; William has caught him completely off guard.

"Yes," Abo responds, "a terrible loss."

Abo then explains that Adelmo of otranto has died.

Adelmo's work as an illustrator of comic images is known to

William. William comments that, since Adelmo was a young man, the death must have been an accident, and Abo concurs.

Abo again turns to leave, but instead closes the door, and asks william if he can speak to him candidly. An extreme close-up shot of William's expression as he replies,

"You seem most anxious to do so," leaves little doubt that

William manipulated Abo into telling him what is going on. 40

Abo sees William's arrival as the answer to his prayers, as william has knowledge of both the human spirit and the wiles of the "Evil One." The death has caused

"spiritual unease" in Abo's "flock."

Adso returns, is introduced as william's novice, and, kneeling, ritually kisses Abo's ring. Abo makes the sign of the cross over Adso's head as if to protect an innocent.

The Abbot continues to talk to William. Adelmo's body was found after a hail storm, mutilated by a fall from a window. "Which was found locked," William says, finishing Abo's sentence. "Had it been found open, you would not have spoken of spiritual unease; you would have concluded he'd fallen." The window, it turns out, cannot be opened, nor is there access to the roof.

Abo wants william to discreetly investigate and, if necessary, to cover-up what he finds before the papal delegates arrive. william's strongly stated reply, "I no longer deal in such matters," shows that he once did involve himself in secret or occult matters. Abo states that without william's help, he will have to summon the

Inquisition.

There is a quick cut to a scene where a pig is begin slaughtered. There is a very loud, shocking, pig squeal and blood is shown spraying over the face of the butcher. This 41 is followed by a close-up shot of the bloody pig's neck that has been slashed open. The gruesomeness of this scene is wholly unnecessary. It seems done for shock value only, and obstructs the film's continuity. While the vat of pig's blood is important to events yet to come, the method employed to show how the blood is obtained was unfortunate.

As a bucket of pig's blood is lifted and poured into a tall, wide vat, there is a well-constructed deep-focus frame shot of Adso standing in the sun outside the butcher's dank, dimly lit shed. The shot, which positions the brutal ugliness of the vat between the viewer and Adso's innocent beauty, produces in the viewer the belief that Adso will be subjected to some worse horror that is yet to come. It also foreshadows the source of that horror. Suddenly, we are reminded that Adso has a protector, as william's aSYnchronous voice calls Adso away.

William and Adso come upon Ubertino de Casale

(William Hickey) lying prostrate on the church floor before the image of the virgin Mary. William whispers to Adso that

Ubertino is one of the great spiritual leaders of their order. "Many people regard him as a living saint," william

tells Adso as they walk closer to Ubertino, "others would have him burned as a heretic." william explains that

Ubertino has written a book on the poverty of the clergy

that is not "favored reading in the papal palaces." 42

Ubertino rises. He is old, has rotten green teeth and failing eyesight. Recognizing Franciscan robes approaching, he says, IIFellow Franciscans, you must leave this place at once! The Devil is roaming this abbey.1I When william addresses him and announces himself, Ubertino says that William is dead. Eventually, they embrace as old friends, and William introduces Adso. Ubertino emphatically tells William that he must get Adso away from the abbey at once, because liThe Devil is hurling beautiful boys out of windows. II He goes on to say that there was something

IIfemininell and "diabolicalll about the young one who died. IIHe had the eyes of a girl seeking intercourse with the Devil. II Ubertino seems somewhat mad as he glances around the room saying, IIBeware of this place, the beast is still among us. 1I Ubertino mentions his fear that the presence of the Devil could affect the outcome of the debate. We will later discover that the Franciscans, Benedictines, and Papal delegates, are meeting at this abbey for a debate on the issue of the poverty of Christ, and whether or not the Church should also be poor. Ubertino then takes Adso for a closer look at the statue of Mary, and conunents how lithe female, so perverse, is exalted in holiness. II He further says to Adso in Latin: IIBlessed are the breasts which protrude but little. 1I 43

During some of this meeting, Ubertino looks somewhat lustfully at Adso, and when he touches Adso's cheek there is something other than fatherliness about it. This makes

Ubertino appear to be a hypocrite, which makes one wonder why william would respect him to the degree that he does.

The comment about the virtue of small breasts is out of place, and confuses the viewer as to what this scene is about. To further muddle the scene, the actor playing

Ubertino consistently delivers his dialogue either as a moan, or as if he is about to break into song. The intellect and character that have been attributed to

Ubertino are not present in this scene, and Ubertino seems to be merely a character to deliver some information and to further the implication that homosexuality and weird behavior are rampant at the abbey.

Outside, Adso tells william he doesn't like this abbey. He is obviously uncomfortable and apprehensive. william, by contrast, says he finds it stimulating. william does seem to be enjoying himself, and, like his Sherlock

Holmes counterpart, he can see the irony in human weaknesses. william tells Adso that they should not allow themselves to be influenced by irrational rumors of the

Antichrist, but instead, use their brains to try to solve this "tantalizing conundrum." 44

As William and Adso walk on in the thin layer of

snow, they pass a place where the poor line up to donate the

best of their crops to the church. Further on, old Adso

narrates, "William respected the ideas of Plato and other

philosophers as well as the powers of his own [brilliant

mind]." This narration occurs, ostensibly, to prepare the viewer for William's coming solution to the mysterious death

of Adelmo, but the narration here, and in most places in the

film, is intrusive and unnecessary.

William and Adso reach the spot where Adelmo's body

was found. Above them, to the right, is the tower from

where it is presumed that Adelmo "fell." Off to the left,

in direct contrast to the earlier shot of the poor donating

their best produce, they notice that garbage is being thrown

out a chute to the poor who scramble and fight among

themselves for it. William comments, "Another generous

donation by the church to the poor."

But the sight of the falling garbage inspires

William to look to the left tower with its open top window,

and to speculate that a body falling from that window could

have rolled down the path to the same spot. An inspection

of the ground further up the path reveals more blood. "No

Devil needed anymore," William states. "He jumped."

While William investgates, Adso meets liThe Girl"

(Valentina vargas) for the first time. She is fighting in 45 the dirt over some thrown garbage. The girl is dirty, dressed in torn rags, yet beautiful despite her poverty.

Adso is intrigued, captivated by her, and she looks wistfully at him. William and Adso then discuss William's suicide theory of which William is convinced he is correct.

The discussion ends with William making his most Holmesian remark: "My dear Adso, it's elementary." While this investigation is going on, they are observed from a tower by

Brother Malachia.

The next scene is perhaps the most memorable in terms of art direction, production design, and cinematography. It takes place at dusk in the refectory.

The set is a huge eating hall with long tables on three sides. The entire room is lit with candles giving the scene a golden glow which plays well against the multitude of shades of brown. The scene opens with Abo speaking to the assembled monks about the alleviation of fear of the presence of evil within their walls, and expresses gratitude to william. Apparently, William has told Abo of his belief that Adelmo either fell or jumped from the open window of the left tower, thereby dispelling the monks' fears that the

Devil threw Adelmo from the right tower. This is followed by a wide-angle shot from the ceiling at the far end of the room, thereby framing the tables and seated monks. At the clap of Abo's hands, the monks drop their hoods back in 46 unison. The scene is smoky from the candles, and the earthy colors artfully illuminated by light and shading make each shot of the scene look like it could have been painted by

Rembrandt.

Unfortunately, the cinematic magic of this scene is nearly destroyed by yet another intrusive, exterior shot of the abbey; a shot edited-in at a most inpropitious time.

The shot undercuts the power and majesty of the previous scene. My guess is that the shot was added to show the passage of time, since, when the monks pushed their hoods back, they were seated before papers, and when the camera returns to them, they are eating. A dissolve from the papers to plates would have retained the flow of the scene.

Back in the refectory, a monk is reading aloud while the assemblage eats. As the monk needs to turn a page, he licks his fingers in a very pronounced manner, thereby foreshadowing the method by which other monks will meet their deaths. As the monk reads about the virtues of silence and the evils of laughter, Jorge bangs the table in agreement. There is also intrigue in this scene: the camera shifts from face to face as we see sidelong glances being exchanged between Berengar the Assistant Librarian (Michael

Habeck), who looks much like a huge, hairless cherub, and

Venantius of Salvamec (Urs Althaus), the handsome, young 47 translator of Greek. These silent communications do not go unnoticed by William.

Two more night shots of the abbey's exterior precede an interior of William and Adso in their cell. Adso is on his pallet and William is looking at the sky through an

instrument (a quadrant or sextant). Adso inquires about the

comment Abo made at the meal about some "onerous duties"

that william had once been involved with that, nevertheless,

gave him the experience to solve the mystery at the abbey. william simply replies, "Even monks have pasts, Adso." Then

he tells Adso to go to sleep. The scene is touching. It

shows that William's many life experiences have taught him much, but have also brought him a measure of grief that he would like to spare his novice.

The knowledge equals grief theme of this scene with

William and Adso is continued in a montage of short scenes

some consisting of a single shot each:

First, a medium shot of Jorge shows him sitting down

listening intently to someone reading to him in Latin. The

subtitles read, "In much wisdom is much grief, and he that

increaseth his knowledge increaseth his sorrow also. II The

shot travels to close-up showing Jorge's seriousness and

grieved expression.

Second, an extreme close-up of venantius reading

alone by candlelight in the scriptorium. He is laughing at 48 what he is reading. We will discover later that Venantius's quest for the knowledge in that book has caused his death.

The shot shows how very handsome he is. Suddenly, he hears something and looks up from the book with a look that shows he does not wish to be caught reading it. The noise was just a scuttling rat. venantius goes back to reading, laughing softly at what he sees. venatius licks his fingers in order to better grasp the thick parchment pages that have become sticky at the edges.

There is a quick cut to the third scene in the montage which shows Berengar in a point-of-view shot of his half-naked body in profile as he flagellates himself in his cell. Berengar is pasty white, blubbery and bloated, and at the same time, grotesquely feminine. He appears to be suffering morally more than physically.

The final scene in the montage returns to William still awake and standing in his cell with a candle in his hand. Adso, having been exposed to many new frightening things, is having a nightmare. The aSYnchronous sound of the flagellation can be faintly heard. In his sleep, Adso takes hold of William's hand. William wants to walk away, but allows himself to be held. Though William is a reluctant father figure, this scene shows his compassion for

Adso and some of his own inner sorrow as well. 49

Morning, as represented by an exterior shot of a dimly lit sky above the parapets. Monks moving about.

Remigio de varagine, the Cellarer (Helmut Qualtinger) is shown opening the garbage chute, but no garbage is thrown out.

