Audun Engelstad - Playing The Producers Game Adaptation and Fidelity
Audun Engelstad - Playing The Producers Game Adaptation and Fidelity
25–39
doi:10.1093/adaptation/apx023
Advance Access publication January 2, 2018
Abstract This article addresses how film producers approach film adaptations through various
strategies, with its primary focus resting on the ‘who’ and ‘why’ of adaptation, and the possible
consequences on the ‘what’ and ‘how’. The study combines production studies with adaptation
studies. It thus takes the ‘adaptation industry’ as its interest, where the film industry, rather than
the book industry, is surveyed. More specifically, it is the film producer who is placed at the centre
of this study. The article aims to demonstrate that the often rejected notion of fidelity is in fact
essential to understanding how film producers approach film adaptations. The analysis draws
upon in-depth interviews with six key film producers in Norway.
Keywords: Fidelity, film producer, film adaptation, adaptation studies, production studies, pro-
ducer’s game.
*Department of Film and Television Studies, Inland Norway University of Applied Science. E-mail:
[email protected].
© The Author(s) 2018. Published by Oxford University Press. All rights reserved.
For permissions, please email: [email protected] 25
attracted independent investors and capital from other players in the cultural industries,
and audiences have been drawn back to the cinemas by popular domestic genre films,
which now routinely occupy a market share above 20%.
Yet in spite of all these other developments, the inclination to make films based on
books has not changed. The practice of adapting books to film still represents a sub-
stantial part of film production in Norway: Over past several decades, approximately
40% of Norwegian fiction films made for cinema are based on literary sources. Despite
annual fluctuations, this proportion is fairly consistent from year to year. This general
trend is in line with practice in a number of other western countries.1 Adaptations
remain one of the constant factors in film production.
However, it is still relevant to ask: What kinds of books are adapted and what are
these films recognized by? And not the least: How come these books were selected in
the first place? One might suspect that film adaptations—the preference for adapting
certain books over others, and with that, the strategic rationale governing a particular
film adaptation—have been affected by the changes in film production infrastructure.
In other words, that adaptations remain a constant within film production does not—
of course—necessarily mean that adapted films are not impacted by the industry sea
change. Yet it is also worth considering that the notion of what a film adaptation ought
to be is in fact quite fixed.
During the same period as the recent transformation of the film industry in a num-
ber of European countries, the field of adaptation studies itself has been completely
reinvigorated. We are now witnessing a proliferation of books, anthologies, and jour-
nals dedicated to the subject. This attention to the field stands in contrast to scholarly
disinterest in adaptation studies in 1990s, when neither film studies nor literature and
language studies seemed to care much for topics related to adaptation. In its new itera-
tion, adaptation studies have advocated a break from earlier approaches, in particular
from the notion of fidelity, and instead favour a move towards contextual/transtextual
approaches. In their introduction to Literature on Screen, Cartmell and Whelehan address
the importance of expanding the scope of adaptation studies, and point to several
somewhat neglected areas—among them, the film and television industries themselves,
which the authors note are a ‘vital dimension of literature on screen studies’ (4). Ten
years later, this area remains relatively absent from adaptation studies.
A focus on the production side of adaptation will help shed light on why certain
books are chosen for adaptation and not others, the functions adaptations fulfil from
a producer’s standpoint, and what governs the thinking behind an adaptation. This
article will combine perspectives from adaptation studies and production studies, and
thus move the focus of critical conversation about fidelity from the director and the
author to the film producer. To some extent, this represents a shift from an aesthetic to
a pragmatic understanding of fidelity. Bringing these two fields of study together—with
a particular focus on adaptation at six Norwegian film companies—will shed new light
on the ideas and processes that govern the adaptation of novels into films. One of the
insights that production studies might bring to adaptation studies is that the idea of
fidelity is still regarded as highly germane. As will be argued in the conclusion, fidelity in
this context encompasses more than making aesthetic evaluations; it also entails notions
about what an adaptation should look like in terms of content and form.
