Thinking about Film Adaptation: The Namesake

One of the best entry points to talking about a film adaptation is to find the differences between book and film. Mira Nair’s adaptation of Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake adheres closely to its counterpart in most respects and I think that little of the narrative is lost overall. One of the differences between book and film is, of course, the ability to turn a narrative on the Indian-American experience and cultural conflict into an emotional tale. Though viewers lack the thought bubble characters so often need, the actors in The Namesake employ fleeting glances and moments of stillness and silence to tell us what they’re thinking.

I can think of no better example than Ashoke and Gogol’s post-grad conversation in which Ashoke gives his son The Collected Stories of Nikolai Gogol. Those of us who are aware of Ashoke’s past know this is supposed to be a monumental moment; the man who changed Ashoke’s life has been presented to Gogol as a link to father and son. Gogol –managing the disinterested teenager role quite well (probably thanks to Kal Penn’s baby face…or is he just typecast all the time?) –dutifully thanks but dismisses his father, finding the music more appealing than the obscure Russian author. Ashoke in this moment is stuck. He is pensive and teeming with desire to tell his son about the train accident, but he doesn’t want to intrude after his son has thanked him (and he seems sadly unaware of his son’s insincerity). It’s no coincidence that he hovers between a door frame: is he leaving or staying? The emotion in Ashoke’s face is fleeting and overall it is a brief scene (Ashoke returns to his stoic-proud father look quickly and remains there most of the film), but I think it underscores the way in which the film is not about Gogol, but his relationship to and with others. Arguably the novel is also about Gogol and his relationships, but the reader never peers into the emotional aftermath, the effects of Gogol’s curt and dismissive nature. Notably, Gogol’s attitude is not attributed to his displeasure with his own name, but rather the effects of assimilation; Gogol is infected by the disease of American teenager-ism, cured partially by the loss of his father.

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I want to devote a portion of this post to talking about sound, following up from my last post). Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen in Film Theory and Criticism point out that “many of the classic film theorists considered the cinema an essentially visual medium” (286). They also note Christian Metz’s argument that sound is never ‘off-screen.’ We find Metz’s idea prevalent in The Namesake as the first sound Ashima Ganguli wakes to in the U.S. is ice melting and dripping. It is a sound signifying the Northeast, a sound native New Englanders would argue is unique to their region. It’s cold, wintery feel stands in contrast to the fun and sensual: the traditional Indian music, Indian-techno mixes (strategically deployed as Gogol and Sonia grow up; descendants inherently becomes less and less traditional), British electro-pop when we meet the libertine Ratliffs, and rap at the death of Ashoke. Here, sound is certainly ‘on-screen’ as Gogol sees his father’s body while we hear Mykill Miers sing “I came from nothin/Now I’m somethin.” Isn’t this the story of Ashoke and Gogol? Gogol is something –the accomplished architect –as his father is gone, nothing.

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