Another of those annoying exterior shots (this one is very long), followed by a cut to a monk pulling the bell rope. The shot does establish that it is dawn, but it takes too long to do it. In fact, the purpose of most of the exterior shots seems to be to establish the time of day or the passage of time. There are other, and far better ways to accomplish this. Furthermore, for all their pervasiveness, these shots do not accomplish what they seem to be designed to do. The viewer is often at a loss as to what time of day an event is occurring, and even whether an event is happening the same day as another event or on a subsequent day.

Just at the point of the above mentioned bell ringing, there is a jump cut to a birdseye view of the valley in the morning mist with the bell sounding far away.

This is an exterior cut that really works. Rather than having the bell sound loud and sYnchonously with the pulling of the bell rope, hearing the bell's low bong sounding over the valley is more effective. The shot shows the vast, 50 relentless, reach of the church even over this pristine valley.

Inside, morning hymns. A close-up of Adso shows how beautiful he is; he looks so innocent as he sings. The camera pans the monks. We see that Berengar's voice is higher than that of the others, and that he has tears on his face. Rernigio cannot stay awake. Tension is building inside the choir chamber. Then, there is another, and probably the most criminal, cut to the exterior of the abbey. This shot interrupts the scene at a crucial period,

so that, when the commotion starts in the next few shots, the proper crescendo of tension will not have had time to develop. Since we already know that the time frame is morning, and no time passage is necessary at this point, the editing-in of an exterior shot here in completely unnecessary.

Back inside, William is noticing Berengar's behavior. Another monk has to wake Remigio. Suddenly, there is yelling and disturbance. Someone enters the choir chamber screaming, and the monks are led to the butcher'S

shed where they all see that there is a pair of legs protruding upward from the huge vat of pig'S blood. William

says to Adso ironically, "This one, I grant you, did not commit suicide." 51

The body is extracted and Severinus the herbalist

(Elya Baskin) calls for water which is splashed on the face of the dead man--it is venantius. Abo blames himself for being too ready to believe William. Ubertino begins to liken the occurrences to the trumpets of the Apocalypse. He is pronouncing fanatically that the hail and blood have already been seen, and that the third trumpet will bring a burning star to fall into water. Other monks are wailing in fear of the Apocalypse. Berengar, who appeared shocked and distressed in an earlier shot in this scene, is now shown peering suspiciously over his fingers that were ostensibly hiding his view of the horror. Adso is more afraid than ever. William looks somewhat disgusted by the wailing.

As if in response to Ubertino, there is an exterior dusk shot of the abbey showing a storm approaching (the storm is also symbolic of the coming tumult). The shot is overly long.

Cut to a grisly scene in which William and

Severinus, who apparently also serves as Apothecary and

Undertaker, clean and examine the bloody body of Venantius which lies on a table. As they work, William and Severinus discuss arsenic and its uses. Adso looks on in horror as

Severinus cuts out venantius's tongue and tosses it casually aside. Adso runs outside to vomit. Severinus tells William of Venantius's talents as a Greek translator who was devoted 52 to the works of Aristotle. William notices a purple stain on Venantius's fingers. William asks whether venantius was

lion friendly terms with the handsome Adelmo." Severinus

replies, "Yes, but in a brotherly way ... not like .

flesh can be tempted according to nature, or against nature­

-they were not of the latter disposition."

Another misty exterior shot (to establish that the next scene will take place outside?) is followed by a scene that shows Adso investigating a dark, mysterious room with weirdly carved images of gargoyles covering the walls. The gargoyles seem to move and ooze as Adso's shadow passes by

them. The camera travels along a corridor showing the gargoyles close-up from the point-of-view of Adso. One is

not sure whether the facial features of the carvings

actually move or occur as the result of distortion caused by

the passing shadow.

Adso is then startled by a living grotesque who is

also in the room: Salvatore the Hunchback (Ron Perlman),

who is much more frightening than any carving. At first,

only Salvatore's profile is seen in shadow by the viewer,

and we are not sure whether he is a statue or a living

monster. Then he flicks his tongue out and snaps it back

much like a frog catching flies. The shot is perfect for

introducing Salvatore as a seemingly half-human creature.

Adso is understandably terrified of Salvatore. He is huge, 53 hunchbacked, his hair looks like moths or parasites have eaten it away. Salvatore's massive face has primitive bone structure, and his mouth has but one tooth centered at the top. Ron Perlman's portrayal of Salvatore is a tour de force performance. He has created a character who is at the same time frightening, humorous, pathetic, boorish, helpful, and, in the end, a victim.

Salvatore pursues Adso through this strange room

(possibly part of the cellar) speaking in what William will later describe as "all languages, and none." William enters the room just in time to hear Salvatore yell

"penitenziagite!" William repeats the word as a question while looking at Salvatore, "Penitenziagite?" The meaning of the word has an obvious effect on William who questions

Salvatore, then takes Adso outside. William explains to

Adso that the word was the rallying cry of the Dolcinites-­ those who believe in the poverty of Christ. But the

Dolcinites, explains William, also believed that everyone should be poor, so they slaughtered the rich. The

Dolcinites, of which Salvatore was obviously one, were labelled as heretics. Adso speculates that maybe Salvatore killed venantius, but William tells him that "fat bishops and wealthy priests were more to the taste of the

Dolcinites." 54

William and Adso investigate the last murder scene.

From the depth and direction of the footprints he finds in the snow, william deduces that someone carried Venatius's body to the vat from the library. William tries to teach

Adso some tricks of observation, but has little patience with Adso's lack of aptitude calling him, finally, a turnip.

William's important discovery at the scene is the clearly imprinted design left by the sole of the culprit's shoe in the snow; William describes the design as "an autograph."

In the scriptorium, William asks Malachia if they may inspect the work of Adelmo and Venantius. The other monks peer over their work tables and whisper among themselves in amazement over william's spectacles. William uses the spectacles to view the charming but daring illustrations of Adelmo which show, for example, the Pope as a fox and the Abbot as a monkey. William comments on

Adelmo's talent for comic images.

There is a sudden, loud, aSYnchronous scream, with a feminine quality to it. Berengar is then shown running, terrified of a rat. He jumps up on a stool while some of the monks laugh at him. Jorge shouts in Latin, "A monk should not laugh. Only the fool lifts up his voice in laughter. II This is followed by a discussion of laughter between William and Jorge who says, somewhat derogatorily, that Franciscans are more tolerant of laughter. Jorge feels 55 that laughter is a devilish thing, and says it makes a man look like a monkey. William explains, "Monkeys do not laugh; laughter is particular to man. II Jorge says that

Christ never laughed. William debates that statement with

Jorge which leads, eventually, to a discussion of the second book of Aristotle which William says was devoted to comedy as an instrument of truth. Jorge asks if William has ever read such a book, and he replies that it has been lost for centuries. Jorge says that it was never written:

"Providence does not want futile things glorified." William disagrees which upsets Jorge who accuses William of intruding on [the abbey's] grief with idle banter. William, addressing Jorge by his respectful title "Venerable Jorge" apologizes for upsetting him.

William then asks Malachia which desk belonged to venantius, but Berengar makes a sudden move to block William from looking at it. William sees fit not to force the issue.

Outside, William speculates about where the books are stored since there are so few books on the scriptorium shelves. Adso mentions the little door that the librarian closed as they entered the scriptorium; this is the first

intelligent observation Adso has been allowed in the film.

William points to the towering structure that houses the 56 scriptorium, and comments that he would wager that tower holds more than air.

An instant later, william is almost struck by a large rock hurled from a nearby rooftop. Adso, who has shown little courage previously, pursues the perpetrator and tackles him inside the building which is sort of a small barn. The rock thrower is Salvatore. Salvatore spits on

William after he is captured. There is a very confusing cut to an outside, overhead shot of a monk walking ~ from a building, then, back to the previous scene, Remigio the

Cellarer is there. He begs William not to talk to the Abbot about Salvatore's past, and tells him that Salvatore is innocent of the deaths in the abbey. William tells Remigio, liMy price is some information."

Night. Of all the nights except for the final one, this is the most eventful. William and Adso attempt to penetrate the library with help from Remigio whom we see using his keys to open a door for them. This is followed by another scene with Remigio showing him raising the trap on the garbage chute to let in a girl.

There is a cut to a close-up shot of Berengar's face illuminated by candlelight. He is licking his fingers to turn the pages of a book that he is reading alone in the scriptorium. He hears someone, quickly extinguishes the candle, and runs into the shadows to hide. William and Adso 57 enter the scriptorium carrying a lantern. They try the

small door that they suspect leads to the library; it is

locked. Then William goes to venantius's desk to see what

Berengar did not want him to see. There are some books on the desk, but first, william opens the desk's lid and finds a message written on a torn piece of parchment. The letters are tiny, and they trail down the page. william uses his

spectacles to read them, but then smells lemon juice.

Smiling at the discovery of yet another secret, he holds the paper up to the heat of the candle they lit, and a secret code in zodiacal language is revealed. As he is attempting

to translate the code, Berengar throws a hammer to a far part of the room to distract them. William drops his

glasses on the open book on the desk, and he and Adso run in

the direction of the noise. Then Berengar runs to the open

book on Venantius's desk, slams it shut with William's glasses inside, and dashes out of the building with William

and Adso in pursuit.

Berengar is apparently fast on his feet, and Adso

slows the pursuit because he trips as he exits the main door

(causing his lantern to be extinguished). Berengar

traverses the wide courtyard in moments, leaving William and

Adso to go in separate directions in search of him.

There are a few incongruities about the previous

scene: with William's acute faculties (except for his 58 farsightedness) and powers of observation, why did he not notice the smell of a newly extinguished candle in the scriptorium? It had been put out only seconds before their entrance so the smoke would still be in the air. Also, how could Berengar run so much faster than William and Adso, despite Adso's brief tripping, when Berengar is enormously fat and has ingested poison from the book?

Meanwhile, Berengar has run into the cookhouse and

Adso follows, but cannot find him. Adso, seeing a fire in the hearth, goes there to relight his lantern when he hears someone coming in. He hides. Remigio enters saying, IICome out you little bitch, I know you're here, I can smell you. II

The girl, who never speaks except to grunt, scream, or whimper, is also hiding very near to Adso. She motions to him to be quiet. Remigio leaves.

There is a quick cut to a shot of Berengar in obvious pain. He is putting back the book on one shelf and taking a large jar from another. William's eyeglasses fall out of the book and onto the floor. Berengar retrieves them then staggers off carrying the large jar.