The film industry’s consistent turn to literature as source material has typically been
approached in two ways. Traditionally, adaptation studies has emphasized artistic con-
siderations, where a particular set of qualities held by the source text is regarded as
interesting, attractive, and/or challenging. Literature on film and media management,
on the other hand, argues that literary adaptation reduces financial and creative risks—
money is saved because the story has already been developed, and tested and tried with
an audience. An approach centred in production studies will enable us to bring in other
considerations. Although not a coherent field, production studies takes an interest in the
processes that go into the development, production, and distribution of film and televi-
sion programs, and the ways in which production companies are organized, as well as
the modes of conduct that shape decision making (Lotz, Making Media Work). In the
words of Banks, ‘production studies scholarship explores the process of production and
the intricate webs of collaboration that are far more complex than those suggested by
the terms “media maker” or “media making”’ (118). An industry adaptation approach
will thus not only take an interest in the film producer, but also look at how the producer
engages with other actors within the field, such as the screenwriter and the director, the
distributors, the literary agents, the funding bodies that support the various projects, as
well as their responses to policy systems.
Lotz, Making Media Work, has pinpointed the study of creative media managers as
particularly helpful if we are to understand how such individuals play a meaningful
role in the production of creative goods. The position adaptations hold within the film
industry can be organized according to the various levels identified by Lotz, Production
Studies, ranging from political contexts to individual agents. At a macro level, we might
regard adaptations as a response to ideas about national heritage and cultural iden-
tity, as these are expressed, for example in policy papers. Micro-level analysis, on the
other hand, is narrowly focused, paying attention to particular organizations, individual
agents, and individual productions. A micro-level study of adaptations engages ques-
tions about how production companies develop business relationships, their production
strategies, and the role of serendipity in generating new project ideas. With its small-
and medium-sized production companies, as well as a willingness among industry play-
ers at all levels to share information, the Norwegian film industry serves as a rewarding
area for conducting production studies.2
observations about the aesthetic traditions and devices governing literature and cin-
ema. Much can be learned about the nature of literature and film by probing ‘what
novels can do that films can’t and vice versa’, as Chatman has argued. Comparing
novels and films in which the story itself remains fairly consistent makes it possible to
recognize the different conditions underlying literature and film. Some of these differ-
ences have to do with the inherent qualities of the two media, while other differences
relate to issues of production and distribution. Leitch has identified several fallacies that
a compare-and-contrast method can evoke. Still, this method is useful for assessing dif-
ferences and nuances between forms of storytelling, whether these differences are based
on conventions or media format. There is no reason to leave this text-oriented tradition
behind when expanding the field of study.
In their new incarnations, both adaptation studies and narratology pay more atten-
tion to context, by widening their engagement with other fields and new theoretical
concepts. With proponents of ‘revisionist adaptation studies’ (DeBona 2), also described
as ‘new wave’ (Murray, The Adaptation Industry 9), calling for new approaches and
perspectives, there is a need for a broader scope to adaptation studies—for the field to
open up and recognize how particular texts circulate across different media platforms
and in different contexts; to see how franchise products, of which the book is only one
of many, manifest themselves within popular culture; to look into how adapted films
are advertised and reviewed, and the effect this in turn will have on the understanding
of the source text; and to take into account the interrelated commercial and industrial
aspects of film production and publishing.
Two central strands can be identified within the revisionist interest in adaptation. On
one side, there is a turn away from the text-to-text approach to an engagement with
the notion of a dynamic exchange of multiple texts, as outlined by Bakhtin, Barthes,
Kristeva, and Genette. Various notions of intertextuality, appropriation, remediation,
trans- and intermediality, and other terms that relate to what Andrew has characterized
as ‘the horizontal network of neighboring texts’ (28), are applied to dissect the textual
interchange in which works of adaptation partake. Such analysis might look at how a
popular literary character is remoulded as it circulates (and is recycled) within multiple
strands of popular culture. Just as the myth of Batman or Jesse James is reinvented
for every film, so too are Darcy, Anna Karenina, Lisbeth Salander, Othello, and other
iconic figures shaped and reshaped by each film’s version of their story, by actors’ star
personae, and by magazine cover stories and fan blogs as much as they are by the
source text.
