Canonical Truth or Pulp Fiction?

: Tracing the Exclusion of the Screenplay from the Literary Canon

by Gregory K. Allen Copyright 2001

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The only link between Literature and Drama left to us in England at the present moment is the bill of the play. - Oscar Wilde The Oxford English Dictionary defines the word literature as [l]iterary productions as a whole; the body of writings produced in a particular country or period, or in the world in general. Now also, in a more restricted sense, applied to writing which has claim to consideration on the ground of beauty of form or emotional effect (Oxford English Dictionary 342). It is ironic that one must appeal to a literary form in order to locate a definition for literature. But even so, the essence of literature expands far beyond mere definition. The nature of literature what it is and what it isnt seems, at first, to be a simple enough investigation. However, no definitive conclusion to such a query has ever been reached by scholars, and the debate has raged for centuries perhaps even millennia. While these literary scrappers have not always been of English origin, the process of literary canonization, to a certain degree, propels itself into the next generation as a sort of method by which a culture can decide what, as the Oxford dictionary puts it has claim to consideration on the ground of beauty of form (Oxford English Dictionary 342). Yet, somehow the process of literary canonization has moved beyond Oxfords all too clear and succinct definition. The question of the age no longer remains what is literature, but rather, what is good literature. The literary concerns of the moment sidestep the quantitative, the literal, and the textual; to embrace the qualitative, the ethereal, and the subjective means by which one text is celebrated as a classic, and another is merely forgotten. This forgotten text lingers only momentarily for critics to be scorned and reduced to nothing, and like the foamy excess of some prohibited juicy

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concoction, the word pulp becomes the name by which these works come to be known. But there are far more consequences for the critic and reader alike than readily apparent in the distinction between pulp texts and canonized literature. Even a perusal of the history of the literary canon provides enough background for one to identify the privileging and exclusion of certain texts and authors. An enormous amount of scholarship has already documented this phenomenon, and a great deal more probably could and should be undertaken by scholars. But it is not the exclusion of authors or certain texts that this project is engaged in, but rather the exclusion of entire formats or genres of literature. Given the vast array of texts that critics have placed in the literary canon such as the epic, the poem, the short story, the novel, the stage play, etc., it becomes problematic that the film is discussed more in terms of being read like literature, than the screenplay. In fact, while film studies as a discipline has become increasingly more pervasive in the academy over the past thirty years, little public scholarship has been attributed to the study of the screenplay as a literary format or genre in its own right. Film scholars and critics have generally excluded the screenplay from the literary canon. Most film scholars, when discussing film narrative or even the creative choices of the screenwriter, only position their projects in relation to the film production itself, and not back to the screenplay as a text. Dana Polans analysis of Pulp Fiction, as published by the British Film Institute, is an enactment of this phenomenon, among others, and whose implications will be discussed somewhat more fully later. But that the literary establishment has positioned the classic American screenplay against other more traditional forms of literature, and that Hollywood has empowered and even encouraged academia to do so, remains indisputable. The crisis and contradiction

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involved in a canonization that includes the dramatic script for stage, while simultaneously excluding the dramatic script for cinema, based on reasons that initially seem to relate to technology, but prove contradictory upon further interrogation must be exposed for what it is a prime example of how marketability and capitalistic concerns inform and co-opt literary taste, and thus, the literary canon, above and beyond even the traditional notions of aesthetics. If the literary canon is to remain a reliable body of writings [. . .] which has claim to consideration on the ground of beauty of form, the literary canon must include the screenplay (Oxford English Dictionary 342). If it does not, while allowing the stage play and even the film to remain, without at least some sort of explanation, not only do literary critics become inconsistent in their judgment, but the canon itself becomes jeopardized by intellectual hypocrisy. Double jeopardy ensues if the screenplay can be proven to accomplish the same literary ends as the epic, the short story, the novel, or the stage play to an equal or even to a greater degree of aesthetic deft. All of these formats as aesthetic productions exist in similar fashions as words on paper produced by one or more authors by the time they are canonized. The screenplay exists as words on paper created by one or more author, as well, but as a format, the screenplay has yet to receive canonical attention. Certainly, the screenplay is an aesthetic production. But, as a genre of text with all of its similar characteristics to the novel, the short story, the stage play, and even the epic poem, the screenplay still has been marginalized by both filmmakers and critics. This marginal positioning is not the result of some sort of elitist cinematic prejudice, however, because even now, in certain academic and critical circles, Film has already come to be regarded as Literature. David Bordwell and Kristen Thompson observe in their textbook, Film Art: An Introduction:

