Dinesen in three dimensions: A comparing of irony in two films of Dinesen's stories

Branson, Stephanie

The best setting for the tales of Isak Dinesen (Karen Blixen 1885-1962) is undoubt edly their original setting-in the parlor of her house in Africa, before the fire, as friends and lovers gathered to hear her tell a story. The best medium, her rich, deep, heavily-accented voice. This setting and this medium would capture the best of what a reader may enjoy in reading the stories-the possibility to imagine what each house, field or stream in which the action takes place looks like, to explore the ghostly or otherwise unearthly atmosphere which hangs around the tale. In addition, the listener would be enthralled by the narrator's voice. As Nadia Fusini says of Dinesen's tales: "II racconto a dunque questo all'inizio per lei: a voce, prima the scrittura" (Noni 21); "The story is essentially this, from the beginning, for you: the voice, before the written word" (my translation).

But Isak Dinesen is dead, and while it is possible to listen to recordings of her voice, the effect is not as strong. Moreover, our imaginations are limited by our experience, and not all of us have traveled all over the world by ship, as Dinesen herself did. It may be hard, then, to imagine India or China or even Denmark. Perhaps film producers such as Orson Welles or Gabriel Axel can imagine for us, and capture on film their version of the stories. As with the recordings of Dinesen's voice, however, something may also be lost in filming the tales. Johannes H. Christensen, in "Besogende hos elverdranningen," asks why, ultimately, make movies of the tales of Isak Dinesen:

Sa er det, man sporger, hvorfor overhovedet filmatisere Blixen-nar det et svaert, nar sa meget Jigger bundet i sproget og naeppe lader sig udvinde i billeder,-nar der skal mange anstrengelsen til for at fa blot en line del of pointerne frem,-nar sa meget alligevel bliver ubegribeligt. (20)

And so it is that one asks, why, ultimately, film Blixenwhen it is difficult, when so much is bound up in words, and so little reveals itself in images, when so much effort must be expended to express a small part of the idea, when so much remains puzzling despite that effort. (my translation) In 1966, despite the challenge described by Christensen, Orson Welles produced and starred in a film version of Dinesen's "The Immortal Story." In the 1980's, several films were made for Crone TV (Denmark)- adaptations of Dinesen's "Sorrow Acre," "Converse at Night in Copenhagen," and "The Ring." Radiotelevisione Italiana produced a version of Dinesen's Ehrengard, and Danish television filmed the novel Revenge of Truth. Finally, in 1987, Gabriel Axel's Oscar-winning Babette's Feast appeared, demonstrating that popular audiences, even in America, could appreciate film adaptations of Dinesen's work.

Christensen and other critics viewing films made of Dinesen's stories conclude that despite the difficulty of translating her written tales to an audio-visual medium, that effort is nevertheless justified by the essentially oral and visual nature of Dinesen's writing, Dinesen was herself a painter, and the skills needed to produce graphic art carry through into her verbal landscapes and vivid character portrayals.

Wherein lies the difficulty, then, of filming Dinesen's tales? As Birgitte Debusigne notes, "Karen Blixen's particular way of using time and space in her imagery seems finally difficult to reproduce" ("Literary" 255). Time in Dinesen's tales in non-linear, and the tales are told retrospectively, whereas in film time is normally linear, and a possible present is posited. In addition, place in Dinesen has an unusual importance; it can be seen as a character in the story. For example, her first published tale, "Deluge at Norderney," opens with a personification of the sea, the "terrible and faithless gray monster westward" which "sings" to the farmers as it inundates their crops and homes (Seven Gothic Tales 1,3). Dinesen describes the flood in some detail, creating a scene which begs to be filmed. In fact, Orson Welles had wanted to film "Deluge," but because of the difficulties posed, he filmed "The Immortal Story" (a much less visually compelling story) instead:

More importantly, perhaps, Dinesen's tales are difficult to film because in rendering life situations ironically, Dinesen opens up a space between the real and the ideal-what might be called a rhetorical distance-which is difficult to fill with imagery or sound. As Debusigne remarks regarding "Sorrow Acre," "One of the problems in filming Karen Blixen's story is probably the long passages of philosophical reflection" (222). The ideas in Dinesen's talesfor example, her concept of fate-are complex and involved, and hard to convey visually.