On the other side, there is the strand that focuses on what Murray (“Materializing
Adaptation Theory”) has called a ‘materializing adaptation theory’. This theoretical
approach demands a move away from formalist aesthetic evaluations in favour of an
engagement with theories of cultural production. Research engaging this approach
addresses topics such as the symbiosis between certain bestselling authors and the film
industry (e.g. John Grisham), the work of literary agents (who negotiate rights), the
effect a movie has on the sales figures of the source book (tie-ins), and the cultural pres-
tige that comes with adapting a prize-winning novel (e.g. The English Patient). Such stud-
ies of the ‘contemporary literary adaptation ecosystem’ (7) seem to be positioned in the
intersection between media studies and literary criticism, and have found less footing
among film scholars. In this line of work, the industry studied tends (so far) to be that of
literature, not film production. While production studies has become a significant field
within film and television departments, little scholarly attention has been paid to how
and why certain books (and not others) are chosen for adaptation, the process of mak-
ing a film adaptation, or the ancillary objectives a film adaptation might accomplish.
Industry adaptation studies offer a relevant approach to cover that gap.
This following section of this article will sketch out some of the methodological
considerations relevant to industry adaptation studies, before moving on to a case study
of the Norwegian film industry. It takes up some of the questions raised by the second
strand of revisionist adaptation studies, as it deals with the engagement of film produc-
ers in the adaptation industry. The discussion to follow is underpinned by the idea that
the film producer is the main mover within the film industry, a point neglected in much
of film theory (Spicer et al.). As will become evident, the question of fidelity remains an
important matter in adaptation practice. In fact, fidelity might even be regarded as a
key factor in understanding why certain books are selected for adaptation.
some very valuable insights about film narratology can transpire from a comparative
approach, such as questions of how we make meanings about events when they are told
(in writing) and when they are shown (by moving images). Media essence is still central
to how stories are communicated and perceived. But with respect to artistic agency and
intentionality, the manifest aesthetic trait—that is what we see on the screen—could just
as well have emerged accidentally or spontaneously during the artistic process, or other
people in the process could be responsible, such as the screenwriter, the film editor, the
cinematographer, the actor, or the producer.
The producer’s game, in turn, has entirely different rules. While the critic’s game by
nature consists of making theoretical assessments drawn from a list of existing films, the
producer’s game is concerned with the outcome of future film productions, and runs
something like this: (1) Study the art section or trade magazines for interviews, book
reviews, and sales charts; attend public readings at libraries and book festivals; and
arrange meetings with editors and literary agents. (2) Find a title that can appeal to a
target audience at the movies (broad or niche) and acquire the rights. (3) Estimate pro-
duction costs and requirements. (4) Hire a screenwriter and a director with the desired
artistic qualities to develop the production. (5) Start marketing the film, emphasizing its
most potent selling points—which may not always be the source book or its author. (6)
For the next film, start all over again and repeat each step.
This formula is by no means an extensive depiction of the process that goes into
a film production, and not every film adaptation follows steps (1) to (6) of the pro-
ducer’s game (although quite a few do). Nonetheless, the formula serves to illustrate
that the producer is usually not concerned with making aesthetic evaluations based on
thorough textual analysis and an artistic vision. In other words, to translate a novel’s
characteristics into film is not a producer’s primary concern, at least not initially. Where
adaptation studies is concerned, the key interest in playing the producer’s game is to
discuss how the film producer engages with the literary field—as both reader and media
manager—and to look at the processes and strategies that are at play when a book is
optioned and turned into a feature film. We might then learn why film producers are
attracted to certain books.