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If you are listening closely to a song on a tape and the tape is abruptly switched off, you are likely to feel frustrated. If you start reading a novel, become engrossed in it, and then misplace the book, you will probably feel the same way. Such feelings arise because our experience of artworks is patterned and structured. The human mind craves form. For this reason, form is of central importance in any artwork, regardless of its medium. The entire study of the nature of artistic form is the province of the aesthetician [. . .] But some ideas about aesthetic form are indispensable in analyzing films (Bordwell and Thompson 41). Countless commentaries have been published critiquing and analyzing films, and while, on occasion, these commentaries might have included various drafts of the films screenplay or shooting script, I have yet to encounter a critical work that engages the screenplay independent of a cinematic production. Yet, when it comes to the stage play, every sort of commentary imaginable has been produced, both in conjunction with, and independent of theatrical production. For instance, when one studies a Shakespearean play, it is virtually impossible to consider the text in light of any particular production that the author himself might have had access to. Certainly, there might be sixteenth-century notes of some sort referencing those in attendance, or a performance date, or even a cast list, but the production itself would have since dissipated in the memories of an audience long dead. This difficulty recurs even when considering a specific performance of Shakespeares Othello, for example. Lets assume that two individuals wish to discuss a staged performance of the Moors tragedy of jealousy, betrayal, and vengeance. Even in light of contemporary theatrical production, unless this discussion is undertaken by two

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participants who have attended the exact same performance, dialogue regarding the nuances of the production of Shakespeares play would be somewhat unattainable because of the necessary variance from one theatrical performance to the next. In fact, the only thing that would even identify this performance as authentically Shakespearean to the two people would be the written text from which the performance was drawn. But if our individuals were only interested in Shakespeares authentic text, and not the possibilities of theater, they would merely purchase the published play from a bookstore, and not subject themselves to someone elses interpretation of the Bards masterful, and fully-canonized text. The relationship of a theater performance to the playwrights text in terms of aesthetic production is highly debatable, and the point in which the play ceases to become authentic to the playwright in its yielding to the creative disposition of the stage director is difficult to mark. Larry Gelbart, a Tony-Award winning playwright, an Emmy-Award winning television writer, and a screenwriter, when asked to comment on the differences between stage, television, and screen said this: Probably the most satisfying is theater, because there your work is considered yours and pretty much left alone. Its a collaboration as the other two are, of course, but theres less of a presumption that everybody knows better than you what you meant when you wrote the material. Its the first and probably the last refuge for the writer (Wolff & Cox 116). Though a playwright may feel far more empowered behind the scenes of a stage production of his or her own work versus being on the set of a film adaptation, as Gelbart suggests, the marriage between the stage director and the playwright in terms of

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stage production still remains elusive at best since the Fences that can be attended at a local high school may not necessarily be what August Wilson intended. For this reason, it would seem that academics have privileged the text over the production. As Walter Benjamin argues, The authenticity of a thing is the essence of all that is transmissible from its beginning, ranging from its substantive duration to its testimony to the history which it has experienced (Benjamin 221). By this reasoning, the academy in a Benjamin-like manner handles the stage text as if it more fully transmits the authentic playwright. Though the published play may have been mechanically reproduced by a printing press, or even a photo copy machine, it is almost as if academics suppose that more of the theatrical aura, to borrow a term from Benjamin resides in a copy of a stage text that is precisely transcribed and accessible in written form than what could possibly reside in any such performance that may be inspired by the text. This is not to say that critics would not consider a handwritten manuscript of Measure for Measure by Shakespeare more valuable than an edition published by Penguin Books; but it is to say that, in terms of literary merit, it is quite possible that the two texts would be rendered of equal worth to the literary community with one maintaining greater value only in terms of duration to its testimony to the history which it has experienced (Benjamin 221). Since the study of literature tends not to be based on a students access to original texts solely, but rather access to words and ideas of authors, even if conveyed by translation, the historical testimony of original texts has often been de-emphasized in favor of a more careful consideration of the aesthetic merit that even a facsimile, like a printed paperback, can retain. Benjamin complicates his argument by stating, Since the historical testimony rests on the authenticity, the former, too, is jeopardized by reproduction when substantive duration

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ceases to matter (Benjamin 221). In this particular instance, the former refers to the essence of all that is transmissible from [a work of arts] beginning (Benjamin 221). Since substantive duration or the amount of time that a text has been around does not seem to matter to a canon that can produce literary criticism of Lorraine Hansberrys A Raisin in the Sun just as readily as for an Aristophanes trilogy, there must be some sort of unbroken connection with the authors own words that canonization is invested in. In this respect, the Shakespeare of the text is more authentic than the Shakespeare of todays stage. Perhaps the sixteenth-centurys stage could have offered the most authentic Shakespeare yet, but a lack of mechanical reproduction of those performances prevents the access to determine whether or not this could be so. Besides, the difficulties that contemporary playwrights encounter on todays stage, even in the age of mechanical reproduction, reinforces the notion of the authentic playwrights presence in the stage text. But if literary critics are only interested in stage plays in relation to their textual merit; i.e., language, character, plot, verbal authenticity, and all of the various other qualities for which the poem, the short story, and the novel have been praised; true Drama would lose its privileged position in the literary canon. Though Drama can be read or performed, theoretically, so can most any other form of literature. Dialogue in novels can be performed aloud by readers, and actions can be acted out if the reader so desires. The sonnet can be recited in an attempt to woo the lover, and the short story can be played out very often just as easily as a stage performance. The lack of proximity of location and props might make this explanation seem ridiculous, at first. But stage texts dont come off the presses with their locations and props either. While one might argue that the stage play exists as a genre more conducive to performance because of the

