Literature to Film: Brokeback Mountain
Ang Lee presents an incredibly faithful portrait of Annie Proulx’s novella, Brokeback Mountain, in his film adaption of the same name. The story centers around two cowboys, Jack Twist and Ennis Del Mar, who unexpectedly find themselves drawn together with a passion neither can fully understand. Both the film and the novella follow their brief meetings throughout their lives, beginning at the start of their story — a summer spent herding sheep on Brokeback Mountain. It is a cowboy story, but a very different one than your typical cowboy story. In this story, the heroes do not win.
In order to adapt a work that was too short to allow a literal one-page-per-minute translation, Ang Lee took Annie Proulx’s work and filled in the gaps a bit. Instead of just jumping from one secret meeting to the next, Lee gives us a look into what the men’s lives are like at home. This adds meaning and depth to the film and rounds out Proulx’s characters beyond their development in the book. We see the conflict with their wives, their devotion to their children, their struggles with work, with family, and with balancing their time away. We see their conflict over their secret, unstoppable affair, and we see them stand up for and defend their respective families in typically macho ways.
These are not cowardly fellows. Ennis defends his family at the Fourth of July fireworks against some rough and tough-looking characters, while Jack stands up for himself and his wife against his oppressive father-in-law in a Thanksgiving scene. Lee, with screenwriters Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana, make Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist seem even more human through the expanded story. We see clearly that they aren’t some bizarre anomaly (as their world would have made them out to be) — they are simply ordinary, but conflicted, men.
The extension of their family life not only makes our protagonists more human, but it also shows more clearly the costs of their love. In giving us the men’s extended family lives, Lee shows us the anguish of their wives. This story does center on an affair, and affairs have real costs — particularly for the other partner. While Proulx white-washes the effects of the affair on Alma and Lureen, perhaps to make her characters more likable, Lee does not shy away. Indeed, because Michelle Williams and Anne Hathaway portray the grief of wives who know their husbands no longer, or perhaps never, really loved them, we have less sympathy for Jack Twist and Ennis Del Mar in the film than in Proulx’s novel.
Another added dimension to Ang Lee’s adaptation is the music. In a film filled with broken romances — Jack and Ennis, Ennis and Alma, Jack and Lureen — the non-instrumental soundtrack is filled with country songs describing broken romances. The instrumental music is confirmatory and also helps the audience follow what Ennis and Jack are feeling. Finally, their quiet theme, played throughout, helps a story broken up over decades remain a cohesive whole.
Another added dimension is Lee’s use of the screen to make the mountains come alive. In the film, they are not just Jack and Ennis’ sanctuary, they have added character and their beauty is overwhelming. Though Proulx described the vast beauty of the mountains with a unique, descriptive voice, no words can truly capture them. Cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto shows us the mountains in ways that words simply cannot describe.
Lee also takes advantage of the power of film to imply messages visually in a way words cannot, using a Sergei Eisenstein convention to bookend Jack and Ennis’ story. The film opens with a beautiful shot of the hills. We watch a truck drive down a road from the left to the right. Then, near the end, when Ennis leaves Jack’s parents’ house after Jack’s death, we are given a nearly identical shot — except for one noticeable difference — the truck is driving the opposite direction — right to left. Because we read from left to right, we see it as the natural progression of life — as an opening. Right to left, on the other hand, is against our nature — an unwanted closing.
Lee gives us another example of film’s power in the symbolism of the shirts. When Ennis finds them in Jack’s closet, his shirt is inside of Jack’s. In the final scene, when we see them hung on Ennis’ closet door, he has switched them. Jack’s shirt is now on the inside.
It is little details like these that allow the film to make up for, and surpass, Proulx’s distinctive style. Though we lose her unique way of describing the world in which her characters live, Lee’s expanded story, and masterful use of film, make up for the loss and then some. Lee’s version is as faithful as he could possibly make it, and it leaves the viewer feeling the same way as Proulx’s book. We want so badly to find everyone happy in the end — but we know it can never happen.