Naremore has famously called for bringing sociology to adaptation studies, to
more closely examine, among other things, the latter’s commercial apparatus. Such
an approach would move adaptation studies away from its strictly textual terrain and
toward the centre of media studies. Murray’s response (The Adaptation Industry) to
this call deals with what she considers the material phenomenon of the adaptation
industry, and the cultural production involved therein. What tends to be overlooked,
according to Murray, is an examination of the how and the why from the perspectives
of those responsible for making adaptations happen—authors, agents, publishers, edi-
tors, book-prize committees, screenwriters, directors, and producers. Her chapter on
the close interplay and cross-fertilization between the institution of literary prizes (the
Booker Prize in particular) and the film industry is impressively rich. Here, she demon-
strates how important the prestige of the prize is for the film and how, in return, the film
adaptation secures the long tail of the book. This might sound self-evident, but Murray
demonstrates how the key players involved—prize committee members, literary agents,
and film distributors—operate strategically to secure this profitable loop.
Murray’s penetrating investigation of the different players and arenas of the adapta-
tion industry ends with a somewhat cursory depiction of the role of the producer. Her
focus is on how books are paired up with potential film industry decision-makers, and
the mutual benefits that might transpire from this in terms of audience engagement,
sales figures, and prestige. However, Murray’s study does not address why it might be
desirable to adapt a particular book in the first place. Adaptation studies would benefit
from a closer consideration of the perspectives informing the decision-making pro-
cesses behind film adaptations as, too often, the producer’s point of view is left out.4
With the recent reinvigoration of adaptation studies, it is time to consider more
closely producers’ varying strategies toward adaptation. Questions to consider include:
Why do film producers regard adaptations as advantageous? How do producers ori-
ent themselves within the literary field? Why is a specific book chosen for adaptation,
and who initiates the selection process? Are there certain sought-after qualities the
book should possess? What are the merits the producer envisions for the adapted film?
At what point in the development process do a director and a screenwriter become
involved? Does the producer have other strategic interests in mind beyond producing
the film? Is it easier to secure funding when the film in question is based on a well-
known book? This is, of course, just a sampling of questions pertinent to a producer-
oriented approach to adaptation studies.
meaning is attached to the story-world is conceived as fixed and pre-given. Most of the
literary texts are also characterized by a straightforward style of writing.
The kinds of literature most of these novels represent are usually seen as easily adapt-
able to the film medium, where the adaptation process merely consists of transposing
characters, events, and setting from one medium to another. These elements of the nar-
rative form the backbone of the story and, as McFarlane has argued, preserving them
is a given in any faithful adaptation. It is, of course, never that easy—not every novel
can be a blueprint for a film script. Adaptation also inevitably demands considerable
changes, as well as choices with respect to style and narrative scope. Still, most of the
literary texts apply a kind of zero-degree style of writing—that is straightforward and
with little ornamentation—that is easily transposed to a conventional style of classical
storytelling for film. In addition, the cultural item—the story with all of its flavour—can
be seen as pre-sold, as it is already well known to some of the anticipated audience.
Of the novels and short stories adapted in Norway in recent years, some very few
can be identified with a modernist tradition of aesthetically or thematically challeng-
ing literature, or what Barthes calls writerly texts. This is a kind of text that tends to
draw attention to how it is written, that uses a specific language and self-conscious
commentary, demanding the reader work things out and provide meaning. Mostly, the
films adapted from these artistically ambitious texts undergo what Stam has called aes-
thetic mainstreaming: ‘In the name of mass-audience legibility, the novel is “cleansed”
of moral ambiguity, narrative interruption, and reflexive mediation’ (43).5 A notable
Norwegian example is Nikolaj Frobenius’ novel Theory and Practice (2004), with a film
version directed by Jens Lien. Some elements of the story depart considerably from the
novel, and the novel’s experimental style—it is equipped with semi-autobiographical
footnotes and photos of the author—is not carried over to the film. Instead sequences
with a humorous touch are added, and the adaptation is given the title Sons of Norway
(2004). However, it was Frobenius himself, in collaboration with Lien, who initiated the
project and developed the screenplay.