Back in the cookhouse, the girl is attracted to

Adso. She touches him, and pulls off her clothes to make him touch her. The narrator says, IIWho was this creature who rose like the dawn, was bewitching as the moon, radiant as the sun, terrible as an army poised for battle. II Adso is 59 overwhelmed. He resists temptation very little. The girl, whimpering like an animal, climbs on top of him pulling at his clothes. Unlike Adso, she is filmed in the most unflattering angles, perhaps to degrade her? The film's only IIsex scenell follows, and is, unfortunately, not well­ done. At a crucial moment in the scene, part of Christian

Slater's anatomy shows, which, if realism was the intent, should not have been visible. That frame should have been cut.

There are several jump cuts here from the cookhouse to the cemetery where, in a humorous scene, William encounters Salvatore where the latter goes to catch rats to eat. Salvatore, in a friendly gesture, offers a fat rat to

William asking him, IIYou like?1I William barely hiding his disgust, gracefully declines, IIUgh, no thank you. II We see

William and Salvatore's conversation in bits and snatches, juxtaposed with shots of Adso and the girl; very weird editing.

Later, still in the cemetery with Salvatore, William witnesses someone sneaking out of the garbage chute. He and

Salvatore discuss the piece of parchment with the coded message on it which Salvatore happens to have seen Adelmo giving to Venantius.

Back in the cookhouse. The girl is gone. Adso gets dressed, then opens a cloth bag that he finds on the floor 60 and discovers a large, fresh heart, oozing blood. In a panic, he runs out and finds William. Adso thinks the heart belongs to another dead monk. William asks him

sarcastically, "Where are your wits boy? Have you ever met anyone with a rib cage large enough to accommodate a heart of those dimensions? It is the heart of an ox." Adso is properly embarrassed, as William explains that the heart was

probably for that girl that he saw "scuttling out of here."

William already suspects that something has gone on between

Adso and the girl, and, since Adso is still holding his

sandals in his hand, and is also pretending not to know

anything about the girl, William would know that what he

suspected was true. william then says, "He must be an ugly monk." "Why ugly?" Adso asks. "Because if he were young

and beautiful, she would no doubt have bestowed her carnal

charms on him for nothing." Adso now knows that William knows what happened. Before they leave the cookhouse,

William tells Adso that Berengar the Assistant Librarian is

the key to whole mystery.

Later, William and Adso are in their cell; both are

lying on their pallets. Adso asks William if he would hear

his confession. William replies that he would prefer that

Adso tell him first, as a friend.

"Master," Adso asks, "have you ever been in love?" 61

"In love?" william replies, "Yes, many times, with

Aristotle, Ovid, virgil, Thomas Aquinas."

"No, I mean with a woman."

"Aren't you confusing love with lust?"

"Am I?" Adso asks innocently. "I don't know. I want only her own good. I want to save her from her poverty."

"Oh dear," William says with resignation.

"Why 'Oh dear'?" "You ar.e in love."

"Is that bad?"

"For a monk, it does present certain problems."

They go on to discuss the love of woman versus the love of God. William says, with some irony, that he doesn't believe that God would have created so foul a being [as woman] without endowing her with SQIDe virtues.

"HOW peaceful life would be without love, Adso,"

William concludes. "HOW safe, how tranquil, and how dull."

This is a lovely scene in which we are shown

William's lack of attachment to the church's fundamentalism, his non-judgemental nature, his sense of humor: "Of course,

I've never had the benefit of YQ:l.J,..t: experience [to Adso] ," his understanding of human nature, and his compassion for

Adso. Sean Connery's interpretation of this character is flawless. In every scene with Brother William of

Baskerville, we see Connery's immersion into William, his 62 control over every nuance of both his voice and body language. In this scene, and others, we experience

Connery's screen presence and professionalism, which are both commanding without being overwhelming.

Next day. More Franciscan monks are shown arriving for the debate. They are singing as they approach the abbey. One of the monks thanks God for "guiding their steps to this refuge of spiritual peace, II which, in light of what the viewer knows, makes the line deliciously ironic.

William and Adso go to Berengar's cell to question him, but he is not in his cell. "probably hiding somewhere, II William says. Then he searches Berengar's cot for the book and the missing eyeglasses. William picks up the flagellation straps, then tosses them away disgustedly.

william and Adso return to the scriptorium. There is no one present. The small door is open and they head for it, but Malachia enters through it suddenly. William questions Malachia in a way that will manipulate him into admitting that there is a library, and he is successful. He also learns that no one but the librarians are permitted to go there.

Berengar is still missing at morning hymns. II Maybe we'll find him in water, II says Adso, because of the third trumpet of the "Book of Revelation" as pronounced by

Ubertino. William, wearing that disgusted look he gets when 63 people put the supernatural before the logical, says, "That is not the book we're after."

Later, outside, Abo receives the newly arrived

Franciscans, one of whom, Cuthbert of winchester (Andrew

Birkin, who is also one of the four screenwriters for liThe

Name of the Rose"), is being harrassed by Salvatore. Abo orders Salvatore away saying that Cuthbert is one of their most esteemed Franciscan guests. Abo then tells the delegates that they have an urgent matter to discuss.

william and Adso meet the Franciscans after they have spoken with Abo. All have been convinced by the Abbot that the Devil himself is at work in the abbey. Ubertino concurs. william says ironically, that the only evidence of the Devil that he has seen "is everyone's desire to see him at work." The Franciscans state their fear that the Pope wants to crush their order and declare them all heretics.

William says that he has to question but one Brother and the entire matter of the evil doings will be resolved. The

Franciscans tell William that they are placing their trust in him, "Pray God that you do not abuse it."

Brother Severinus is shown approaching the group in a deep-focus shot which contrasts his black Benedictine robe with the grayish brown sackcloth of the Franciscans.

Severinus looks very agitated as he calls William away. 64

There is an eerie scene at the balneary that is heightened by the sound of a deeply throbbing chord played either on a synthesizer keyboard, or on an uilleann pipe.

The chord is even accompanied by what sounds like the rattle of a snake--very effective use of music. The camera pans almost reticently up over the rim of a wooden bathtub until we can see the bloated body of Berengar submerged at the bottom. There are green leaves floating in the bath water.

Adso looks sickened. William notices the large jar that we saw Berengar taking off a shelf in an earlier scene, and asks Severinus if he found a book in Greek. He says no.

William holds up Berengar's shoe for Adso to see the pattern on the sole, "I was right," he states emphatically. "S0 was the Book of Revelation, II replies Adso. william also discovers his eyeglasses. Abo, Jorge, and Malachia enter and say that they want to speak with william. william responds that he has much to tell them, but that he and

Severinus must examine the corpse first.

Berengar's huge naked body is laid out on a table in

Severinus's apothecary. Severinus is explaining that lime leaves in a bath are always used to allieviate pain. This explains the significance of the jar: it held the leaves.

Adso looks on sickened as william and Severinus work. There

is a layer of skin cut away at the right armpit of the body, and an extreme close-up of Berengar's mouth reveals a 65 blackened tongue. william comments that Berengar was left­ handed. Close-up of his fingers shows purplish-black stains. Severinus replies in a gossipy fashion, "Yes,

Brother Berengar was inverted in many ways." William asks a question intended as a double-entendre: "Are there other left-handed Brothers at the abbey?" Severinus, catching william's double meaning, replies, "None that .I. know of."

They are, perhaps, speaking this way to protect Adso. william looks into Berengar's mouth and draws Severinus's attention to the stains. william says, "He did not write with his tongue, I presume."

The next scene is pivotal in terms of the film'S ongoing conflict between science and superstition. William, accompanied by Adso, meets Abo to reveal all that he knows about the deaths at the abbey. They meet in a room with a heavy iron grate for either the door or one wall. William shows Abo the piece of parchment on which venantius wrote some random notes in Greek from the book he was reading. He shows Abo how the writing suddenly trails off down the page­

-he was dying then. william also shows Abo the smudge of blue paint on the paper; the blue paint was blended by

Brother Adelmo who possessed the parchment before venantius.

William explains that he deduces this because the writing runs over the blue smudge, not the other way around. Abo comments that nothing that William has shown him bears any 66 light on the mystery that enshrouds the abbey. william tells Adso to bring a candle closer. He shows Abo the secret message that was written in lemon juice.

During this conversation, the camera cuts away from its point-of-view shot of the two men to a great mise-en­ scene through the iron grate showing them in conversation as if locked in a prison. Candles light the interior of the space William and Abo occupy, but it is gray and dim in the outer room beyond the grate. The physical presence of the iron grate seems to represent the oppressiveness of the church under which William must try to uncover the truth, and Abo is trapped between wanting to know the truth and trying to cover it up, because the truth, in this case, can be explained by logical reasoning rather than attributed to supernatural cause. The warm glow of the candlelight seems symbolic of the truth they are discussing amid the darkness of old fears and superstition.

Within the cell, William is showing Abo that the calligraphy on the parchment is left-handed, and he informs

Abo that among the monks only Berengar is left-handed.

William asks Abo what secret knowledge Berengar would be privy to. William knows it is secret knowledge, because such pains were taken to cover it up. Abo responds, "I have the feeling that you're about to tell me." William says,

"Books. Restricted books. Spiritually dangerous books." 67

Then William proceeds to delineate the events surrounding the mystery as a voice-over, while we see the events as flashbacks. The events are as follows:

1. William says that it was common knowledge that

Berengar had a passion for handsome boys.

2. Adelmo was interested in certain books, and Berengar

wrote down the directions to the books in exchange

for "unnatural caresses."

3. Adelmo agreed and submitted to Berengar, but later,

wracked by guilt and remorse, Adelmo wandered in the

graveyard where he happened on venantius. Adelmo

gave venantius the parchment he had gotten from

Berengar, and then, later, threw himself out the

tower window. The meeting and the suicide were both

witnessed by Salvatore.

4. The night that Berengar was flagellating himself

within earshot of william, Venantius locates the

book we saw him laughing over in the scriptorium.

While he is reading it, he scribbles some notes on

the same paper he got from Adelmo. Then he becomes

ill and dies. There is a blackish stain on some of

his fingers.

5. Berengar discovers the body, and hoping to avert

suspicion falling on himself, dragged the body to 68

the butcher's shed and into the vat. He left his

footprint in the snow.

6. The book remained on venantius's desk until Berengar

returned last night to read it. Soon after,

overcome by pain, Berengar took a bath with soothing

lime leaves, and drowned. He too had a blackened

finger.

