Perhaps the central problem inherent in adapting a
theatrical production to film is overcoming the limitations of the stage and
opening it up for the big screen. This would be problem enough with the normal
stage production, how much worse when dealing with a single actor seated at a table
with a glass of water spouting a ninety minute monologue. So when an award
winning director like Steven Soderbergh commits to taking on a property like
Spalding Gray's Gray's Anatomy, the first thing he has to
think about is how to translate the monologue's static claustrophobia into
something that will play on the screen.
In a short commentary included as part of the bonus material
in the new Criterion Collection of Soderbergh's film, he explains some of his
thinking. First of all, concerned with
distinguishing his production from other films of Gray monologues like Jonathan
Demme's Swimming to Cambodia, he decided to eliminate the
audience. Since a large part of Gray's
appeal is his ability to play off the audience, this would seem to be the
equivalent of a fighter tying one hand behind his back. That Soderbergh is able to get away with it,
and for many viewers he is able to get away with it, is testimony to his talent
as a filmmaker.
Instead of the audience, he has Gray play to the camera, and
he uses the camera as a dynamic force. The actor may be seated at his table,
but the camera moves actively—different angles, changing heights and
distances. He can even move the actor in
his chair to create action. Soderbergh talks about linking the visual
environment to the content. He does this
with backdrops; he does it with creative use of lighting. In the end he comes up with a visually
impressive adaptation.
His inclusion of interviews with a number of men and women
who had suffered from a variety of eye injuries from an embedded wire to a
spray of oven cleaner was, as he explains, necessitated by the fact that the material
he had filmed with Gray after the original monologue had been cut down was too
short. Of course, the fact that the
interviews both opened up the film a bit and added other voices, to say nothing
of their dramatic nature simply demonstrate that necessity may also be the
mother of serendipity.
The monologue tells the story of Gray's struggle with a
vision problem which is eventually diagnosed as macular pucker. He talks about his fears when he learns about
the surgery necessary to correct the condition, his experiences with
alternative medicine, and expands consideration of his own illness to a
meditation on illness and the human condition. Whether he is describing a
Native American sweat lodge, a Christian Scientist healer, or a Philippine psychic
surgeon, he looks at his attempts to deal with his problem with a sardonic
eye. Even without an audience, Gray
manages to project the power of his personality. It takes a special talent to hold the screen
for seventy minutes and Gray has it—both as a writer and as an actor.
Aside from the
film and the Soderbergh interview, the
first of the two disc Criterion Collection set includes an interview with
co-writer and ex-wife Renée Shafransky, 16 minutes of silent footage from
Gray's actual eye operation called Swimming to the Macula,
and the film's trailer. The second disc
contains a ninety five minute video of Gray's monologue, A Personal
History of the American Theater produced by the Wooster Group in
1982. Shot before an audience with none
of the production values of the Soderbergh film, it makes an interesting
comparison with what the director has accomplished. Although A Personal History of the
American Theater, which chronicles the various stage productions Gray
took part in over his career to that point is entertaining and witty, it does
lack the depth of his later monologues.
Nonetheless it is a welcome bonus.
There is also an informative essay on Gray and his work by film critic Amy Taubin.
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