Broadly speaking, it may seem that, for the film producer, the process of optioning
novels is guided by risk avoidance, and that some kind of surefire formula for making
adaptations can be applied. Producers find adaptations desirable, this line of thinking
goes, because, as von Rimscha has pointed out, using literary sources minimizes the
time-consuming activity of developing new story ideas, which reduces the creative as
well as financial risks. While it might be true that the considered risks are lower than
with original scripts, actual costs do not seem to decrease. The average cost of an adap-
tation in Norway is no less than that of a film with an original script, both with respect
to development and production. This suggests that financial considerations alone can-
not explain the producers’ interest in adaptations.
When producers are asked to describe their business strategies and priorities with
respect to adaptations, their explanations indicate several determining factors. In refer-
ring to specific projects in development, the producers explained their choices in terms
of the merits of an individual book. They would remark, for example, that ‘the audi-
ence is ready’ for a particular story (Filmkameratene); or ‘it is about time’ a book was
brought to the screen (4 1/2); or that ‘we lack’ a particular kind of film today (Paradox).
And while they might admit that a well-known name was usually important in their
decision to pick one book over another—it made it less strenuous to secure funding—
this hardly ever seemed to be the decisive factor that guided the choices they ultimately
made. The producers did not set out in search of bestsellers to adapt.
Good sales numbers, good reviews, and a match with our own taste; that is the ideal com-
bination. However, each project has a unique prehistory that has less to do with the actual
novel than with actual people and business opportunities. What the equation is missing, then,
is that we need directors and screenwriters who are willing to do adaptations. Someone has
to be interested in doing the projects. (Friland)
It is easy to be deceived by the fact that a book has sold in bucket loads. It might give a false
sense of security for those who believe that optioning a book appears like a safe bet, and it
might work to the contrary if everyone has read the book and nobody is interested in the
film. It might happen, and it has happened. So I believe it is a false sense of security. (Motlys)
The interviews also confirmed that producers largely believed there was a strong busi-
ness case for adapting novels. Only a handful of the dozens of developed manuscripts
production companies received each year—whether written on spec by newcomers,
or by established screenwriters or directors—had the qualities producers desired. This
lack of interesting original material led producers to look elsewhere for projects. All
six companies had, more or less successfully, established connections with one or more
publishing houses to receive advance notice of forthcoming books. Adapting books,
then, was often also seen as an economically reliable means of developing film projects.
There is no doubt that making adaptations is a way the producer can start up a film project.
It represents an approach where the producer can make the initial decisions, and then bring
in others to work on the project. This has nothing to do with having the founding idea. It has
to do with a need to initiate projects that have a chance of being completed. (Maipo Film)
Each of the six producers departed quite decidedly from one another in their strate-
gic deliberations about what they wanted to achieve. The material from the interviews
suggests there are four main strategies producers adopt when integrating adaptations
into their development and production cycle. It should be noted that the way each
production company manages film adaptation, and the purpose adaptations serve, is
closely related to how each producer operates more generally. Moreover, the four strate-
gies outlined below are not mutually exclusive; some companies balance several strate-
gies, depending on the film project’s scope.
adaptations, the end result is still a rather homogeneous batch of books that are turned
into fairly straightforwardly told popular films. A film adaptation from one production
company is usually no different from that of another. There are certain exceptions to
the rule, and they usually correspond with strategy four above. But on a general note,
the particular strategy or combination of different strategies each company adopts does
not seem to make much difference when it comes to actually selecting books as source
material. Why does this happen?