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style in which it is written, what is conducive versus what is not conducive still remains a matter of relativity. Without question, it is conceivable to have a novel or short story that is more easily translated into a dramatic production than a stage text, so in this way, in purely textual terms, the stage play is more limited than other literary forms. The fact is that stage texts are not studied merely for their textual merit because the potential for Drama that can occur on a stage, ironically enough, is highly valued among literary critics. Aristotle claims that, Epic poets were succeeded by Tragedians, since the drama was a larger and higher form of art (Aristotle 7). While Andre Bazin says this: Drama is the soul of theater but this soul sometimes inhabits other bodies. A sonnet, a fable of La Fontaine, a novel, a film can owe their effectiveness to what Henri Gouhier calls the dramatic categories. From this point of view it is useless to claim autonomy for the theater. Either that, or we must show it to be something negative. That is to say a play cannot be dramatic while a novel is free to be dramatic or not. Of Mice and Men is simultaneously a novel and a model tragedy. On the other hand, it would be very hard to adapt Swanns Way for the theater. One would not praise a play for its novel-like qualities yet one may very well congratulate a novelist for being able to structure an action (Bazin 81). Bazin rightly notes the existence of certain novel-like qualities inherent in other formats, and likewise, there exists certain qualities unique to the text written for the stage. But Bazin continues, if we insist that the dramatic is exclusive to theater, we must concede its immense influence and also that the cinema is the least likely of the arts to escape this influence. At this rate, half of literature and three quarters of the existing films are branches of theater (Bazin 81-82). So then if half of literature and three

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quarters of film is theater in terms of drama, the screenplay at the very least could be considered a [branch] of theater based on dramatic merit, and thus be deemed admissible into the literary canon based on its relationship to the theater. One might argue, however, that stage plays are not canonized for their dramatic merit. Being closer to poetry, some sort of appeal to the usage of language might be offered in the stage plays defense. But if a successful divorce between the drama of the stage and the verse of the plays dialogue can be effectively argued, the study of theater is rendered impotent and impossible. To study stage plays independent of stage production would be a fruitless enterprise if the end were to come to an understanding of theater. The text does not become fully realized as theater until it is performed before an audience. Yet, throughout the past few centuries of scholarship, one finds both student and teacher alike pouring through the stage text as if it unlocked some sort of mystical door to a full realization of theater, or even more erroneously the aesthetic essence of the human artist. Lauded by The New York Times, The New Yorker, The Boston Globe, and more appropriately The Wall Street Journal, Harold Bloom argues in his fascinating Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human that before Shakespeare, literary characters remained static, evolving only in an external relationship to the gods or God. However, Bloom insists that after Shakespeare, literary characters achieved individualism and first began to develop in relation to themselves, asserting that there are more Hamlets than actors to play them (Bloom xxi). According to Bloom, Shakespeares work highlights humanity most accurately because it is Shakespeare who, through his theatrical literature in true Wildean fashion, even before Oscar Wilde invented the human by turning the human into an aesthetic. According to Bloom, in Shakespeares texts one can discover an art so

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infinite that it contains us, and will go on enclosing those likely to come after us making fiction more real than reality, and rightly so in Wildean terms where [t]he first duty in life is to be as artificial as possible (Bloom xxi, Wilde 572). Being also the author of a text entitled The Western Canon, it is important to note that as a scholar and critic of English literature, Harold Bloom when considering Shakespeares stage plays, and thus the literary potential for stage texts in general, states: The plays remain the outward limit of human achievement: aesthetically, cognitively, in certain ways morally, even spiritually. They abide beyond the end of the minds reach; we cannot catch up to them. Shakespeare will go on explaining us, in part because he invented us [. . .] (Bloom xixxx). It is interesting to note that Shakespeare accomplishes this and Bloom comes to recognize this without the aid of any particular stage production. So from a canonical perspective, Blooms assertions support this being the aim of the stage text. Supposing that it is the similarities of the stage play to other forms of literature for which it has bound up an irrefutable place in the literary canon, an inventory of those similarities must then be made. Aristotle in his Poetics insists that art must represent objects through the medium of colour and form, by way of rhythm, language, or harmony, either singly or combined (Aristotle 1). One of the earliest treatises on fine art, Aristotle discusses poetry in terms of tragedy and comedy, finally concluding that the epic tragedy must be the higher form of art because it more perfectly in its presentation of beginning, middle, and end evokes both fear and pity in the absence of spectacle, that is, by merely being read. It is useful to note that while Tragedys essence existed in epic poetry, as well as in the theater of the fourth century