For the purpose of assessing the success that filmmakers have had in translating ironic language and dramatic irony in Dinesen's tales to film, I would like to analyze that aspect of two of the films mentioned above: The Immortal Story (ORTF/Albina Films, 1966) and Babette's Feast (Panorama Film International/Nordisk Film A/S, 1987). Vincent Canby's assertion that Babette's Feast "does justice to the precision of the Dinesen prose, to the particularity of her concerns and to the ironies that so amused her" ("Axel's `Babette's Feast"' 22) is well countered by Christensen's estimation of the film: "Hvad vi har er fine, professionelt lavede film, der fortaeller historierne, men deres and er forduftet som Hofmansdraber fra en flaske uden prop" ("Besogende" 20); "What we have here is a wonderful, professionally made film, that tells the story, but whose soul has flown, much as the strength of Hoffman's anodyne is lost with the cork removed" (my translation). The "soul" of "Babette's Feast" is its ironic overtones, many of which are lost in Axel's adaptation of the story to film.

In a similar vein, Debusigne criticizes Orson Welles's choice to leave no doubt in the end of his film The Immortal Story as to whether or not Mr. Clay dies, thereby robbing that film of mystery and cynicism ("Literary" 250). This criticism notwithstanding, I maintain that The Immortal Story comes much closer to capturing Dinesen's ironic spirit than does Babette's Feast. Moreover, I believe that it is the lack of irony in the latter film that explains, in part, its popular success.

The main source of irony in the Anecdote of Destiny written by Isak Dinesen entitled "Babette's Feast" involves, on the French side, the nasty fate of Babette's family at the hands of one of her ardent admirers, General Galliffet. He is not admiring her person, however. As General Loewenhielm recounts, after a meal at the Cafe Anglais, General Galliffet declared his willingness to die for the chef, Babette (Anecdotes 58). This is ironic as, instead, Galliffet murders Babette's husband and son because they are Communards. It is a class struggle, with the artist and revolutionary on one side, and an appreciative but cruel aristocratic audience on the other. When Philippa and Martine, Babette's hosts in Norway, ask her how she could grieve over General Galliffet and his coterie, she replies: "You see, Mesdames . . . those people belonged to me, they were mine, They had been brought up and trained . . . to understand what a great artist I am" (68).

The other principle irony of the story involves the interplay between two distinct cultures-that of the French, Catholic, sophisticated, sensual Babette and that of the Norwegian, Protestant, provincial, self-denying villagers. It is ironic that Babette's artistry and joie de vivre frighten the Puritan villagers who feast on them. Dinesen plays with their fear, referring to Babette's helper as a "red-haired familiar" attending a witch (54). Even General Loewenhielm, who recognizes the genius in the cuisine, fails to appreciate Babette's sacrifice for art, the 10,000 francs she wins in the lottery which might have fueled a new life. He is also oblivious of the fact that his friend General Galliffet is responsible for the death of the chef's husband and son.

In the film, the enmity between the two cultures is downplayed. As the forerunner of Babette, the French opera impresario Achille Papin is rejected by Philippa, and the smile that plays on the face of her father as he delivers the news to Papin conveys the Schadenfreuden, or delight in another's pain, of this self-righteous minister who stifles his daughters' passion and limits their lives. But the little dance around the fountain at the end of the film, under the stars, leads one to believe that the uncouth and hypocritical villagers have embraced Babette and her art, when in fact this is not the case in the story.

"Babette's Feast" is replete with ironic references which are passed over in the film but which are at the heart of the story. When General Loewenhielm concedes defeat in the beginning of the story, and tells Martine that he will never see her again, as he has learned that "Fate is hard, and that in this world there are things which are impossible" (27), he is demonstrating that he has neither the courage to ask for her hand in marriage, nor the selfknowledge to recognize that weakness. His conclusions regarding life are false, because it is not the world which is impeding the relationship, but Loewenhielm himself. Because he is carried away by the incredible luxury of a Cafe Anglais meal being served in Berlevaag, Norway many years later, he tells Martine that he has now learned that "in this world anything is possible" (62). The reader knows, as I think the watcher of the film does not observe, that this message is also false. The artistry of Babette's feast has cost her dearly, and the fact that the General has been pleasantly surprised by it and has recognized its worth, does not represent progress in the development of the "mystic, not moral" understanding of the world that he seeks (52). Art is mystical, but mere passive appreciation of it is not.

It is also for this reason that the inhabitants of the village, literally drunk through Babette's agency, for the first time in their lives profit from art, even without an understanding of it. The "infinite grace" referred to by General Loewenhielm in his speech is the generosity of the artist Babette, not an abstract principle of religion that they have only vicariously appreciated through their now long dead Master, the Minister. Babette is not a martyr to art, however. She tells Martine and Philippa that she created the feast for her own sake, because without the possibility of creating art the artist is unfulfilled (66-67).

