Last week, I went to see PCPA’s production of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It was a decent production — technically very good, relatively strong acting overall — and while there were things that I nitpicked about it and directing choices that I would have made differently, I really did enjoy the show.

I’ve talked before about adaptations and maintaining the integrity of the work, and there are certain movies or adaptations that I won’t see because I enjoyed the original too much to risk being disappointed by an adaptation that falls short. If the story is misinterpreted or characters don’t look the way I think they should or the overarching themes are viewed differently than I’ve always seen them (not to mention the disturbing propensity for adaptations to change the endings of the original work), it can turn the experience of a beloved story into a bittersweet (perhaps more bitter than sweet) shadow of what it should be.

I realized last weekend, though, that while that may be my immediate reaction to many adaptations, it’s actually the middle ground for me. On the one side, there are adaptations where I have little or no attachment to the original. Most comic book movies, for instance. I have virtually no attachment to the generative works, and while I fully recognize that I am experiencing the work on a very limited level, I’m enjoying it on its own merits and I am happily ensconced in my ignorance of the work.

On the other side fall works like The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I have so much love for the books (and I count all seven Narnia books as one entity, rather than separating them out into each individual one) that very few adaptations can go wrong for me.

I’m not a huge fan of the BBC version — the production value is fantastically awful — and it’s somewhat of an affront to my sensibilities as an artist and a producer, but the adaptation doesn’t taint the story for me.

When I see this show, I respond to the story more than to the production. Or rather, I separate myself out. There’s the part of me that’s emotionally responding to Father Christmas appearing onstage, to Lucy falling through the wardrobe, to Aslan reappearing after the stone table. That’s the part of me that tears up and reacts viscerally, on a gut level, to the story. Simultaneously, there’s also the part of me that’s nitpicking the production, cataloging the director’s decisions, evaluating the actors’ performances, and creating my own production in my head, picking and choosing which pieces to keep and which to do differently.

Whenever I watch theatre, this process takes place, but the level of separation depends on the show. There are some shows where the story is buried under my analysis; there are other shows where the analysis doesn’t take place until afterward, because I’m caught up in the story.

In this particular instance, they were happening at the same time. I would imagine that a stronger production of the story would place me more firmly in the “story” side of the equation, but the point is that, unlike an adaptation of a story that I’m not as fully in love with, the adaptation doesn’t change my investment in the story. I could see a bad adaptation of any of the Narnia books and still love them, whereas a poor adaptation of a source material that I don’t have the same love for could, in some way, color my perception of the source. And, on the flip side, my investment in the source material — the books — likely makes me more willing to enjoy a poor adaptation while at the same time holding all adaptations to a higher standard than an adaptation of a piece I have no investment in.

So maybe all I’m saying is that I love it too much for it to be ruined for me. It would take a lot to get there, at any rate. It’s part of why I wish I was going to be in Calgary to see Foothills’ production. I know it’s not going to be the most brilliant thing to ever be produced onstage. I know it’s not going to be a perfect adaptation — in this case, more likely on the techical, production value level than on the story continuity level. I still want to see it, though. I want to see the story again through a different director’s eyes, on a different stage, with a different cast, on a different day. I’d nitpick it to death — maybe even more than I did the PCPA production, because I’m more invested in Foothills’ productions and people — but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be emotionally invested in the story as it’s being told. (And, in this case, emotionally invested in the people and process of the play itself.)

To be honest, I kind of love that separation and intersection that happens as I experience live theatre. I love that my heart, my emotions, and my training all interact to create a unique experience of any show. I love that I watch from a more educated place than most audience members, and yet I can still be fully engaged on the other levels.

I’m still not sure what other source materials I love so much that a poor adaptation wouldn’t taint them for me. I suppose it’s something I’ll have to figure out as I come up against them. And just for the record, I’m not planning to seek out abysmal adaptations of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe to test this theory.

Tags: adaptations, aesthetics, church, featured, Reviews, things I've seen, thoughts and musings

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