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Samples From Page to Screen: E.M. Forster's A Room with a View, Maurice and Howards End Chapter 2: Maurice Maurice constitutes one of the rare instances in which a film is generally considered to be "better" than the literary work it is based on. Better, of course, is a subjective term, but in the case of Maurice, many critics feel that the film more than does justice to institutions such as character, plot and theme, and even improves on aspects of the novel which were considered weak in its original written form. (The film version of The Graduate is another fairly recent example in which the original work was vastly improved upon by the film. Indeed, many have never heard of the novel by the same name). Near the beginning of the film, a group of Cambridge undergraduates, including Maurice, are shown in a translation class, reading from Plato's Republic. The particular passage contains description of sex between people of the same gender, at which some of the students titter; the professor refers to the "obscene imaginings" of this ancient culture, then tells the student reading to omit "the reference to the unspeakable vice of the Greeks," giving one of the first hints at the sexual mores under which this world operates. What is most important in this scene, however, is Maurice's behavior, which the viewer may clearly see. While the other men are intently concentrating on their texts, Maurice is clearly distracted by its implications with regards to his life, not just its academic/scholarly importance. The halting manner in which the students translate the ancient Greek may be seen as a parallel to Maurice's slow realization of the truth about himself; he has faint glimmers of realization at this point in his life, but full grasp and acceptance are far away. Within the film, various measures are taken, beyond those which are in place in the novel, to inform the audience of the degree of public acceptance for homosexuality which existed during the Edwardian era in England. The novel was actually written in 1913 and 1914, but was not published until after E.M. Forster's death (according to his explicitly stated demands) in the 1970s. During the several decades which passed between the novel's composition and its publication (as well as the production of the film), societal attitudes changed radically, and, perhaps more importantly, laws which made homosexuality a crime punishable by imprisonment and death were abolished in England. It may be somewhat difficult, therefore, for a modern audience to fully understand the underlying influences which drive many of the actions in this novel, necessitating the measures the filmmakers take to approximate the circumstances for the viewer. A major addition to the film is the arrest and subsequent imprisonment of a character called Risley, who was at Cambridge with Maurice and Clive (and whom, it may be inferred, was romantically involved with Clive), for alleged sexual impropriety. In the film, Risley begins an alley-way tryst with a man he had met in a pub, only to be roughly arrested, as the man proves to be an informer of sorts. He is placed on trial in public, sentenced to six months' hard labor, and told that the prison sentence is lighter than most, because his ruined political career and life would be a daily reminder of his "crime". It is a heart-wrenching sequence, with unmistakable overtones of Oscar Wilde's similar experience, as well as the miserable presence of Clive as a spectator, too scared (with good reason) to speak up in defense of his friend. The trial scene closes with an overhead angle shot, filmed in slow motion, of Risley being walked down a shadowy staircase in handcuffs, and a sinking, doomed feeling is palpable. This sequence does not exist in the novel, but its addition to the film is well-placed and highly effective, for it reminds the viewer of the grave consequences which threatened a gay person at this time in England. The mise-en-scene of Maurice vividly depicts the world of which Clive and Maurice are a part. Almost all of the settings are opulent: the statuesque architecture at Cambridge, the sprawling country home of Clive's family, elegant and lavishly decorated London apartments. Many of the situations shown are formal affairs, such as dinner parties, ceremonial functions at Cambridge, and other occasions in which the customs of the time are well-displayed. "Pierre Lhomme's photography takes full advantage of Maurice's Cambridge and Pendersleigh settings. . . Yet the visual texture of the movie has. . .a dark, cold, masculine look to it. With its dark tones and inclement weather, it gives the sense of a constrictive world that matches Maurice's own situation" (Long 151). The settings, while well-described in the book, are much more effective on film because we can actually see them; every viewer, therefore, can have an accurate and representative image of this environment. The filmmakers take the form of the human hand, a very traditional symbol of love ("hands joined in marriage" &etc.) and apply it to the love which exists between the men depicted in Maurice. More than kissing, hugging or sex, hands--holding, fingers tracing, kisses on them--exemplify their affection. When Clive and Maurice begin to realize the affection they have for one another, there is a close-up of Maurice's hand caressing Clive's hair. Later, on a picnic, the two are lying on the ground and there is a lengthy shot of their hands meeting in the air, fingers interlaced, framed against the picturesque countryside. This imagery and use of the body is an attempt by the filmmakers to demonstrate to the audience how similar this relationship is to societally-accepted heterosexual love. As in other works by E.M. Forster, music plays a very important role in Maurice. In the novel, Tchaikovsky's Symphonie Pathetique is one of the catalysts for the relationship between Maurice and Clive. In an effort to meet up again with Risley, an interesting if somewhat brash and arrogant figure Maurice had met at gathering in college, he visits Risley's rooms in Trinity College, only to find him out, and Clive there, rummaging through his music, looking for the third movement to the symphony. The two men speak briefly about their tastes in music ("'A good waltz is more my style.' 