One reason might be financial. Film production in Norway has become increasingly
dependent on private investment, and film distributors have become important col-
laborators in the development stage (in part by estimating audience attendance, and
providing investments in terms of minimum guarantee). As a result, funding a film that
is perceived as overly serious, difficult, or strange might in the end present too many
challenges. Projects of this kind, if they reach development, are generally terminated
before moving into production, usually due to a lack of financing.
Another reason might be creative challenges. A fictional text of the kind we describe
as open, multilayered, or excessive engages its readers in different ways. Yet for film-
makers, a common vision—a shared sense of what the film is about—is of vital impor-
tance. For example one of the producers interviewed explained that he had become
interested in a quite wild and expressive novel, but terminated the project quickly as he
was unable to find anyone interested in doing the film:
I got nowhere with the project. Today, I can understand why they were reluctant to do the
film. I was fascinated by the tonality of the novel, but how can you translate that to film?
There are very many challenges to that assignment. Not that it was impossible. I am sure that
if the right team had come together, it could have been realized, although as a choice for an
adaptation, it was not particularly commercially driven. (Friland)
Financial estimations and creative challenges may also explain why the different
paths to adaptations all lead to more or less undifferentiated films (with some excep-
tions). However, a more reasonable explanation—based on the reports from the film
industry—is that fidelity to the source text does matter after all. During conversa-
tions with the producers, it became evident that all of them found it important to
stick closely to the source material—out of respect for the author and the readers.
A number of comments indicated that the idea of fidelity was in fact a guiding
principle.
If the book has gained a large readership, and that readership is also your target audience,
then you need to be concerned about being faithful to the book. (Maipo)
If you are going to make a film based on a book that is well-known and has a large readership,
then it is wise to be faithful to that source. (4 ½)
Once you decide to use a book as a basis for a film, then you have established a sort of frame-
work for yourself. (4 ½)
Things are different when you work with a book—it is after all a story that’s already complete.
There is a question of how much you can depart from the book in order to make the story
work well on film, without disappointing its readers at the same time. That is a balancing act.
(Filmkameratene)
From the very beginning, we’ve had a deep sense of loyalty toward what we believed to be
the author’s intentions. We have been very conscious of that. We are not going to make up
something that is completely farfetched when it comes to what lies at the heart of the novel.
(Friland)
In general, novels were selected because in one way or the other they engaged the pro-
ducers as readers. And when producers positioned themselves as readers, to depart too
much from the source somehow seemed objectionable. The producers were quite clear
about this: it made no sense to option a book if the plan was to make radical changes.
What follows from such a position is that fidelity becomes inherent in the adaptation
process. To remain faithful to the source novel is easier when the book in question has
a rather conventional narrative form, and this in turn governs the choice of books that
are adapted. Narratives that are more complex and unconventional, on the other hand,
demand more radical changes to be transposed from literature to film.
The greater the artistic ambition in a book, the harder it can be to turn it from a book into
a film. Will you take a book and turn it into a film that might have lesser artistic ambitions?
What is it that you choose? If you take the world’s most compelling book, which has great
qualities, then those qualities are probably very literary in nature or more difficult to trans-
form into another format with the same level of artistic quality. (Motlys)
There are some exceptions to fidelity as the guiding the rule, as should be noted. In one
case, Fatso (Frölich 2008), based on a novel by Lars Ramslie, the producer advocated the
idea of mainstreaming a controversial aspect of a novel by rewriting a scene depicting a
sleep-rape to instead letting the protagonist perform an awkward act of self-castration
(in a somewhat comic depiction).
People like to go to the movies to laugh. They like to cry, as well. Yet fewer people go in order
to cry than to laugh. So in order to reach a larger audience; making things appear a bit more
humorous might sell more tickets. You might say you adjust to the market. (Paradox)
It is, in fact, only the art-house film producer that pays little heed to the book once the
project is secured. He claims to discard the source material as a rule of thumb.