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B.C., Aristotelian reasoning privileges not the performance of tragedy whose spectacle is deemed the least artistic, and connected least with the art of poetry, but rather, the reading of it (Aristotle 13). Certainly the academy has clung to much of Aristotles thought process in the compilation of the literary canon, and such emphasis on the legible stage text remains consistent with the primary disciple of the academys founder. But how does this thought process justify the exclusion of the screenplay? Like poetry, having meaning whether read silently or aloud, the screenplay employs rhythm, tune, and metre (Aristotle 2). If, as Aristotle suggests, conversational speech runs into iambic lines more frequently than into any kind of verse, the screenplay with its replete array of all manners of dialects and speech patterns becomes a virgin canvas for the poet of verse or prose (Aristotle 8). When Jules first recites Ezekiel 25:17 in Scene 8 of Tarantinos screenplay, the poetic potential of the screenplay has been skillfully interwoven into the text on many levels. First, Ezekiel 25:17 of the Hebrew Bible only consists of one line: I will carry out great vengeance on them and punish them in my wrath. Then they will know that I am the LORD, when I take vengeance on them. (New International Version, Ezek. 25.17). Yet in his screenplay Tarantino writes:

JULES Theres a passage I got memorized, seems appropriate for this situation: Ezekiel 25:17. The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brothers keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and

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This is an example of a screenwriter creating verse, and exercising what William Blake termed, Poetic Genius (Blake 35). There is no such Scripture to be found anywhere in the Bible that reads like this. It is a poetic invention of verse on the part of Tarantino via the persona of Jules Winnfield. Tarantino has thus, like the director of Shakespeare fully aware of the liberties of public domain, taken a public literary source and made it his own. Not only has he fictionalized the Bible text through his character Jules, but also through his own role as a screenwriter. It would be inaccurate to say that Tarantino has merely misquoted the Bible text, because the fictional context prevents one from fully knowing the intent of this pseudo-reference. It would be more accurate to concede that through the persona of Jules, Tarantino has effectively aestheticized and made pulp, a sacred text via his screenplay text. Bear in mind that this process occurs fully on the page, even before Samuel Jackson comes to interpret the character. In fact, I only mention Samuel Jacksons performance, and thus the production of the film, in order to augment the production of the film as superfluous to my argument. If there are more Hamlets to be played than there are actors, certainly there is more than one Jules Winnfield, who after being noted in the screenplay as wearing a cheap black suit with a thin black tie under a long green duster is merely described by Tarantino as black (Pulp Fiction, Scene 2, pp. 7). Even if one erroneously concedes that Shakespeare was the first to define an art so infinite that it contains us, and will go on enclosing those likely to come after us, it would be difficult to contend with the screenplays ability to do the very same (Bloom xxi). In fact, if a single film as a single interpretation of a given screenplay successfully

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endures beyond its own historical context, it too becomes an explanation of what is human. As a screenplay, this explanation remains infinitely complex and variable, depending on a director or readers vision. As a film, mechanically-reproducible and accessible, this interpretation of the screenplay text is more convincing than anything Shakespeare has managed to contrive. Not necessarily in terms of aesthetics, but, at least in terms of the power to persuade. No doubt, film invades the consciousness of a popular culture in a far more thorough and ubiquitous way than canonized literature. Certainly, Hamlet has become in Wildean terms, a real person who never existed, but who is to say five centuries from now whether Hamlet or Jules Winnfield will emerge the more prevalent version of the human aesthetic. One need only study the James Bond phenomenon to note cinema, and thus the screenplays effectiveness in terms of mythmaking. (Granted, Bond first existed as a literary character, but it has certainly been the film series which debuted in 1962 and not Ian Fleming, who died in 1964, that has mostly been responsible for Bonds international appeal.) In this way, not only is Tarantino a poet, who cared not for consequences but wrote, so is Jules, making light of Ezekiel, the prophet whom William Blake likens to a poet in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, in a similar manner by likewise putting words into the prophets mouth (Blake 35). Yet, where Blakes work lays claim to beauty of form by way of text, verse, prose, and picture, through the text of the screenplay both Tarantino and Jules merge as poets, forging a poesis through character, drama, dialogue, verse, prose, action, and the imagination. In this aesthetic collaboration, Tarantino and Jules revise the prophets text, who by his own admission, according to Blake, failed to see the need for such revision since none of equal value was lost (Blake 35). One can only assume that Blake asserts this not only as Ezekiels defense of his texts that remain