The ambiance of the feast in the film betrays the ironic spirit of the story because it is charming, friendly, and vaguely religious. In the story, as the hypocritical villagers get drunk on wine, their resolution to ignore what is set before them fades, as does their puritanical manner. In the film, religion and art appear to wed one another, without conflict. The villagers can be both self denying and gluttonous, both sober and drunk. In the story, in contrast, Dinesen gently mocks them, relating that:

The guests from the yellow house wavered on their feet, staggered, sat down abruptly or fell forward on their knees and hands and were covered with snow, as if they had indeed had their sins washed white as wool, and in this regained innocent attire were gamboling like little lambs. It was, to each of them, blissful to have become as a small child; it was also a blessed joke to watch old Brothers and Sisters, who had been taking themselves so seriously, in this kind of celestial second childhood. (Anecdotes 63)

Dinesen's theology as it is expressed in her stories is very complex; nevertheless what is emphasized in this passage is the hypocrisy of villagers who "take themselves seriously" and who believe themselves to be above others in their religious fervor and understanding. The "blessed joke" of their being drunk rather than spirited or spiritual is surely on them.

However, Axel chose instead to turn this ironic ending into a sentimental one in the film. While moving, the scene around the fountain is, I believe, false to the story.

In the story the backdrop to the feast is the heavy snow which falls before and after. Without, the world is cold and heavy; within, due not to religion but to art, all is warm and light. The villagers and the General are tempted, not by the sensual pleasures of a fantastic feast prepared by a witch, but by the false sense of religion which has become "fashionable at court," as General Loewenhielm reminds those gathered at the table (56). It is possible that Martine and Philippa are true believers; they have betrayed their own natures in rejecting their lovers. When General Loewenhielm declares in his pompous speech during the meal that "that which we have chosen is given us, and that which we have refused is, also and at the same time, granted us" (60), the villagers do not understand him. What he says is not borne out by the events of the story, and so his conclusions regarding grace do not ring true. Martine and Philippa have rejected romantic love, and while they may love each other as sisters, they live alone. Babette has left France and the Cafe Anglais, and she does not recover them, or her murdered family. The General has lived for ambition, and it is all that remains him. Babette's feast cannot be repeated in her lifetime, and therein lies a great irony. Yet, in the film it is enough.

Not everyone prefers the story to the film, however. Mary Elizabeth Podles calls Dinesen's tale a "slight short story" ("Babette's Feast" 552). Podles feels that Axel's omission of any reference to Babette's role as a petroleuse in the Communard is an improvement over the short story because "it distances Babette's story from the political and particular and gives it a greater universality by focusing it on the relation of art and grace in Babette's story" (554). I disagree entirely with this conclusion. The political and particular nature of Babette's life in France informs her art and is the source of her grace in cooking for the General. If Babette were merely a good cook fallen on somewhat hard times, the story would be less universal, not more so. It is often the case that in filming a story, subplots or other complications (read enrichments) are cut for purposes of simplification; these are subtleties that are lost, but often this loss is outweighed by what is gained-the visualization or animation of the written word. In my opinion, both the story and the film are worthwhile; I cannot accept Podles's assessment of this aspect of the film.

What the film does better than the story can is to show the food. Someone who has not had the pleasure of eating cailles en sarcophage cannot well imagine those little quails in their pastry coffins. Gabriel Axel builds them before our eyes, and we believe that they are delicious. Indeed, the power of these images is proven by the "Babette's Feasts" eaten in real life by many a fan of the film. Life imitates art, and we have, so to speak, the proof of the pudding. Similarly, the voices of the sisters raised in song, and the duet by Phillipa and Achille Papin resound wonderfully in the film, capturing for those unacquainted with vocal music, and especially with opera, its sensual attraction. Babette is not the only artist in the story; she is the only one who is true to her art. This fact is brought out more poignantly when we hear Phillipa and Achille and realize that Phillipa is losing both a devoted lover, and a brilliant career as an opera singer, in remaining with her father and sister.

If Christensen's estimation of Axel's film is accepted, the "soul" of Dinesen's story which has flown is the tension and irony between different cultures, and between the artist and her audience, which are not present in the film. Orson Welles' version of "The Immortal Story" is, I believe, more ironic and in that sense, truer to the original.