I don’t feel any obligation to be faithful to the book. The film is the king. You need to do
whatever makes it good. (Motlys)
Yet these last cases were not the norm. With few exceptions, then, fidelity is the guiding
rule by which these producers operate. When we regard fidelity from the standpoint
of film producers, three related aspects can be identified. (1) Fidelity means that the
source material is recognizable in the film, in terms of plot structure, character depic-
tion, and mood. Fidelity in this case has to do with narrative. (2) Fidelity also means
that the film corresponds to commonly held conceptions about the book or its author.
If an author or a series of books has gained a certain public image or reputation, then
the film might highlight those aspects, even if the aspects are lacking in the source text
(but present in some of the author’s other texts). Here, fidelity relates to impressions or
popular ideas about authors and their body of work. (3) Finally, fidelity is also a matter
of adhering to a conventional classical storytelling tradition. If the novel is experimen-
tal or challenging in style or in its treatment of moral issues, these elements tend to be
left out—or revised—in the film version. The general notion of what an entertaining
film is supposed to be is then fulfilled. Fidelity in this sense is about following conven-
tions of mainstream commercial cinema. In each of these three aspects, fidelity relates
to audience expectations—as they are envisioned by the producers.
Issues of fidelity have a long history within adaptation studies. For the past decade,
the field’s somewhat marginal position within film studies as a whole has been blamed
on a putatively excessive concern with fidelity. Calls have been made to discard the
issue of fidelity once and for all. Yet if we are to understand why and how adaptations
continue to dominate the film industry, and have done so since the industry’s earliest
days, then fidelity still matters.
NOTES
1
Close to 40% of the films developed in the United Kingdom are adaptations, while in Hollywood, adap-
tations account for approximately 50% of the projects developed. See: Bloore (11).
2
As elite informants, Norwegian producers are unique in being highly accessible. In contrast to British
companies, Norwegian producers are not guarded by gatekeepers, which means that it is quite easy to set
up appointments for interviews.
3
The ‘adaptation game’ was previously presented in Engelstad and Moseng. In this article, the authors
discuss how producers can be profiled with respect to their creative engagement in the adaptation process.
4
A telling example is MacCabe’s ‘Introduction’ in the volume True to the Spirit. Here, he outlines the pro-
duction history of Neil Jordan’s The Butcher Boy, in part by digressing into the makings of, and reception of,
several of Jordan’s other films. However, not once does MacCabe mention Jordan’s longstanding collabor-
ation with the producer Stephen Woolley, nor the role of the commissioner at Channel 4.
5
According to Stam: ‘Adaptation is seen as a kind of purge. In the name of mass-audience legibility,
the novel is “cleansed” of moral ambiguity, narrative interruption, and reflexive mediation. Aesthetic
mainstreaming dovetails with economic censorship, since the changes demanded in adaptation are made
in the name of monies spent and box-office profit required’. Stam made this comment as a reflection on
Hollywood adaptations, but it seems to be equally applicable to Norwegian adaptations.
REFERENCES
Altman, Rick. Film/Genre. London: BFI Press, 1999.
Andrew, Dudley. “The Economies of Adaptation.” True to the Spirit. Film Adaptation and the Question of Fidelity.
Eds. Colin MacCabe, Kathleen Murray, and Rick Warner. New York: Oxford UP, 2011: 27–40.
Banks, Miranda J. “How to Study Makers and Making.” The Sage Handbook of Television Studies. Eds. Manuel
Alvarado, Milly Buonanno, Herman Gray, and Toby Miller. Los Angeles: Sage, 2015: 117–32.
Barthes, Roland. S/Z. New York: Hill and Wang, 1974.
Bloore, Peter. The Screenplay Business: Managing Creativity and Script Development in the Film Industry. London:
Routledge, 2013.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
The author would like to thank Jo Sondre Moseng for his close collaboration in conduct-
ing interviews, and for our thoughtful and productive conversations about Norwegian
film producers.