William then tells Abo that all three monks died for a book which kills, or for which men will kill. He then says, emphatically, "I therefore ask you to grant me access to the library! II

At this point, Jorge and Malachia enter, and Jorge says, "Brother William, your pride blinds you. By idolizing reason you fail to see what is obvious to everyone in this abbey." Malachia whispers something to Abo who then walks over to a candle with the parchment and burns the paper to ashes. He asks william to end his investigations, because, along with the Papal Delegation which is due to arrive for the debate, there is an Inquisitor: Bernardo Gui. William, it seems, has had dealings with this man before.

As they leave this meeting, Adso asks william who

Bernardo Gui is, but, before he can answer, some of the

Franciscans come on the scene asking urgently to speak with

William alone. 69

The Franciscans are very agitated about the arrival of Gui, and ask william to put aside his "erroneous conclusions. II william says that he is right about his conclusions. The Franciscans then condemn William for always needing to prove himself right, and fear for their own safety because of it. One of the monks tells William that not even the Emperor, whose emissary William is, will be able to save him if he tangles with Bernardo this time.

At hymns, Brother Malachia arrives late looking suspiously around as if hoping no one noticed from where he emerged. William and Adso do notice that he emerged from a panel in the wall, and their looks at each other show that they suspect this is another entrance to the library.

That night, William and Adso sneak into the church with lanterns. Presumably, they located the panel door that they had observed Malachia using earlier in the day, and have passed through it, for they are now standing in front of an altar that is decorated with skulls. William asks

Adso which one frightens him most. Adso selects a particularly fearsome-looking one, and William concurs.

William begins prodding the crevices of the skull, discovers

that two fingers in the eyes cause a loud clicking sound, and the altar slides aside to reveal a stairwell below.

William looks at Adso and says, "After you. II Adso is

frightened and does not move, so William has to go first. 70

They make their way through a catacomb lined with skulls and skeletons. Adso is very apprehensive about all of this, but follows william. They go along several passageways. William speculates on how to reach the library, when Adso is frightened by a rat. william says lightheartedly, "Rats love parchment even more than scholars do. Let's follow him." While climbing the stairs, William counts them, ostensibly for the purpose of retracing their steps. As they pass a shelf piled with skulls, a row of them shift, jarred by the footfalls. This device seems better suited to cheaply made horror films, than to a film of this caliber. They open a trap door at the top of the stairs. William looks around smiling at the multitude of books he sees.

with the introduction of the books, music of a celestial nature suddenly swells, but the joyous rhythms of

Renaissance dances soon prevail. This music strongly contrasts the sonorous strains that accompany most of the film's scenes, so that the music is also being used to contrast the Medieval view of life as "weeping in this vale of tears13 ," with the learning and progress of the

Renaissance.

Now we see a side of william not previously seen. He is ecstatic, boyish in his exuberance as he goes from room to room examining books with brilliant illuminations, 71 medical texts with drawings (the pictures of women in the latter get Adso's close attention), etc. William is bubbling with joy as he rhetorically asks Adso, "Do you realize that we are in one of the greatest libraries in all of Christendom?1I Then William lets out some loud IIWho-o-pll yells, and runs off to another room. Adso follows. He asks

William how they are going to find the book they are looking for, and William answers simply, IIIn time. II The reply seems entirely ironic since there are thousands of books on many floors, and their time is limited.

Eventually, William wanders to another room, and this time Adso cannot find him. He can hear is voice, but

William is lost in the labyrinth. The set design of the labyrinthine rooms and staircases is extraordinary. One is reminded of an Escher drawing when Adso looks out from one of the rooms at the vast maze of stairs going up and down and nowhere. We understand why Adso is terrified. He calls for william, telling William to wait for him. William replies that he is waiting for him. There are audible footfalls above the room where Adso is and dust sifts down from the ceiling. Adso tells William that he can hear him walking, but William replies that he is not walking.

Obviously, someone else is in the library too. 72

William shouts, "Where are you, boy?" Adso replies, very frightened now, "I'm lost. II Adso then runs out of that

room.

The camera is now on william, who confirms that they

are indeed in a labyrinth. He calls to Adso, who asks him

how do they get out. William replies ironically, "With some

difficulty. II Then, quietly, so Adso will not hear, "If at

all." William tells Adso to stay calm, open a book and read

it aloud, leave the room he is in, and keep turning left.

Adso does this, but before he leaves the room, he

demonstrates some sharp ingenuity: he pulls loose a string

of fiber from his undergarment, ties it in the room, then

proceeds as William directed while the cloth unravels as he

walks. A delightful touch to this scene is that the book

Adso selects to read aloud details how "love does not start

out as an illness, but is transformed into it as it becomes

obsessive thought." As Adso proceeds, the lover in the book

descends, eventually, into lycanthropy, and "ends his days

prowling graveyards at night." Adso is so involved in what

he is reading, he even stops walking.

Finally, they find each other, but then Adso is

frightened by his own reflection in a polished metal mirror.

William inspects the mirror, but nearly falls through a trap

door. His lantern drops through the door, and is seen

crashing in flames on some books below. Though, for some 73 reason, no fire erupted from this incident, it foreshadows the conflagration to come. There is, in fact, overmuch use of foreshadowing in this film. William's only concern is for the books. He yells, "Save the books, boy!" But Adso says, "I'm trying to save:iQU..l" William knows they must be close to something very important, he says, after Adso rescues him, "Trap door, mirror, we must be almost there."

One can only wonder why, at this intense moment, the film editor (Jane Seitz) inserts another intrusive and unnecessary cut to an outside shot of the abbey. This edit shows that it is night (which we already knew), and that the abbey sits atop a high peak (which we already knew). These frequent breaks in the action and tension sorely weaken the

film.

Back to William and Adso. They are standing near the mirrored door where Adso had been frightened by his reflection. Above the door is an arched inscription in

Latin: "Super thronos viginti quatuor": "On their thrones sat the twenty-four elders" (Haft 170). To Adso's surprise,

William takes out a copy of the parchment that had been burned by the Abbot. william explains that he would not have handed-over so important a document without first taking a copy.

Now, referring to the copy, William reads the message left by venantius: "Manus supra idolum age primum 74 et septimum de quatuor,lI which Adso translates, liThe hand above the idol press the first and the seventh of four. 1I

William says that Adso has done well. But Adso wants to know what idol, and the first and seventh of four what?

William replies, IIThat, dear boy, is what we are here to find out. 1I William then begins to inspect the mirror.

Meanwhile, Bernardo Gui (F. Murray Abraham) arrives at the abbey in an evil-looking black covered wagon with a white cross on its side. As Gui steps down from the wagon, the camera follows his passage down the ramp and toward Abo from a strange ground level angle, as if the viewer were lying in the dirt looking up at him. This kind of shot naturally establishes Gui's extreme position of power. He is dressed in a stark black over white habit which seems symbolic of the conflict between good and evil. We do not yet see his face. Gui is received by Abo who delivers the traditional kiss.

The previous rather chilling scene is followed by a charming one, as William and Adso continue their pursuit of the special book. William is testing the mirror, which he presumes is also a door, while Adso stands a few feet away shivering. William, hearing a clicking sound, which is loud enough to be heard echoing through the labyrinth, asks Adso if he hears it too. Adso replies that the sound is his teeth. IIDon't be afraid, II William admonishes him. Adso 75 replies, "I'm not afraid, Master--I'm cold!" William abruptly stops what he is doing and says they should return.

He admits the secret eludes him, for the moment.

William then begins talking to himself reciting the rules he has learned about how to get out of labyrinths.

Adso repeatedly tries to get his attention, but William motions him away saying, "Please, dear boy, I'm thinking."

Adso finally succeeds in showing William that he has been

letting out his undergarment, which is the reason he is cold, and William says, "Well-done, boy! Your classical education serves us well."

They leave the room following the string, and we see them emerging from the library to the outside which is dark

and misty. There, from a high vantage point, they can see that Bernardo Gui has arrived, along with his instruments of

torture which are being removed from the wagon. William

looks apprehensive as well as disgusted.

From a shot of men carrying Gui's hideous torture cage, there is a jump cut to a black cat in a cage meowing where Salvatore and the girl are in a barn. Salvatore is

teasing the girl with a dead chicken which she seems to want

for food. Salvatore is performing a ritual speaking words

in many tongues, and rubbing spit on chicken eggs. From

some of the words Salvatore is saying, it is clear that the

ritual is either to make the girl become attracted to him, 76 or to make him a better lover. The girl, meanwhile, is huddled with the chicken, and is humming a melody that will also be heard later in the film. Salvatore creeps over to her and licks her leg causing her to scream and kick. In the ensuing scuffle, a candle is knocked-over into some hay, and a fire breaks out.

Other monks are running toward the barn with buckets. A bell is sounding. The girl screams as she is roughly grabbed and held by some men. Bernardo Gui enters the barn as does william, Adso, and many others. Gui points to the girl shouting, "Search the creature!" The girl's ragged clothes are then unceremoniously ripped open exposing her breasts and torso. Adso is horrified, and hangs his head in shame for her. Some of the other monks cover their faces or turn away so as not to see the girl, but some only pretend to hide their faces when, in fact, they are peeking.

William looks on, but does nothing. The girl continues to scream loudly. The chicken is found.

Gui now takes center stage. He turns to Abo saying,

"My Lord Abbot, you have invited me to investigate the presence of the Evil One in your abbey," then, noticing

William's presence in the room, and turning to pointedly

look at him, Gui continues, "and I have already found it."

So has the viewer. As Gui turns, we see his hard, cruel face for the first time. Gui's icy blue eyes are dark- 77 rimmed, his eyebrows arch sharply into peaks, his nose is large and beaky; the image would be complete with pointed ears and a set of horns.

William does not respond. Gui turns back to the gathered crowd to proclaim that he has often seen "these ghastly objects of Devil worship: the black cockerel, and the black cat!" The crowd is made fearful by this

"uncovering" of witchcraft in their abbey, but Adso whispers to William to tell Gui that the girl did it for the food.

Gui turns suddenly to william, and recounts the time when

William once presided over a trial "in which a woman confessed to having intercourse with a demon in the form of a black cat." William responds with contempt in both his face and his voice, "I'm very sure you don't have to calIon my past experiences to formulate your own conclusions, Lord

Bernardo." Gui concurs, then announces that tomorrow he will be investigating whether the discovery of this witch, a seduced monk, and Satanic rites, have any bearing on the even graver problems that afflict the abbey.

Later, in their cell, Adso is distraught. He leans against a wall with his back turned to William. "You said nothing!" he admonishes William. "I said nothing, because there was nothing to be said," William replies dejectedly.