'Mine too,' said Durham, meeting his eye.") and then return to their own college to play the music on a fellow undergraduate's pianola. The film follows the same storyline, but the ability to hear the music on the soundtrack makes quite a difference in the effect the scene has on the audience. When Clive and Maurice go to listen to the symphony, Clive chooses to begin with the third movement because "'It's nearer waltzes.'" The movement Clive is speaking of, commonly referred to as "the March", is written in 5/4--five beats to every measure. On first inspection it is a far cry from a waltz's three beats per bar. When examined more closely, however, and, more importantly, when it is heard, there is indeed a waltz-like quality to the movement. The mood of the music is light, and the manner in which it is counted, 1-2-1-2-3, contributes to the waltz similarity. The waltz is a dance for couples, traditionally a romantic one; in Edwardian England, a couple implicitly consisted of a man and a woman. That the piece which Maurice and Clive embrace is a waltz with a sort of twist is very appropriate: theirs was definitely a romantic relationship, but in the eyes of the society they were part of, it was anything but traditional and acceptable. A very thorny issue for Forster is that of the class system, on which English society is based, particularly during the Edwardian Era. The difference in class is most noticeable in the interactions between people of Maurice's and Clive's class and their servants. As are most things in their society, they are exceedingly polite to each other, but it is a condescending kindness on both sides. Most upper class persons shown in the film seem to feel as though they are above the most perfunctory interactions with people of lower classes (Clive's mother, for instance, does not know the name of a servant who has worked in her house for over a year and a half) and those who are working for the upper classes see their employers as self-righteous and demanding. In much of the film version of Maurice, the suggestion is that, at this time in history, Maurice and perhaps Clive, as gay men, are much more similar to the working classes than they are to the class to which they belong, because they do not wholly conform to the prescribed behavioral patterns of the upper class. This separateness is emphasized through the use of character behavior in the film; Maurice is more polite and less demanding than others of his family, for example. He takes notice of the servants--instead of ignoring their presence unless something is wanted, he says "please" and "thank you" and stays to help move a piano from beneath a drip in a roof after everyone else has gone upstairs to bed. In what could be construed as an early signifier that he will not take the same path in life as Maurice, Clive is noticeably ruder and more aloof towards the servants, demonstrating that he does not suffer much, if any, alienation from the society of which he is supposed to be a part. The middle and upper class society in which Maurice and Clive live form the target for much of Forster's (and the filmmakers') criticism in Maurice. Their world is depicted as one which covers a multitude of faults, such as narrow-mindedness, snobbishness and outright cruelty, with a veneer of ultra-politeness. It may appear to be a pleasant environment, but the manner in which it ravages individuals who do not conform to stringent standards is clearly visible in the characters in Maurice. Mary Lago wrote of this society in her biography of E.M. Forster: "[England]. . . has feelings. . . But it does not know how to admit or show them, for imagination remains unnourshed. It lacks a sense of humour. . . Suburban seclusion and exclusion were a large part of the problem. The middle class had broken out of a prescribed place on the social scale only to shut itself up in suburbs where it clung to hard-won respectability, mindlessly initiated the manners of the aristocracy, and tried to avoid the contaminating ways of the lower orders" (Lago 6). There are numerous instances, both in the book and in the film, of characters' behavior and emotions being manipulated by the standards for behavior which have been instilled in them. While he is still at Cambridge, Maurice wishes to drop in on an acquaintance, but is afraid it would be rude to do so: "Since Risley was so odd, might he not be odd too, and break all the undergraduate conventions by calling?" (34) To drop in on someone seems a normal part of modern university life, but such friendly spontaneity was apparently not a part of life at this time. Personal expression in everyday discourse was censored by societal standards as well, something of which Forster is clearly critical, though ruefully accepted: "'Well, I'm---' exclaimed the other, but with British self-control suppressed the vent" (33). The film makes it clear that one of the effects of this suppression of sentiment is a certain emotional coldness, which is demonstrated by several characters in the film. When Clive, staying at Maurice's family's house, faints during dinner, Maurice's mother sends one sister for smelling salts, another for a doctor, but when it comes to dealing with the actual person, she is woefully cold and inept, displaying surprise when Maurice joyfully kisses the revived Clive, a display of emotion which is very uncharacteristic of their world. That Maurice must later explain and justify his action to his mother, for fear of a scandal, is a testament to the regard paid towards any sort of emotional displays. Forster's criticism of the effect of the restrictive English culture on its people is a common theme, present in more than one book. He often highlights the limiting factors by comparing England to another culture: in A Room with a View, this culture is Italy, and in Maurice, it is ancient Greece. The male undergraduates read and discuss numerous accounts of homosexual love, but these are treated with different combinations