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in the Biblical canon, but also as a defense of the words and phrases of these texts. Unquestionably, Ezekiel would have had a problem with both Blake and Tarantino altering the word of God. In this particular instance, Tarantino has reenacted Blakes controversial project with an entirely new genre of literary text. In religious terms, such innovation may be blasphemous, but in artistic terms, such is the essence of grace, enabling screenplays then to be tributaries of the Poetic Genius (Blake 35). However, in addition to the screenplays content, the screenplays form in terms of Poetic Genius ought to enhance its critical attention. There are, again, some arts which employ all the means above mentioned,--namely, rhythm, tune, and metre, states Aristotle, privileging language and its usage in his assessment of poetic and literary art (Aristotle 2). The means above mentioned that Aristotle refers to has imposed a sort of standard for literature, and a poet or makers employment of these rhythmical, melodic, and metrical devices has proven crucial to a poets subsequent canonical placement. Although the screenplay as an art form had yet to be invented in Aristotles day, it is undeniable that as a format it too employs rhythm, pacing, and metre. While a screenplay in general may lack tune, even the musical screenplay as a genre proves to be an exception to this rule. Further, if a screenplay is read aloud or acted out, dialogue can still take on a melodic quality. Tarantino is fully aware of this fact, and makes use of it from the very first page of his script by actually providing direction for how certain lines should be read. Though it is possible to reference Tarantinos screenplay directly as evidence for this, Polans citation of this scene direction is more useful. While he does reference Tarantinos screenplay, stating were told on the first page that Honey Bunny and Pumpkins dialogue is to be said in a rapid His Girl Friday style, the context of this

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reference still fails to escape the films production. Two full-color frame enlargements from the 1994 film impose upon this particular page, forcing Polans written text toward the bottom of the page (Polan 22). In fact, while Polan considerately references the film throughout his book by way of frame enlargements instead of staged production stills, he does not bother to maintain the 12-point Courier font that the official Hollywood screenplay format requires when citing Tarantinos screenplay. A film purist he may be, but certainly not in terms of the authenticity of the screenplay text. So while this screenplay reference may be useful, in terms of emphasis, it is clear that Polans investment in his analysis of Pulp Fiction hinges on the film and not the screenplay (Polan 22). But he is not alone. With little exception, the screenplay is rarely referenced independent of production considerations, and I have yet to encounter a commentary on a screenplay that ignores its film adaptation. Yet, if or when this process takes place in literary studies, it would then be possible for a screenwriter to create a screenplay as an art form that need not be produced by Hollywood for millions of dollars. The only necessary tools for this aesthetic production would be paper and a word processor. Pen or pencil would not suffice since as David Trottier observes in terms of the screenplay format: Heres what is wanted: A good, old-fashioned PICA (for typewriters) or Courier 12-point, 10-pitch font with a ragged right margin [. . .] All of the examples in this format guidebook are in Courier so that they appear exactly the way they would appear in a script [. . .] Why all the fuss over a font? Because the 10-pitch font is easier on the eyes of industry people who read dozens of scripts every week. It also retains the one page equals one minute screen time industry standard (Trottier 112).

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A counter argument to this convention of form may emphasize how such an apparently minute detail like font in terms of the screenplay appeals to standard conventions of film production more so than writing and literature with the emphasis on screen time. Yet, there is no need to do away with these conventions completely since, in fact, a true screenplay, whether produced or not, ought to always present the potential for production. Granted, there are more screenplays written than will ever be produced, but these literary works of art need not only be considered by critics after a film has been adapted from them. There is a difference between a screenplay that could be produced versus a screenplay that must be produced. The screenplay that could be produced frees the screenwriter of budgetary, technological, creative, and even political constraints that almost always ensue from cinematic film production. It is exhilarating to consider how ingeniously the technique and form of screenwriting could be expanded, if the screenwriter only had to concern him or herself with the text, and not the constraining possibilities of production in an industry more controlled by capitalism than creativity or the beauty of form. If a screenplay like Pulp Fiction was worthy of Dana Polans criticism in his literary analysis be it ever so brief after its translation into film, it is fair to conclude that such merit existed in the text even prior to production. There are grave consequences for a canon that completely excludes the screenplay as a format, while promulgating textual analyses of films with script references that achieve nothing more than lip service. Since [a]ny man today can lay claim to being filmed, but any man cannot produce a film because of the economical burden of releasing the film to the general public, wealth privileges those who do the representing in film over those who are represented (Benjamin 231). In addition, most

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men, or women for that matter, cannot afford to make, market, and distribute a film. So even if the common man had fair access to the means of film production, his or her voice would still be co-opted by those capable of showcasing his art. Even in cases like Robert Rodriguez El Mariachi, which according to him only cost $7,000 to make, and can be rented from any local video store, marketing and distribution for this film after it was picked up by Columbia Pictures still cost over $1 million dollars (Rodriguez 176). Yet, Walter Benjamin further states about the contemporary world of publishing in which he lived that [a]t any moment the reader is ready to turn into a writer (Benjamin 232). While Benjamins conclusions serve to demonstrate the political advantages of mechanical reproduction, this notion has considerable implications for the screenplay, since as an aesthetic production, any man with knowledge of the form and a typewriter or word processor can write a screenplay. This may be oversimplifying the aesthetic process just slightly, but certainly a mere glance at the list of credits for a Hollywood film proves that it is easier to write a screenplay than to produce a film in terms of personnel, resources, and energy. Even so, in terms of literature, a screenplay text that surpasses a film text is still quite conceivable. That the screenplay for Pulp Fiction has more literary merit than the film print for Debbie Does Dallas may be a matter of opinion, but it would be an opinion held by most. After all, how many times has one heard it said that the film was not as good as the book? This common phrase supports the inherit privileging that even the public maintains for written texts over those that are visual. So if film as a format cannot always do a novel justice, it is within the realm of possibility that a film director will not always do a screenplay justice in his interpretation of it.