William is looking out the window so that his back is facing

Adso. This positioning shows that they are at odds with one 78 another. Adso continues the attack saying that William is

IIready enough to speak the truth when it comes to books and ideas. II William's response is a chilling line that shows his long experience with the ways of the Inquisition and this particular Inquisitor: "She is already burned flesh,

Adso. Bernardo Gui has spoken--she is a witch."

Of course, William knows that the girl is not a witch, but he explains to Adso that he also knows that anyone "who disputes the verdict of the Inquisitor is guilty of heresy. II Adso turns to face William saying, "You seem to know a lot about it.

For the first time in the film, William looks very tired as he responds, "Oh yes," then sits down wearily at a small writing table. Adso asks, more gently now, and reminiscent of william's tone in a previous scene, "Won't you tell me .. as a friend?"

william, in a long and painful discourse, tells Adso of the time when he was an Inquisitor "in the early days when the Inquisition strove to guide, not to punish." He tells Adso of a time when he presided at the trial of a man who was accused of heresy for translating a Greek book that conflicted with the Holy Scriptures. Bernardo Gui had convicted him, but william wanted him acquitted. Bernardo then accused William of heresy for having defended the man. william appealed to the Pope, but was put in prison and 79 tortured. Eventually, William recanted, and the man was burned at the stake. William still suffers from guilt because he is alive.

This is a sensitive and moving scene, which, once again, is due to Sean Connery's immersion into his role. The long-running medium shot of William telling this story contains no action, just William sitting at the table talking. He is shown in profile backlit by candlelight, and the side of his face that shows is somewhat shadowed.

Connery must convey all of William's pain, guilt, and shame using only his voice and his ability to project the image of spiritual resignation while sitting still. He manages to do this in a controlled and understated manner that keeps the scene from becoming maudlin. In the face of all the overacting (especially by William Hickey, and F. Murray

Abraham) that is going on in this film, Connery's control and natural delivery is most welcome.

Connery is aided here by some truly beautiful cinematography. The candle lighting is handled perfectly.

The muted, earthy colors and play of light and shadow again have that Rembrandt quality of the refectory scene.

From the previous quiet scene, there is a jarring cut to the torture of Salvatore, who is screaming. He is restrained by chains and manacles. Seeing Salvatore's suffering, the viewer becomes aware of what William must 80 have endured. The girl, who is silent and apparently unconcious, is also in the room. Salvatore is stripped to the waist which shows the deformity of his back. A hot poker is about to be applied to his body, and Salvatore

screams in terror. Gui speaks to him in a sweet, sinister

tone, "Brother Salvatore, these torments will cause me as much pain as you, but we can put an end to them before they

even begin. II Gui wants Salvatore to tell him who is the heretic responsible for the murders, but Salvatore says that he is stupid and knows nothing.

The next day the Pope's Emissaries arrive. They are the Franciscans' adversaries in the forthcoming debate. The very fat Cardinal is seen looking disinterestedly out the window of their heavy, wooden carriage, while the villagers

slip in the mud straining and pushing to help the horses get

their burden up the steep hillside.

Later, the debate begins. In a large hall, the

Franciscans, Benedictines, and the Emissaries of the Pope

are gathered. The Emissaries' attire, in sharp contrast to the other monks, especially the drab habits of the

Franciscans, is garish with gold cord, jewels, and red brocade. The hats are huge, bright red with gold tassles

hanging from them. A Franciscan monk is speaking as the

scene begins. He is saying that the debate is about whether

Christ did or did not own the clothes he wore. Cardinal 81

Bertrand (Lucien Bodard) says the debate is not about whether Christ was poor, but whether or not the church should be poor.

As the Cardinal is condemning the Franciscans for wanting the church to give up its many possessions, a very agitated Severinus arrives at a window. He not very discreetly gets William's attention, and, at the window, whispers to william about about finding a book in Greek.

William tells him to go back to his shop, lock himself in, and wait there. William would come as soon as he could. william then returns to the debate.

Outside, Severinus fearfully runs back to the dispensary through the thick fog of the morning, looking around as he goes. Inside, he discovers that the shop has been ransacked, yet the book in Greek is lying on the table.

Severinus picks-up one of his gloves, but cannot find the other. He finds it on the floor, but while bent down, he sees someone's shoes below a curtain. Suddenly, the person emerges, but we do not see who it is. The unknown assailant quickly grabs a huge armillary sphere and smashes Severinus on the head with it. Severinus falls to the floor, a pool of blood forms under his head. The assailant's black shoe is spattered with blood. He picks up the book, but before leaving, the assailant, who is dressed in a black robe, blesses Severinus. It appears that the assailant, who, due 82 to his black robe, is probably a Benedictine monk, had ransacked the shop looking for the book, which he found and was about to take with him, when Severinus suddenly returned. The book was dropped on the table when the assailant ran to a hiding place.

In the barn, Malachia comes to see Remigio. He tells him that Salvatore has confessed to his own heretical past and Remigio's. Malachia tells Remigio to leave quickly as there is little time. Thanking him, Remigio escapes the abbey through the garbage chute just steps ahead of Gui's guards. Back at the barn, Malachia wipes blood from his

shoe onto a grain sack.

The debate over church poverty continues, finally erupting into a vociferous fray. William sees his chance to

sneak out, but, as he heads for the door, Bernardo Gui steps in. Bernardo silences them, and tells them that a matter has occurred of the upmost gravity.

In an outside corridor, Gui confronts Remigio who has been arrested. Apparently, the motive for Malachia's sudden brotherly interest in helping Remigio to escape was to cause suspicion for the murder to be cast on him. Remigio denys the murder. Gui was actually having him arrested for heresy, but now Gui believes that Remigio's behavior shows that he is also a murderer. Gui then says, sarcastically

(referring to William), "Had someone not chosen to look in 83 the wrong direction, several men of God might still be with us. 1I

That night, Adso, worrying about the girl, paces frantically in their cell, while William sits with his magnifying glasses studying his copy of the notes and directions left on the parchment he found in Venantius's desk. They briefly argue over what Adso perceives as

William's lack of pity.

There is a quick scene showing William looking over the scene of Severinus's murder, as the Abbot and other monks look on. No one seems to notice that William takes

Severinus's gloves with him.

The trial begins. Gui reminds all present that they are bound by their vow of obedience, and that they must aid the Inquisitor in his painful struggle against heresy, or risk excommunication. He then selects two fellow judges to share the burden of the verdict: the Abbot, and William.

The Franciscans, fearing reprisals against their Order, are obviously upset about the selection of william.

The prisoners are brought in chained together. Gui asks Salvatore to repeat his confession of the previous night that both he and Remigio were formerly members of the heretical Dolcinites. Salvatore, whose hand is bloody and turned in an unnatural direction, rambles his confession.

Remigio not only confesses to being a Dolcinite, but proudly 84 proclaims it. He says, gesturing to the pope's Emissaries,

"And I would slaughter you people, if I had the chance! II

Adso goes to the statue of the Virgin Mary to pray for a miracle that would save the girl.

"Guilty! is that witch, II pronounces Gui, back at the trial. Guilty too is Salvatore, of heresy, and of being caught "in flagrante delicto" with a witch. Remigio accepts his guilty verdict of the crime of heresy, but vehemently denies any murders at the abbey.

The Abbot is then called upon to confirm Gui's sentence, which he does, with much gravity.

William is called next. He says that Remigio is guilty of, in his youth, misinterpreting the gospels and of confusing the love of poverty with the blind destruction of property. "But, my Lord Abbot, II William continues more forcefully,

he is innocent of the crimes that have bathed your abbey in blood, for Brother Remigio cannot read Greek. And this entire mystery hinges on the theft and possession of a book written in Greek, and hidden in some secret part of the library.

The Franciscans are looking very fearful now that william has disputed the verdict of the Inquisition.

William'S actions force Gui to extract a confession from

Remigio to whom he now turns. He orders Remigio taken to the forge and shown lithe instruments." 85

Remigio admits that he cannot bear to be tortured, and says he will confess anything Gui wants. Remigio then confesses to the murder of the monks. When Gui asks him why he did it, Remigio is at a loss to come up with a reason.

"Because you were inspired by the Devil?1I Gui suggests.

Remigio immediately concurs, and the superstitious monks attending the trial believe him, and begin to cross themselves whispering in fear. Remigio, suffering from what appears to be hysteria, begins shouting about being inspired by the Devil, and foaming at the mouth. Gui pronounces that all must be burned at the stake.

William then shouts that Brother Remigio may burn, but his death will not stop the crimes being committed at the abbey. "Other monks will meet their deaths here!" shouts William, lIand they will also have blackened fingers, and blackened tongues!"

As the Papal Emissaries leave the room, the

Franciscan's plead with them to believe that they are as

appalled at William's behavior as the Emissaries are. The

Emissaries dismiss them by saying that, once again, they have seen that their theories protect heretics, and lead to murder. The Emissaries push past the monks saying that the

debate in concluded.

Back at the scene of the trial, Gui pronounces william a heretic for his disputation, and says that William 86 will accompany him to Avignon to receive confirmation Gui's sentence by Pope John. As William is escorted out of the room by guards and passes the other Franciscans, he says confidently, "I'm right." As the scene dissolves from the corridor to a hill near the abbey that is being prepared for the burnings with posts and straw, the narrator says, If only I could find the book, and prove that Bernardo Gui was wrong, but the Anti-christ was victorious once more, and nothing seemed to be able to hinder him further. In a few shots without dialogue, the Franciscans who came for the debate are seen leaving. They look with distress at the posts where the executions will take place. Sadly, they make the sign of the cross over the place, and then walk away from the abbey. Juxtaposed to the leave-taking of the Franciscans, the Papal Emissaries leave, with much noise and clatter, in their huge wooden carriage. The Cardinal too makes the sign of the cross over the execution site, but he appears to be half asleep and the movement obligatory. At a gathering in the church (time uncertain), Jorge is speaking to the assembled monks of letting the flames of the pyres that will burn that night purify each of them in his own heart. While Jorge speaks, there is a good mise-en- scene shot of William and Adso sitting next to each other 87 exchanging glances like co-conspirators. The room is filled with other monks, and guards can be seen in deep focus at the back of the room. The shot positions a guard so that he appears above and behind William and Adso. The latter look around as if trying to find some avenue of escape.

Jorge continues his medieval dialogue:

Let us return to what was, and ever should be. The office of this abbey is the preservation of knowledge; 'preservation' I say, not 'search for.' Because there is no progress in the history of knowledge, merely continuous and sublime recapitulation.