"The Immortal Story," also an "anecdote of destiny" deals with innocence and sex, age and youth, and with reality and illusion, ironically. Like "Babette's Feast," at the center of "The Immortal Story" is a sensual experience (here, lovemaking) which is orchestrated by a powerful being-this time, not an artist but a rich merchant, Mr. Clay, assisted by the Juif errant Elishima.

Perhaps because Mr. Clay has little imagination, and due to the fact tha this intentions towards the story are dishonourable, the story told by all sailors and lived by one-Poul Velling-escapes Mr. Clay's control, and, moreover, causes his death. Despite Debusigne's claim regarding the film that we are meant to wonder about his fate, various passages in the text proclaim his approaching death, as I will demonstrate below.

The film made by Orson Welles of Dinesen's story remains faithful to the original in several ways. First, Erik Satie's slow, simple and relentlessly sad score sets an appropriate tone for the story. The lighting throughout is rather dark, with the exception of the candlelit bower of bliss-Virginie's dead father's bedroom. Debusigne calls Welles's use of shadow and framed images a "visual distortion;" whereas I consider it wholly appropriate. Mr. Clay is imprisoned by his greed, in a house which formerly was filled with the light and laughter of his late partner's family. It is now a house of death, despite the temporary life represented therein by Virginie and Poul's encounter.

Welles himself as Mr. Clay, Roger Coggio as Elishima, and Jeanne Moreau as Virginie are all well cast. Norman Eshley as Poul is unable to convey the almost bestial, brutish quality of Poul Veiling in Dinesen's tale, as for example when he "behaved with the girl in his bed like a bear with a honeycomb, growling over her in a wild state of greed and ecstasy" (Anecdotes 219). Someone physically larger and perhaps less handsome than Eshley might have been better in the role.

In any case, the story is well told by Welles. Welles narrates, and both the monologue and dialogue are slow, hypnotic, almost monotonous, expressing the futility of shaping fate, particularly the fate of others. If, as Elishima states, men of wealth and power devise the pattern by which the rest of us act, we may, as Virginie does, reverse the direction of our thread of existence. Poul Veiling states that what happened to him "is not in the least like" the "immortal story" told by other sailors, despite Mr. Clay's intention to have him faithfully enact that story, and then to recount it (229). Poul and Virginie's relationship exceeds/ escapes Mr. Clay's limited imagination and control, but it is ironic that Virginie terminates the relationship because she feels she is too old for Poul, and fears his ridicule. She uses Mr. Clay's payment to rationalize compliance with the wishes of her father's murderer, her mortal enemy.

In the film this irony is conveyed in part by the music stopping in mid refrain when the lovers part. Dawn, peopled by singing birds in a beautiful garden, is not a beginning, but an ending. This modern alba echoes other tragic scenes of lovers parting at dawn, such as that in Romeo and Juliet. But in this case, it is not the stars or fate that separates the lovers, noreven a gilos, or jealous husband. Virginie underestimates her own ability to love and be loved. Her fate is therefore uncertain. As with the final feast prepared by Babette, the sexual feast experienced by Virginie and Pool is not to be repeated. And if the shell left behind by Poul as a gift for Virginie represents a link between them, it is Mr. Clay who possesses it at the end of the story.

Neither "Babette's Feast" nor "The Immortal Story" end happily, but Axel's film of the former is hopefully concluded, whereas Welles' version of the latter concludes with death. As he dies, Mr. Clay drops the shell which is meant for Virginie. Poul walks out of his lover's life, and the relationship ends. In this way, Welles' film captures better than Axel's does the intricate and ironic interplay between art and life that Isak Dinesen expressed so well in these tales of destiny.

Works Cited

Canby, Vincent. "Axel's 'Babette's Feast,' From a Dinesen Story." New York Times 1 Oct. 1987, natl. ed.: 22. Christensen, Johs. H. "Besogend hos elverdronningen."Levende billeder 3.6 (Sept. 1987): 18-21.

Debusigne, Birgitte. "The Literary Image in Print and Film: Karen Blixen ( 1885-1962)." Diss. U of Vienna, 1989. Dinesen, Isak. Anecdotes of Destiny. New York: Random House, 1958.

Fusini, Nadia. Nomi: it suono delta vita di Karen Blixen, Emily Dickinson, Shelley, Marguerite Yourcenar. Milano: Feltrinelli, 1986.

Podles, Mary Elizabeth. "Babette's Feast: Feasting with Lutherans." The Antioch Review 50 (Summer 1992): 551-65.

Stephanie Branson

University of Wisconsin-Platteville

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