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Novels are published to be consumed by the public, but publication does not innately change the essence of a novel. Publication merely duplicates the printed material in order for larger masses of people to more readily consume it. Arguably, the only real difference between an unpublished novel and a published one is an ISBN number. So if a screenplay must be produced in order to be consumed by the public, then the screenplay must change forms to be consumed by the masses ceasing then to be words on paper, and rather becoming images of light and shadow; and cacophonies of music and dialogue; as conceived, often times, by another artist the director. Even in the case of Pulp Fiction, where the screenwriter and the director remain the same, Dana Polans analysis of the film only furthers the distinction between the film text and the screenplay text. However, being a playwright, a screenwriter, and film director myself, I understand that the process of writing and directing are very different, even if you have created both texts. The film is not a direct presentation of those words on paper, but rather a mechanically-reproduced interpretation of those words on paper that necessarily evolves independently of the written text. Thus, the screenplay is never really made public, but instead hermeneutically sealed within the confines of the films narrative. This phenomenon, even if the screenwriter and director are one in the same, produces a sacred-like document with a sacred aura, where only those in the cult of the film production itself have access to the true text prior to production. How many film scripts has even the most fanatical film fan ever read or had access to before the film was made? And even for every ten screenplays that have been published after the films production, of course there are one-hundred times that many, at least, that even the most connected and zealous of screenplay readers could never access. Not to mention the thousands of screenplays that never become films in the first place. It seems

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then that the viewer, like the plebian or neophyte of old, comes to be considered unworthy of dealing with the original text of the film called the screenplay. He or she is denied the opportunity to engage the screenplay text critically through his own distraction in a process that would create his own cinema of the mind (Benjamin 240). Colin Higgins, who wrote Harold and Maude and Silver Streak supports this notion: The job of the screenwriter is to run the film in the readers imagination. And nothing should get in the way of that [. . .] Good prose is the only way to have a reader envision an exciting film [. . .] The worse thing you can do is direct the film on paper [. . .] Its up to you to make [your screenplay] the most exciting, appealing, fun-filled reading experience possible. Theres nothing more boring to read than a shot-by-shot description of the action. When I write a script, I write in the best prose possiblewriting that will vividly create the film in the mind of the reader (Wolff & Cox 114). Unfortunately, these intended readers in the present state of the film industry tend to only be studio executives, actors, and directors. There is no truly public screenplay reader. There is the Hollywood insider, and there is the viewer-outsider forced to sit through a ceremony of mystery, ritual, spectacle, and interpretation, prepackaged, cut, and edited by the producer, the director, and for all intensive purposes. . .the priest. So while Benjamin argues that for the first time in world history, mechanical reproduction emancipates the work of art from its parasitical dependence on ritual he is only partially correct, because the screenplay a mechanically-reproducible work of art in its own right has already been tampered with and reconstructed in its process of being filmed (Benjamin 224). While it may be

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true that [w]ith the emancipation of the various art practices from ritual go increasing opportunities for the exhibition of their products, film certainly has not brought forth this emancipation completely because the screenplay has no public exhibition (Benjamin 225). Hollywood makes sure of this: The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Science Building at 8949 Wilshire Blvd. in Beverly Hills (278-8990) has a library on the 4th Floor that is open to the public for reading and study. Hundreds of produced screenplays are available for your perusal on the premises (they cannot be checked out). There is no charge, but your drivers license must be left with the librarian while you take your script to your table (Wolff & Cox 105). Hundreds may seem like a lot, but Hollywood produces over a hundred films each year, so, in fact, of the thousands upon thousands of films that have been made this century the average Blockbuster video store alone probably carries at least 5,000 titles the reality is that not many screenplays that have been written are actually available even in places like the UCLA Theater Arts Library, where scripts cannot be checked out, and reference cards are required even for mere reading access (Wolff & Cox 105). Note the security with which screenplays are protected so that a reader must leave their drivers license with the librarian, proving that even when scripts can be read, they cannot be possessed. This example solidifies Hollywoods apparent overprotection of their own screenplays, pinpointing their own contribution to the formats exclusion from the canon. Even so-called screenplays available on websites such as www.script-orama.com do not always feature screenplays in their original formats, but rather transcriptions, that in some cases, are not even penned by screenwriters, but by