As Jorge is calling upon the monks to praise God that the Antichrist has been purged from the abbey, Brother

Malachia collapses on the floor. Lying on his back, writhing in pain, Malachia's blackened tongue sticks out as he says, "'It had the power of a thousand scorpions' he told me." Malachia does not answer when a Brother asks him who told him, then he dies. It is odd here, that no one mentions the Book of Revelations. Instead, the monks speak of the blackened tongue and finger as William had foretold.

In the ensuing commotion, William and Adso make their escape. Returning to the place where they found the small altar with the skulls, Adso picks up a lantern while william presses the eye sockets. The altar slides away, and they go down the stairs.

Back at the church, Jorge is confused. A monk

informs him that it is Brother Malachia who is dead. Jorge 88 is extremely remorseful, saying, "Dear God, not Malachia!

Will it never end."

Bernardo Gui and his guards enter the church. A monk tells him that Brother William was right. There is an extreme close-up of Gui's maniacal expression as he replies,

"Yes, he knew. Just as I too would have known, had I been the murderer. Find william of Baskerville!"

william and Adso run through the passageways under the library. As they go they discuss the instructions for getting through the mirrored door. william now insists that the inscription means the first and seventh letters of the four. Adso argues that "four" only has four letters, but william points out that "four" in Latin is "quatuor." Then

Adso asks, "What about the idol?" William explains that the word on the parchment should be interpreted in Greek, so instead of "idol," the word means "image or reflection."

Quickly, they continue to go through the labyrinth.

There are two exterior shots showing that night is coming. As usual, the shots come at a moment of high tension, and are overly long.

Gui is pacing impatiently outside. There is a crowd. Monks and guards are carrying torches. Gui's demonic face is haloed by torch fire in an excellent shot.

There is a gong sounding and a dirge being sung. Gui nods that it is time to bring the prisoners out. 89

William and Adso reach the mirrored door. william says hastily, "Pray God we're not mistaken." He presses the

IIQII and the "R" of the word "quatuor" inscribed above the mirror. The letters depress with a "click," and the door unlocks. Beyond the door, they climb some stairs. The music is a restrained, anticipatory throbbing that seems almost about to break into the joyous dance that accompanied their first discovery of the books. A traveling shot follows the steps up to the next floor where the back of a monk can be seen. He is sitting in the dark at a table.

The music stops, and there is just a sound like cold wind blowing through a window. Since the monk is sitting with no light, William deduces who it is.

"Good evening, Venerable Jorge."

"I've been expecting you these several days past,

William," Jorge replies. A close-up of Jorge shows his clouded eyes, ancient, pale face contrasted against his black hood.

"You must have flown here to have reached it ahead of us," William says, while looking around.

"You have learned many things since your arrival at this abbey, but the short route through the labyrinth is not one of them." This line is quite humorous as it plays in the scene, but humor from Jorge? "What is it that you want?" he asks william. 90

William replies,

I want to see the book in Greek that you said was never written. A book entirely devoted to comedy, which you hate as much as you hate laughter. I want to see what is probably the sole surviving copy of the second book of the Poetics of Aristotle.

Jorge tells him that he would have been a magnificent Librarian, and pushes the book across the table to William. Jorge sinisterly invites him to read it: "Leaf

through its secrets. You have won." William dons

Severinus's glove and opens the book.

Outside, a long line of torch-bearing monks escort the three prisoners to the stakes. The gong and the dirge

continue.

In the library, william is reading, while Jorge

encourages him to read on. Adso, apparently worried about

the impending executions, urgently tells william that they must hurry. Jorge tells William that if the light is too

dim for him, then he could give it to the boy to read. william replies, "I would not want my faithful pupil to turn

your poisoned pages, not without the protection of a glove

such as I am wearing."

Realizing that william has outwitted him, Jorge, in

a sudden, swift movement, grabs the book and runs away with

it. His speed is surprising. william and Adso dash for the

door so that Jorge cannot lock them in. Adso wedges his

foot in just in time, and they struggle with the heavy door. 91

After getting through the door, william and Adso continue their pursuit of Jorge.

From this point, the film's pacing is faster, and there are many cuts between the events outside and inside the library.

Outside, the procession now approaches the stakes.

As William and Adso search the labyrinth for Jorge, william keeps him talking so they can follow the sound.

"Venerable Brother, there are many books that speak of comedy. Why does this one fill you with such fear?" Jorge replies that it is because the book is by Aristotle.

The girl, Remigio, and Salvatore have been tied to the stakes, and their bodies are being smeared with grease.

The girl makes no sound; she appears to have fallen unconscious. Gui approaches Salvatore and asks him if he has renounced the Devil, and embraced Jesus Christ as your lord and savior. Salvatore, who is singing the same song that the girl was humming before being arrested in the barn, ignores him. Gui asks the same question of Remigio, who shouts back, liThe Devil I renounce is you, Bernardo Gui."

Gui obligatorily puts the question to the girl, then walks away without pausing to hear a response.

In the library, William asks Jorge what is so alarming about laughter? Jorge replies, 92

Laughter kills fear, and without fear there can be no faith, because, without fear of the Devil, there is no more need of God.

"But you will not eliminate laughter by eliminating that book," William calls out to him. He and Adso listen intently to Jorge's voice, tracking him by the sound. Jorge answers William,

No, to be sure. Laughter will remain the common man's recreation. But what will happen if, because of this book, learned men were to pronounce it permissible to laugh at everything. Can we laugh at God? The world would relax into chaos! Therefore, I seal that which is not to be said in the tomb I become.

As Jorge speaks the words, " ... in the tomb I become," the camera focusses on Jorge's face close-up. He is tearing off pieces of the book and eating them. Green saliva drips from his mouth. William and Adso have found him, and silently enter the room. Jorge, feeling the heat from Adso's lantern, strikes at it using the book as a weapon. Fire breaks out rapidly.

The starting of the library fire is juxtaposed with a shot of a torch starting the execution fires. Salvatore is still singing. villagers are gathering, looking with concern at the girl. Some are holding farm implements.

The fire in the library is raging out of control.

Jorge bends down to deliberately ignite the book by

Aristotle, but catches fire himself and is burned to death.

Salvatore too is burning; his screams are horrible. 93

There is an outside shot of the library showing the flames blasting through the roof and exploding out one side.

People turn to look, and so does Gui. The monks begin to run toward the library yelling for water. As Remigio burns, he is wearing a satisfied smile, because he can see the villagers approaching Gui. Gui is still standing near the stakes.

with flames leaping all around, william insists that

Adso must leave the library. Reluctantly, Adso obeys. As he makes his way down the staircase, Adso says, "Please God, save him." There are some very well-done shots of the library fire, staircase collapsing, books burning.

Since no fire has yet been lit for her, Gui shouts,

"Burn the witch!" The villagers now approach Gui menacingly; one picks up a large rock. "You dare raise your hand to the church!" Gui shouts, but he looks surprised and perhaps a little fearful. Gui walks away swiftly while his guards hold back the villagers with torches, but some of the villagers pursue him.

william is alone, with the burning books all around him. He has gathered some volumes, but looks around at all the knowledge that will be lost, and breaks down into tears.

More staircases are shown collapsing.

Outside, an upward shot of the library shows pages from the books flying in the air above the flames, is 94 followed by a down shot of monks running, shouts are heard, all is chaos.

Adso emerges from the library. He stares in horror at the sight of the burning tower. Then he turns to see Gui heading for his wagon. Now we see Adso truly angry. He is seething. Fearlessly, he bolts after Gui, grabbing his robe as Gui mounts the wagon. "No!" Adso shouts. "You're not going to leave! All of this is you're doing!" But Gui kicks Adso to the ground, and the driver whips the horses.

Undaunted, Adso runs to try to lower the iron gate in time to stop Gui, but the Inquisitor gets through first. The gate comes down blocking Adso from pursuing further. Adso struggles violently to lift the gate to no avail.

Gui does not escape, however. His wagon is traveling much too fast. One of its wheels hits a deep rut and the wagon is turned on its side near the edge of a cliff. Gui opens the door of the wagon, and asks some villagers nearby to get him. They push the wagon over a cliff. Gui falls out of the wagon, and is nastily impaled on the spikes of what looks like a threshing device.

Adso walks dejectedly back toward the library. An upward traveling shot of the tower shows the vast extent of the fire; the library is destroyed. Again pages can be seen floating in the air, reminding us of the terrible loss. 95

There is a beautiful close-up shot of Adso's stricken face illuminated by the fire. He looks a bit less innocent now.

Adso sees William coming out of the library. He is stumbling, dazed. Forgetting their usual formality, Adso runs to William and embraces him fondly, and William returns the affection, dropping the books that he had rescued.

Morning. The library does not seem to be burning now, but smoke continues to rise from it. villagers are quietly looting the abbey. William and Adso are outside preparing to leave. Their mules are loaded; william's is carrying many books. Adso notices that one of the stakes had not been burned.

As William and Adso ride away from the abbey, they encounter the girl on the road. William rides past her, but

Adso stops. William pauses on ahead, turning back to look.

The girl, looking sad and lovely, approaches Adso with pleading eyes. No words are exchanged. She takes his hand, pressing it to her face. Adso sees William begin to ride on. Adso struggles inwardly for a decision, then follows william. As Adso leaves her, the camera stays on the face of the girl watching him go. Her expression changes from hopefulness, to disappointment, to resignation. Throughout this scene with no spoken dialogue, James Horner's passionate, poignant music enhances the emotional impact. 96

The narrator speaks as William and Adso ride across a vast, snow-dotted valley, with the camera traveling upward and backward away from them. As the camera travels, their images grow ever smaller until they become too small to see.

Old Adso narrates throughout this shot:

I have never regretted my decision, for I learned from my master much that was wise, and good, and true. When at last we parted company, he presented me with his eyeglasses. I was still young, he said, but someday they would serve me well, and, in fact, I am wearing them now on my nose as I write these lines. Then he embraced me fondly, like a father, and sent me on my way. I never saw him again, and no not what became of him. But I pray always that God received his soul, and forgave the many little vanities to which he was driven by his intellectual pride. And yet, now that I am an old, old man, I must confess that of all the faces that appear to me out of the past, the one I see most clearly is that of the girl, of whom I have never ceased to dream these many long years. She was the only earthly love of my life, yet I never knew, nor ever learned, her name.

The screen goes black.

