By Noel Vera
Video
Lolita
Directed by Stanley Kubrick
(WARNING: Plot and narrative twists discussed in close detail)
CREDIT where credit is due: I was invited to listen to a podcast () on Kubrick鈥檚 film Lolita — which I鈥檇 written about some weeks ago — and while I disagreed with most of the conclusions the discussion did set me to thinking more on the film, leading to this, an attempt at elaboration and clarification.
Mention the film鈥檚 title or the Vladimir Nabokov novel it was adapted from and people immediately think of middle-aged men chasing prepubescent girls; the name was enshrined in hardbound form in The Lolita Complex — a collection of cases about young girls seducing older men presented as a serious psychological study (actually a fake, the author Russell Trainer — who could鈥檝e stepped straight out of a Nabokov novel — was something of a con artist). When the book was translated into Japanese the title — shortened to lolicon — was adopted to refer to a whole genre of anime and manga depicting attraction to young girls, not to mention the strange sad men who obsess over them.
I鈥檝e found one serious piece on Nabokov鈥檚 novel. Not a peer-reviewed research paper but an article by a psychology professor (Psychology Today, for the record) — and it discusses Humbert鈥檚 narcissism not his pedophilia (or hebephilia, depending on the age of the youth involved).
Unless someone can produce such a study (not saying it doesn鈥檛 exist but there鈥檚 nothing readily available on Google) I suspect Nabokov鈥檚 Humbert Humbert is meant to be more of a literary fabrication (think Russell Trainer, only brilliant) than a serious psychological or psychiatric subject, the pedophilia (or hebephilia) in Lolita more a MacGuffin diverting attention away from the real purpose: 鈥渢o fix once for all the perilous magic of鈥 obsession.
The book hews closely to Humbert鈥檚 point of view; many of Nabokov鈥檚 effects are a result of this one conceit — the long ramblings, the baroque prose, the generously scattered hints and clues that the narrating 鈥渕adman鈥 (more in a literary than psychological sense) suffers from an unreliable memory or is lying outrageously. How is Kubrick to translate this kind of intricate tricky narrative to the big screen?
The answer is simple of course, as in Luis Bunuel simple: just shoot the weird stuff, let the meanings take care of themselves. As Thomas Allen Nelson notes in his essay, Humbert (James Mason) walking into Quilty鈥檚 mansion revolver in hand is the equivalent of normal society straying into the hell of unbridled hedonism — much of the source of the opening sequence鈥檚 comedy is Humbert insisting on the gravity of the situation and Quilty (Peter Sellers) defying him with one lighter-than-air improvisation after another. After Humbert leaves Quilty dead sitting behind a bullet-riddled Thomas Gainsboroughlike portrait (actually of Frances Puleston, by Gainsborough contemporary George Romney), the story rewinds four years to find our 鈥渉ero鈥 arriving at the house of the widowed Charlotte Haze (Shelly Winters) — ostensibly a 鈥渘ormal鈥 household but (we soon learn) every bit as jumbled physically and emotionally as Quilty鈥檚 Gothic mansion.
And of course there鈥檚 Dolores Haze — Lolita (Sue Lyon) — dressed in a bikini, a feathered hat haloed round her head, sunning on a backyard blanket. Kubrick cast Lyon when she was 13, filmed her when she was 15, had her attend the premiere when she was 16 — the actual age is immaterial (Dominique Swain was roughly the same age when she appeared before the cameras in the ridiculously solemn 1997 version); what鈥檚 important is that Lyons dressed spoke and acted like an older youth, 16 perhaps, and I鈥檝e heard complaints on the subject.
I don鈥檛 buy them. Twelve-year-old girls have been known to dress and make themselves up to look 14 or older — not a big fan of Pauline Kael but when she said the film wasn鈥檛 being evasive but accurate I agree with her; if anything the trend has gotten worse with the years.
If Quilty鈥檚 mansion echoes Charlotte鈥檚 house then the figure of Humbert echoes Charlotte — both are hopelessly enamored of their objects of desire (Dolores, Humbert), both objects in return barely acknowledge they exist. The echoes bounce backward and forward in time — we learn that Charlotte was married at an early age to a man 20 years older (we see a portrait of Mr. Haze and he looks suspiciously like Nabokov); we learn after that Dolores was in love not with Humbert but Quilty — who in turn functions as Humbert鈥檚 mirror-image, dogging him at every step.
Could we argue that Dolores Charlotte Clare are all but variations on Humbert? I think not; rather his voice and sensibility holds sway over all, dictating how much of each character should appear in the novel and of what nature. Thus Quilty is a shadowy menace, Charlotte a monstrous harpy, Dolores a collection of ankles, knees, elbows, braces, surrounded by a golden haze — what binds them together like links in a sadomasochistic daisy chain are their respective obsessions.
Not an easy concept to translate onscreen and Kubrick to his credit doesn鈥檛 attempt any clumsily overt efforts either; he suggests the similarities through the different homes (cluttered mansion, chaotic house), allowing the plot to reveal more of its design (Charlotte loves Humbert loves Lolita loves Clare) on its own time, as it unfolds.
I鈥檝e suggested before that Kubrick and Winters retooled Charlotte to be more sympathetic (Nabokov鈥檚 mater Haze was a harpy, though Humbert drops the insulting tone midway through (he adopted it for his diary) and her name keeps popping up in the remaining pages, suggesting a troubled conscience), that this change had no small consequence. When Humbert finally catches up with Dolores after a two-year separation (she had run away with Quilty), Dolores has married and is pregnant and looks uncannily like Charlotte — I submit the force of the epiphany (that she has, thanks in part to him, become her mother), plus Dolores鈥 still-adamant refusal to come away with him, has reduced the sorely tried stepfather and ex-lover to tears.
And we pity Humbert. Well we try — we pity him in Nabokov鈥檚 novel and if you鈥檝e read the book you鈥檙e primed to pity him here. But you don鈥檛; Mason is sobbing and heaving all he鈥檚 worth while Bob Harris鈥 lush piano score is heard in the background — only the piano bangs away too loud and Lyon鈥檚 Dolores natters endlessly maddeningly (鈥淟et鈥檚 keep in touch okay?鈥). Kubrick, for a final joke, leaves us with yet another echo, of Dolores as Clare Quilty driving Humbert away not with defiant silliness but with invincible banality (Lyons is a limited actress but here her inborn callowness works).
Quilty may have tossed Dolores aside like a used napkin, but the girl not only survived, she鈥檚 found contentment, however, meager and even some measure of happiness in her oblivious husband (Gary Cockrell); she doesn鈥檛 need Humbert — never did — and this destroys him. Nabokov in the novel gave Humbert some measure of sympathy; Kubrick doesn鈥檛 — he doesn鈥檛 even give the man the mercy of a dignified exit (to paraphrase from another great black-and-white film, he鈥檚 got his comeuppance. 鈥淗e got it three times filled and running over.鈥). All that鈥檚 left for the desolate lover is the mansion, the revolver, and Quilty — and we all know how that turns out.