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overeager fans transcribing their cinematic experience as they watch the film. There is always an inherent risk in relying on the internet for authentic screenplays that is, for screenplay texts of films that have already been produced. For unproduced screenplays, on the other hand, the internet, may indeed be the future. If the screenplay has no public exhibition, neither does the common person, since the process of screenwriting is far more accessible than the process of filmmaking. Benjamin supposes that in terms of film, with the different methods of technical reproduction of a work of art, its fitness for exhibition increase[s] to such an extent that the quantitative shift between its two poles turn[s] into a qualitative transformation of its nature, but this is only true if one supposes that the aesthetic production begins with the director, and not the screenwriter (Benjamin 225). If aesthetic production begins with the former the director fitness for exhibition remains rooted in quantitative notions of marketing and economics. Yet, even when aesthetic production begins with the latter the screenwriter the qualitative still remains compromised, because, at present, only the formers work is mechanically reproduced frequently enough to meet with critical assessment whether quantitative or qualitative. The screenplay has much more potential than the film to exist independent of marketing pressures. The screenplay can thus have more freedom to be intrinsically aesthetic, because in and of itself, the screenplay can be created written, produced, and even published outside of far less commercial considerations than the film that inevitably will cost exponentially more to mechanically reproduce, distribute, and exhibit. Why then has the film arrived at literary analysis prior to its more literary form? Early films like Workers Leaving the Factory and LArroseur arrose (1895) did not have a screenplay, and early silent films like The Great Train Robbery (1903) and The Life of an

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American Fireman (1902) by definition lacked screenplays (Bordwell and Thompson 452455). They merely had scripts brief descriptions of the action to be photographed with perhaps a note of captions to be cut in later. It was only after the advent of sound in 1927 with The Jazz Singer, that screenplay became a viable term, being in fact a play, as in stage play, for the screen. Yet, as an aesthetic production, the screenplay does not become the equivalent of the unproduced film. Film existed before the screenplay. But practically, in the making of a film today, the screenplay must exist before the film, and therefore exist after it. Yes, there are tales of films that began before the script was finished, or scripts that were changed as production continued. But what of the screenplay that remains in the Poetic Genius of the screenwriter, that is not compromised by the tradition of filmmaking, which eventually must be considered separately from the screen text if the dimensions of cinema are to expand beyond the corporate multiplex? It is very probable that many screenplays of notable literary value will never be produced as films. Therefore, a vast amount of deserving literature will never receive the critical attention it is due. This is not to say that only unproduced screenplays can be evaluated critically. Even the produced screenplay can still be considered after its film production and utterly independent of it. While this process may seem improbable or difficult, as Polans treatment of Pulp Fiction suggests, it cannot be forgotten that this occurs as commonplace in terms of theater criticism, and its canonical assessment by the academy. Though both the stage play and the film are dramatic works intimately linked to commercialization, production, performance, and audience in terms of their ultimate aesthetic relation to either viewer or reader, many stage texts have been studied to the

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point of establishing firm roots within the academic and critical canon, independent of any of these production or commercial considerations. The converse is true with the screenplay. On the one hand, the literary canon positions the screenplay outside of literature because of its dependence on technology, via the mass-produced apparatus of cinema. On the other hand, the stage play has been privileged among literary history from Aristophanes to Shakespeare to August Wilson. However, at every historical point the stage play has relied on modes of production and technology. In fact, it could be argued that the stage play depends on technology even more so than the screenplay because no two stage performances are exact. The nuances of technology manifested in differences of production, lighting, venue, and budget rely heavily on technological constraints. For example, Broadways rendition of Jesus Christ Superstar would no doubt differ greatly from the production of a local high school in terms of technology, though the text both directors would be using might be identical. This technological difference holds true for stage texts that are produced over long periods of time, as well, because technology is constantly advancing, and these advances inevitably will play out in theatrical technique and presentation. Thus, technology and production actually inform the plays presentation to its audience more intensely since these factors play themselves out almost infinitely when considering the many nuances of multiple theater productions of a single text versus the exactness with which a cinema performance of a screenplay can be reproduced. The exact reproduction of screenplay performances facilitates a process that can separate the film script from its production because, unlike in theater, a clear, tangible distinction between the film production and the film script can be made and reproduced for consumption. In other words, this distinction would be the difference between the

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screenplay and the actual film. Because stage performances cannot be studied by those who are not initially present at the performance in any direct or specific way, the stage text rather than the production has been fetishized and studied as the privileged technology of study. Because film performances can be studied by those not initially present during a films theatrical release and because anyone who sees a film ultimately becomes its audience the screenplay possesses a unique relationship to its mode of production. Technology allows for the production of a screenplay, and therefore, the film itself, to be studied in specific ways that theater productions, because of their multivalent, subjective, temporal, and elusive natures cannot be. While these same adjectives may be applied to cinema, the difference is that when two critics discuss a film, they are discussing the same film in terms of the empirical experience of light and shadow and sound as it is recorded by strips of celluloid acetate, video, or digital disc. Unfortunately, it is this very access to the screenplays film production that has justified its exclusion from the literary canon in its more basic written form, the screenplay itself. However, by examining how this exclusion has occurred, a motion towards the revision of the literary canon can be made. In this way, just as critics have considered literature in terms of language, and theater in terms of Drama, etc., the screenplay, a hybrid of both, can in the future be analyzed by way of its own unique, aesthetic merits. Like the stage play, the screenplay can be dramatic both in the general sense, and in the more Aristotelian sense. Though in the contemporary, Drama has come to be regarded as a genre, or style of literature, Aristotle conceived it more as a necessary quality for the tragedy. Like the Aristotelian stage play, the screenplay too, has vividness of impression in reading as well as in representation, but unlike the stage play, the screenplay can be cinematic (Aristotle 59).