Some Final Commentary on the Film

"The Name of the Rose" opened in September, 1986, to mixed reviews. Praise was unanimous for many aspects of the film: The performances of Sean Connery and Christian Slater

(then a sixteen year-old newcomer), the score by James

Horner, the cinematography of Tonino Delli Colli, and the production design of Dante Ferretti. 97

The more negative comments were for director Jean-

Jacques Annaud, whose pacing has been described as "flaccid, with absolutely no sense of urgency and no discernable rhythm" (Benson 1). Reviewer vincent Canby said,

Under the direction of Jean-Jacques Annaud, the movie is full of the kind of atmosphere that can be created by elaborate sets, dim lighting and misty landscapes, though it has no singular character or dominant mood . .. Sean Connery does his best to find the film's proper tone, which should have been provided by Mr. Annaud (Canby 338) .

Other negative criticisms have been leveled at the editing by Jane Seitz, though, in fairness, Annaud had the final cut. Sheila Benson describes the editing as, "so jumpy that each scene stays resolutely separate" (Benson 1) .

Ms. Benson goes on to praise James Horner's score for helping to hold fragments of [poorly edited] scenes together.

The use of Adso as the narrator is also problematical, as the use of a first person narrator usually is, since there are events depicted that Adso was not present to witness, such as Severinus's murder and what went on in the barn between the girl and Salvatore. Also, the

Benedictines were cast "as if the Order required that a monk look like a gargoyle" (Kauffmann 24). Too much effort went into finding bizarre faces. The result has been the creation of a comic book palette of characters that too sharply contrast with the physical attractiveness of william 98 and Adso (Adelmo and venatius are also very attractive, but they die early in the film) .

While many aspects of liThe Name of the Rose" make it a moving, and memorable film, it falls short of achieving that elusive status that was mentioned in an earlier section: greatness. The editorial flaws alone are enough to break down the film's continuity, and the uneven direction adds to the problem. The result is that one tends to experience liThe Name of the Rose" as separate elements, rather than as a unified, artistic whole. An Examination of the Film

liThe Name of the Rose"

AS an Adaptation

This film adaptation, like any other, is the product of many different people, from artists and technicians to financial backers. But the making of Urnberto Eco's novel into a feature length film (Italian television had considered a miniseries) was the vision of Jean-Jacques

Annaud. Regardless of whether or not one feels that Annaud succeeded in his role as director of liThe Name of the Rose," one must give him credit for even attempting so difficult an adaptation. Annaud was, in fact, the person most responsible for the film's creation. It was Annaud who approached Umberto Eco to obtain the rights to his novel;

Annaud who went to Hollywood to try to find a backer

(Twentieth-Century Fox); Annaud who struggled with Hollywood executives (and, thank goodness, won) over shocking changes proposed by the studio:

A love story, of course. And maybe, instead of Brother william looking for that [book] of Aristotle's, he could be after something more audience-accessible. How about a piece of the cross (Katz, 26)?

99 100

Having begun his project, Annaud painstakingly tried to reproduce the medieval period in all its details. In an interview with Gideon Bachmann, which occurred before the

film was completed, author umberto Eco praised Annaud's efforts at authenticity. Eco mentions that Annaud managed to shame some medieval researchers who were Eco'S colleagues with his knowledge of medieval details (Bachmann, 130). Eco talks about how Annaud's quest for the correct details took him to a school in France that researches the historical

detail of everyday life:

[Annaud's] film is a great challenge for these researchers. It is one thing to say, 'They ate off wooden plates,' but when a filmmaker want to know the exact dimensions of those plates ... Or, 'They prayed with their foreheads on the floor,' but what did they do with their backsides? Did they stick them in the air, or press them into their heels? No historical text and no painting answers these questions.

In addition to wanting to be philologically correct,

Annaud quested after the faces that he believed the novel to

be describing. Eco says, for example, that Annaud shot one- hour takes with each of forty actors for the main character

alone. "He wanted to see how the eyes of the actors reacted

to a glass of whisky," Eco says, in his interview with

Bachmann, "and how they looked after eating."

Unfortunately, Annaud's quest took him too far, and the film

ended-up overpopulated by odd-looking characters. 101

In his article in EnCQunter, Dieter E. Zimmer says that, as it happens, Annaud Qnce studied medieval art at the

SQrbQnne. This WQuld explain Annaud's desire fQr authentically re-creating the IQQk, mQQd, setting, etc., Qf

ECQ's nQvel, and he succeeded. The cQldness and dampness being depicted Qn the screen are almQst palpable, as is the

CQarse material Qf the Franciscan rQbes, which Annaud insisted be hand sewn (Zimmer, 69). Annaud used natural Qr candlelighting whenever pQssible tQ heighten the sense Qf reality, and, Qf CQurse, the film is pQpulated with a large number Qf rats.

TQ place the film in the prQper setting, Annaud, fQIIQwing a IQng search fQr IQcatiQns that had the right

IQQk, fQund an eight-hundred year-Qld castle in Germany:

"SchIQSS Eberbach Qn the Rhine," fQr the interiQrs, and a

RQman hill, where he had a mQck mQnastery built that WQuld eventually gQ up in flames.

Annaud Qrdered potters to produce old crockery, enormQUS benches to be carpentered, huge chandeliers to be forged and wrought, and elongated candles that seem to have been dripping for centuries. "It must be the most medieval of Middle Ages that celluloid has yet recQrded" (Zimmer 68) .

"Shall I do what others do so well and successfully?"

Annaud is quoted as saying in the same article, "Qr shall I try to do what nobody else does?" 102

What Jean-Jacques Annaud tried to do was to create a film adaptation of a novel that almost "nobody" would want to tackle. As was discussed in the third section of this work, Eco'S The Name of the Rose falls into that catagory of nearly unfilmable novels. Annaud, however, not only filmed The Name of the Rose, he filmed it in perhaps the only way it could be done: he focussed on the murder mystery, and used church dogma and church politics as backdrop.

As with any adaptation, much of the source material was either altered or cut. The lengthy discourses on history, politics, and religion, could not be included in a film project; yet, some of the information in these discourses was woven into the tapestry of the film.

with a novel so densely packed with characters, it is not surprising that some characters would have to be cut, or their roles reduced, or otherwise altered. For example,

Old Alinardo, Nicholas the glazier, and Benno of Uppsala do not appear in the film. Ubertino of Casale became a very strange person who was not often on the screen. He is given some of the dialogue that would have been spoken by Alinardo and Benno. Ubertino's character is so altered into weirdness and borderline insanity that there is no evidence on the screen of someone who, as william describes him, is either a saint or a heretic, or someone who could have 103 written a book so politically powerful that he must live in hiding.

The role of the girl is enlarged enough to add poignancy to her role, especially at the end. Unfortunately,

she is depicted as being so primitive that she is little more than a pretty animal. If we are to believe that Adso has a difficult time choosing either to stay with her, or to go on with William, then her character needed more

development.

In the adaptation, Bernardo Gui is a younger man, which serves to make him a more formidable adversary for william. Also, to increase the tension between William and

Bernardo, the screenplay sets them up as having had a prior

conflict, which resulted in William's being imprisoned and

tortured as a heretic. In the novel, no prior history

between the men exists. This alteration is quite well-done,

and adds greater dimension to the plot.

Perhaps the most unfortunate character alteration,

from the novel to the screen, is the diminishment of Adso.

Adso is transformed from a bright, astute observer, who made many contributions to the investigation, to a sweet, but

naive boy. Gone are Adso's wit and pragmatism. In the

novel, Adso rejects the Apocalyptic prophesy as the force

behind the murders; it was William who got on the wrong

track with it, but the film has Adso fearfully believing 104

Ubertino's pronouncements. Christian Slater could easily have handled a more demanding role, and the film would have benefitted by having Adso back in his strong supporting role, rather than just along for the ride.

william's character too has gone through some alterations. Gone is the William who was capable of making mistakes, who arrived by accident at the solution of the mystery, and who was misled by a belief that the Apocalyptic prophesy was somehow involved in the crimes. The William in the film is, as the Franciscans bemoan, always right. He is not only ahead of his time, but he in no way subscribes to the irrational fanatacism of his fellow Brothers. In fact, their behavior and attitudes often provoke William to visible disgust. In this way, William is more akin to

Sherlock Holmes in the film than even in the novel, where william's tolerance of others' weaknesses is greater

(perhaps because, like Holmes, the William of the novel has more weaknesses of his own) .

As a film hero, the stronger, infallible William is more appealing to general audiences, and, as previously mentioned, Sean Connery gave his character strength, life, and credibility. Unfortunately, in order to make William a

less flawed and more dynamic character, the sacrifice may have been the downplaying of Adso. 105

The adaptation process required other, smaller

changes that are notable. There are only Franciscan and

Benedictine monks meeting with the Papal Emissaries for the

debate. The novel has other Orders represented as well.

This is a logical, if not historically correct, way to keep

the focus on the murder mystery, rather than on trying to

sort out who belongs to what religious group and what the

political implications of that might be. Changing Adso from

a Benedictine novice to a Franciscan novice also lessens the

possibility of confusion.

Alterations to the murders kept the film's plot on

track. Abo is spared being killed by Jorge in the film

version, and Severinus is murdered to protect the secret of

the book by Aristotle, and not, as in the novel, due to

Malachia's jealousy over a supposed homosexual relationship

between Severinus and Berengar. Abo's murder in the novel

was malicious and politically motivated; to include it in

the film version would have required the addition of more

material on the political maneuverings at the abbey and in

the church with little benefit to the film. Also, there is

the possibility that too high a body count in addition to

the explicit sex scene may have jeopardized the film's "R"

rating. Altering the motive behind the murder of Severinus

also makes good sense for the film version, as it keeps the

mystery focussed on the infamous "book which kills, or for 106

which men will kill, II rather than muddling the plot with more punish-the-deviant-flesh homophobia than we have already seen.

The film's most noticable alteration to the novel's plot is the ending. Rather than having the girl, Salvatore, and Remigio simply taken away for execution during the latter part of the film, a new treatment of their fate was interpolated into the film version.

The three prisoners are sentenced to death by burning, and the executions are to be held at the abbey. The prisoners are tied to stakes surrounded by piles of straw.

The horror of their fate is juxtaposed with the horror of the burning library. The camera cuts from shots of

Salvatore screaming as he is engulfed in flames, to the groaning and crashing of a huge staircase as flames destroy the library.