of disgust, embarrassment or amusement. It is, however, only when Maurice and Clive are taking part in the sort of lifestyle described in these texts that they are happy and complete as people. At one point, Clive tells Maurice that he would have gone through life "half awake" if they had never met and fallen in love. [It is interesting to note that the relationship between Clive and Maurice was never physically consummated; everything that they experienced mentally and emotionally was due to "spiritual" rather than physical contact.] The film's sequence involving Risley's arrest and trial leads to Clive's realization of what his culture could do to someone who deviates from the acceptable. It is at this point that he decides that he would rather forsake being "awake" than risk having his life and political career ruined. In the novel, what instigates this change of heart is not specified; the decision to augment this series of events in the film is explained in Robert Emmet Long's book on Merchant and Ivory: "On [Ruth Prawer Jhabvala's] advice that Clive Durham's conversion to heterosexuality while recovering from an illness in Greece was weakly motivated (a criticism voiced by many readers of the novel as well), an episode was created in which Clive's university friend Risley is arrested and imprisoned after a homosexual entrapment--enough to frighten Clive ultimately into marrying" (Long 150). As a stockbroker in his father's prestigious firm, Maurice, too, has much to lose by pursuing a lifestyle perceived as "deviant" by the public at large. Perhaps because Forster wanted to keep the book a happy, positive one, he does not continue the narrative beyond Maurice's decision to pursue a life with Scudder, the game keeper at Clive's estate (another aspect of the novel which has been criticized). Being male and from a much lower class than Maurice, Scudder's involvement with Maurice will inevitably bring some sort of loss, whether it be financial, professional or familial. These ramifications of the romance between Maurice and Scudder, however, are not examined; instead, Forster chooses to focus on the loss that Clive experiences due to his lack of courage: "Out of some external Cambridge his friend began beckoning to him, clothed in the sun, and shaking out the scents and sounds of May term. . . He did not realize that his was the end, without twilight or compromise, that he should never cross Maurice's track again. . . He waited for a little in the alley, then returned to the house, to correct his proofs and to devise some method of concealing the truth from Anne" (246). Clive, to the very end, is most concerned with propriety and appearances, most probably unaware that, in choosing the life he did, he will never be completely happy. Long's book on the films of Merchant Ivory states that "The ending draws attention to the choices the characters make" (Long 154). The film makes Clive's final decision a bit more poignant, by suggesting that he has some regret, some glimmer of realization of loss. In the final moments of the movie, the viewer sees Clive, still registering shock from Maurice's news that he is involved with Scudder, standing at his bedroom window, with his kind (if somewhat vapid) wife standing behind him. The vantage point of the viewer allows us to see both of their faces, though neither of them can see the other's. Anne's face shows blissful content, for, to her knowledge, everything is perfect in her world. Clive's face is filled with sadness, though it is tempered with a sort of content: with a vision of Maurice from their university days in his mind (and on the screen for the viewers to see) he is clearly aware of the missed opportunity for happiness, but the knowledge that something stable and loving (though not ideal) will always be in place for him must take the edge off his emotions of loss. A particularly powerful portion of the novel and film occurs when Maurice, despairing because his romantic feelings towards men do not seem to be abating, visits a hypnotist who claims to be able to "cure" homosexuals. This portion of the narrative is very affecting because the story Maurice tells of his attraction towards men does not seem particularly scandalous within the confines of the office, and the doctor he has visited for treatment does not apparently find him or his sexual inclinations offensive, leaving the reader and viewer to wonder, momentarily, exactly why he is there (the answer, which, of course, is the highly judgmental and restrictive society in which Maurice lives, is ever-looming): "Mr. Lasker Jones. . . asked several questions about 'Mr. Cumberland,' Maurice's pseudonym for Clive, and wished to know whether they had ever united: on his lips it was curiously inoffensive. He neither praised nor blamed nor pitied. . ." (180). In the film, Mr. Jones is similarly non-judgemental, but he is very serious about performing the service--hypnotizing Maurice in order to condition him against affection for other men--his patient has requested. For all of his non-judgementalness, however, the hypnotist is painted as a quack: with a brash American accent standing in stark contrast to the refined southern English accent of his patient, the figure is not unlike that of the 19th century medicine men traveling in a wagon from town to town, selling ineffective medicines and "miracle cures" to unsuspecting customers. His promises, additionally, seem blatantly unscientific and questionable to a modern audience, particularly because the tactics he employs are so based in stereotypes--an image he asks Maurice to focus on while he is hypnotized, for example, is that of "Miss Edna May," an actress and sex symbol. Today's knowledge about genetics, predetermination and other subjects nearly unheard of in Edwardian England render this doctor's (seemingly genuine) efforts to help Maurice as something misleading, perhaps bordering on malpractice. In hindsight, we easily recognize these cures as worthless, just as we see the film's doctor's attempted alteration of Maurice's very nature as laughably (and heartbreakingly) futile.

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