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Walter Benjamin notes about the stage play, The artistic performance of a stage actor is definitely presented to the public by the actor in person; that of the screen actor, however, is presented by a camera, with a twofold consequence (Benjamin 228). But this supposition is turned on its head by the screenplay where there is still no accessible actor but like in the novel, a character is instead imagined in the minds eye yet unlike in the novel, and more like in the short story as argued by Edgar Allan Poe, the character can be engaged as an integral whole at one sitting (Benjamin 228). When Benjamin insists that in film the actors performance is presented by means of a camera, and that the audience takes the position of the camera it is useful to realize that the screenplay is the only literary form where, while there is no actual photographic device present, the narrative still proceeds as if there were (Benjamin 228). In this way, while a novel can be cinematic with its various perspectives, extended timelines, and multiple settings, it is far less likely that a stage play would be considered cinematic. However, because of the traditions of its form, the screenplay is the only fully cinematic form of written literature. Even if merely read, the screenplay exists as one of the most open forms of literature. While traditionally meant to be read in only two hours or so, this is merely a convention. Once the screenplay comes to be read independent of the parameters of production or exhibition, it is feasible that a screenplay could possess the literary potential to be as dense as a novel in terms of plot and character development. That a screenplay reader takes on the perspective of a camera while still being engaged in a written genre complicates notions of literary form and audience in fantastic ways. Pulp Fiction, with its non-linear narrative, and multiple-story lines treads on this potential only slightly. There is so much more that can be accomplished with the screenplay in terms of aesthetic production.

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Some directors have said that the film itself is the last draft of the screenplay. Other directors have mused that films are never completed, but only abandoned because a film can always be re-edited, changed, or tweaked, infinitely. If this is true, then the last draft of the screenplay is never truly completed, only abandoned by a particular director, or interpreter. But what happens if that screenplay falls into the hands of another? Whether they are merely reading the screenplay text, or intending to produce their own version of that screenplay, this dilemma lends credence to the notion of the screenplay as an aesthetic production. Pulp Fiction is a screenplay, an aesthetic work that is semi-canonized on its merits as a film as illustrated through Dana Polans British Film Institute project. The screenplay for this film has even been published in various editions, and yet when this work is considered critically, direct reference to the actual screenplay text remains minimal. This effectively demonstrates the exclusivity of the literary canon, even when both the film and screenplay are accessible and considered by many to be cinematic masterpieces. The publication of certain screenplays over others, already seems to be making some sort of move towards a kind of canonization. But the screenplay itself, as a style of literature poses canonical possibilities from which more innovative texts can be studied and created. Like the film, the screenplay too is cinematic. So why must a screenwriters text be produced as a film before it can be studied? The film is already a study of the screenplay a project of interpretation, taken on by the director. Why then are only directors backed by major studios, production companies, and big budgets, the only makers privileged enough to access the films screenplay text? Why not the intellectual? Why not the scholar, or the film student? Why not even the average

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moviegoer? Why must scripts be locked away in college libraries where IDs are demanded and collateral is expected? It is almost as if the screenplay has been guarded by Hollywood because they are aware of the genres intrinsic value as literature, as a true literary format, and as an aesthetic production. As Benjamin states, there is indeed no greater contrast than that of the stage play to a work of art that is completely subject to or, like the film, founded in, mechanical reproduction (Benjamin 230). Since the screenplay as a text somehow manages to split this difference, linking Drama and Literature in ways Oscar Wilde could only imagine, the screenplay proves to be the unique literary and textual negotiation of the greatest literary contrast. When the literary canon comes to accept this, then and only then, can the missing link of Literature move beyond the bill of the play.

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Allen 28 Works Cited Aristotle. Poetics. Mineola, New York: Dover Publications, 1997. Bazin, Andre. What is Cinema? Berkeley, CA: U of California P, 1967. Benjamin, Walter. Illuminations. New York: Schocken Books, 1969. Blake, William. The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. New York: Dover Publications, 1994. Bloom, Harold. Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human. New York: Riverhead Books, 1998. Bordwell, David and Kristin Thompson. Film Art: An Introduction. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1993. Literature. Oxford English Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1971. Polan, Dana. Pulp Fiction. London: BFI Publishing, 2000. Rodriguez, Robert. Rebel Without a Crew. New York: Penguin Books, 1995. Tarantino, Quentin. Pulp Fiction. New York: Miramax Books, 1994. Trottier, David. The Screenwriters Bible. Los Angeles: Silman-James P, 1998. Wilde, Oscar. The Major Works. Ed. Isobel Murray. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1989. Wolff, Jurgen & Kerry Cox. Successful Scriptwriting. Cincinnati, OH: Writers Digest Books, 1988.

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