For all the high quality staging and shooting of these scenes, the juxtaposition, rather than intensifying the feeling of loss and injustice, tends to make the scenes undercut one another. The viewer is made to vacillate between feeling bad about the victims and feeling bad about the library. Add to this the scene where William is driven to tears over the loss of the books, and the viewer is driven to feel bad for William. Then we are supposed to feel bad for Adso, because he is unable to stop Gui at the 107 gate, and because he is dejected over william's possible death. There are just too many things here to feel bad about all at once. Oddly, what we are given that seems intended to make us feel better is the sight of the evil

Bernardo being pushed off a cliff and landing, skewered, on a thresher. Gruesomely impaling the antagonist does nothing to help the film at this point, because the viewer's sympathies are already fragmented, and Gui's death scene outside of the abbey's walls interferes with the progression of the main action. If Gui was to receive justice in the film version, then it should have been served by the villagers with stones back at the scene of the burnings.

The final scenes, like the executions, have no counterparts in the novel. These interpolations, however, add sensitive and moving moments to the end of the film.

Rather than having Adso search the library's rubble for

William, finding him clutching some of their belongings as is depicted in the novel, the film shows William, after managing to save a few books, emerging of his own volition from the conflagration, symbolically surviving the fires of hell while trying to rescue the wisdom of the ages. The touching scene between William and Adso as William emerges from the burning library with his small cache of books, is one of the most memorable of the film. 108

Also memorable, is Adso's moment of indecision in the final moments when he encounters the girl on the road.

Until that moment, it was uncertain whether she had escaped the execution pyre, and now that they have met again, it is uncertain whether Adso will stay with her or leave with william. As previously mentioned, the girl's character needed to be a bit more civilized for Adso's choice to be truly difficult, but Christian Slater's ability to convey emotion with his face (there is no dialogue), and the girl's obvious devotion to him, combine to leave a lasting impression in one's mind.

Two final questions remain:

1. Is Jean-Jacques Annaud's film a good adaptation of

Umberto Eco's novel?

2. Is liThe Name of the Rose" a good film?

The answer to the first question is yes. Annaud made every effort possible to re-create on film what could be re­ created of Eco's novel. The alterations and interpolations were, for the most part, necessary for the adaptation to work on screen. While it is true that only one dimension of the novel survived the adaptation process: the murder mystery, the mystery, and the detective work involved in solving it, are what is most filmable in the novel. Yet,

Annaud managed to interweave some of the political and religious texture as well. A film adaptation is, after all, 109 not a cinematic translation of the original source, but an interpretation of that source, and Annaud's interpretation captures the essence of Eco's novel.

The question of whether or not "The Name of the

Rose" is a good film provokes a less enthusiastic response.

As has been noted in both the section of this work which describes the film, and earlier in this section, "The Name of the Rose" has pacing, editing, and casting problems that interfere with one's experience of the film. Serious breaks in continuity due to awkward editing cause the film to lose its sense of urgency and drive. The excessive number of bizarre faces distract from the action and plot. While the film is visually stunning, the music and sound so well-done that they could not be improved upon, and some of the acting superb, these elements, which should have been able to make

"The Name of the Rose" a great film, cannot overcome the problems that undercut them. NOTES

lA11 page number references are to the Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc. edition, 1983.

2The novel is uncinematic due to its many lengthy discourses and digressions; however, Mr. Eco's writing is highly descriptive which would aid a filmaker with constructing scenes in an adaptation. Treatment of the cinematic quality of a novel is given in liThe Cinematic Novel: Tracking a Concept, II by Steven G. Kellman.

3Griffith's film was based on Robert Browning's poem of the same title.

4In fact, John Fowles' novel, The French Lieutenant's Woman, was considered by many filmakers as unfilmable due to its novel within a novel structure. It took the author eleven years to find a director, Karel Reisz, and a screenwriter, Harold Pinter, willing to attempt it (BOyum 105) .

SMiles [Stella Maria] Franklin (1879-1954) was just sixteen years-old at the time of the novel's writing. She later came to detest the book, and it was withheld from print for sixty-five years, republished in Australia twelve years after her death and again in 1980 (BRE, 350).

6Umberto Eco has served as Lecturer on semiotics at various institutions throughout the world. Professor Eco has been teaching semiotics at the university of Bologna, Bologna, Italy, for the past twenty-two years. He has taught other subjects as well, including aesthetics, architecture, and visual communications.

7Nominalism is a philosophical doctrine first advanced by Roscellinus (twelfth century) and revived and popularized by William of Ockham (fourteenth century). It holds that abstract concepts, general terms, and universals have no objective referents but exist only as names. This doctrine, which leads toward materialism and empiricism in its insistence that only particular things exist, has been

110 111 popular in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (Holman, 334.)

8Similarities between Umberto Eco's william of Baskerville and Adso of Melk, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, are given in-depth treatment in essays 4 - 7 in Naming the Rose: Essays on Eco's The Name of the Rose. M. Thomas Inge, ed.

9Armillary sphere: An ancient astronomical instrument used before the invention of the telescope.

10AII foreign language passages in The Name of the ~ have been translated in The Key to The Name of the ~, by Adele J. Haft.

IIJean-Jacques Annaud has directed over five hundred television commercials for which he has received numerous Clio and Silver Lion awards. In 1976, his first film as director and screenwriter, "Black and White in Color," was awarded the Oscar for "Best Foreign Film." His 1982 film, "Quest for Fire," was awarded Cesars for "Best Motion Picture" and for Annaud's direction. liThe Name of the Rose" was awarded the Cesar for "Best Foreign Film" in 1987, and in 1989, Annaud was awarded Cesars for "Best Director" for his film "The Bear," and for career achievement.

12Annaud used the original Italian pronunciations for some of the characters' names.

13From: "Hail holy queen, mother of mercy, hail our life, our sweetness, and our hope! To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears. Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy towards USi and after this our exile show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus . (Attributed to various eleventh-century authors). See Analecta Hymnica, vol. 50 (1907), p. 318. FILMS CITED

"Citizen Kane." Director: Orson Welles. 1941.

"Clockwork Orange, A." Director: Stanley Kubrick. 1971.

"Dune." Director: David LYnch. 1984.

"East of Eden." Director: Elia Kazan. 1955.

"French Lieutenant's Woman, The." Director: Karel Reisz. 1981.

"Ironweed. 11 Director: Hector Babenco. 1987.

"Lolita." Director: Stanley Kubrick. 1962.

"Moonstruck." Director: Norman Jewison. 1987. "My Brilliant Career." Director: Gillian Armstrong. 1979.

"Name of the Rose, The." Director: Jean-Jacques Annaud. 1986.

"Ordeal by Innocence." Director: Desmond Davis. 1984.

"Ordinary People." Director: Robert Redford. 1980.

"Out of Africa." Director: Sydney Pollack. 1985.

"Pippa Passes." Director: D. W. Griffith. 1909.

"Room with a view, A." Director: James Ivory. 1986.

"Some Like it Hot." Director: Billy wilder. 1959.

112 WORKS CITED

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Blacker, Irwin. The Elements of Screenwriting. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1986.

BOYUm, Joy Gould. Double EXQosure: Fiction into Film. New York: Universe Books, 1985. Burgess, Anthony. A Clockwork Orange. New York: W. W. Norton, 1963.

Canby, Vincent. "Assassin in the Abbey. II The New York Times Film Reviews 1985-1986. New York: Times Books & Garland, Inc., 1988. pp. 338-339. Caserio, Robert L. liThe Name of the Horse: Hard Times, Semiotics and the Supernatural." (A contrast/ comparison of Dickens' Hard Times and Eco's The Name of the Rose.) Novel, Fall 1986, pp. 5-23.

Cohen, Michael. liThe Hounding of Baskerville: Allusion and Apocalypse in Eco's The Name of the Rose. II Naming the Rose: Essays on Eco's The Name of the Rose. M. Thomas Inge, ed. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1988. pp. 65-76.

Christie, Agatha. Ordeal by Innocence. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1958. Dinesen, Isak. Out of Africa. New York: Random House, 1938.

Dixon, Thomas . ....T-""h.."e...... ,C""'I"""a...... n s""m""'a....n....:'-----"An...... ---...... H""i'""'s"-'t...,o"'-'r=..l=.·c"""""a"""l'---"'R"""o....m....,a""'n""""'c-""e'--"'o'""'f~t""h....e""' Ku Klux Klan. New York: Grosset and Dunlap, 1905.

113 114

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Forster, E. M. A Room with a View. Norfolk, Conn.: New Directions, 1922.

Fowles, John. The French Lieutenant's woman. Boston: Little, Brown/ 1969.

Franklin, Miles. My Brilliant Career. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1980 (C1901). Gale Research Inc. "Umberto Eco." Major Twentieth Century writers, August 1991. (On-line biographical service.)

Giannetti, Louis. understanding Movies. 5th ed. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1990. Guest/ Judith. OrdinakY People. New York: viking Press/ 1976.

Herbert, Frank. Dune. Philadeiphia: Chilton Books, 1965.

Holman, C. Hugh, and william Harmon. A Handbook to Literature. 5th ed. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co. / 1986.

Horn, Pierre L. "The Detective Novel and the Defense of Humanism. " Naming the Rose: Essays on Eco' s The Name of the Rose. M. Thomas Inge, ed. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi/ 1988. pp. 90-100.

Inge, M. Thomas/ ed. Naming the Rose: Essays on Eco's The Name of the Rose. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi/ 1988.

Katz, Robert. "The Name of the Rose." American Film/ September 1986/ pp. 26-31.

Kellman, Steven G. "The Cinematic Novel: Tracking a Concept." Modern Fiction Studies 33, NO.3 (1987): 467-478.

Kellner, Hans. "To Make Truth Laugh: Eco's The Name of the RQ.s..e." Naming the Rose: Essays on Eco's The Name of the Rose. M. Thomas Inge, ed. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1988. pp. 3-30. 115

Kennedy, William. Ironweed. New York: Viking Press, 1983.

Nabokov, Vladimir. Lolita. Paris: Olympia Press, 1955. Nabokov, Vladimir. Lolita: A screenQlay. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1974.

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Sanoff, Alvin P. "What it Takes to Make a Good Book a Good Movie." U.S. News and World ReQort, 21 December 1987, p. 66.

Sherrid, Pamela. "Rarely is Justice Done." (James Ivory on film adaptations of books. Interview) U.S. News and World ReQort, 21 December 1987, p. 68.

Steinbeck, John. East of Eden. New York: Viking Press, 1952. Swain, Dwight V. Film ScriQtwriting: A Practical Manual. Boston: Focal Press, 1984.

Wagner, Geoffrey. The Novel and the Cinema. Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Press, 1975.

Zimmer, Dieter E. "Eco I, Eco II, Eco III.... " Encounter, April 1986, pp. 68-71.